Chapter 6 #2
Moss sounded exasperated. “A nylarian staple. It is very similar to coffee, and is safe for humans to consume. Much like human wine, when properly sealed, it ages instead of souring. After one hundred and thirty-three years, it should be a delicacy.”
A light illuminated over a cabinet Torian hadn’t opened yet. She cautiously approached, abandoning her coffee beans for a jar of what looked like brown-black powder. When she uncapped it, a positively divine aroma filled the air.
“Humans have documented performance improvements when caffeine is involved. Ravla shares similar traits, but with few of the downsides. When he shared it with humans in the past, humans reported increased focus and motivation.” Moss paused.
“It is to my immense benefit that you are functioning at peak performance. Please, consume the ravla.”
Torian sniffed again, barely containing a moan. “Oh Heavens, this smells incredible. Like chocolate, cinnamon, and coffee.”
“It is derived from the leaves of the ravla plant, on the nylarian homeworld. I cannot speak to its taste. Only its chemical composition, and how your body will process it.”
Oh, duh.
“If you think it’s safe.” Torian might die in the Kialoa Nebula anyway. Why not try the weird coffee alternative in the meantime—especially when it smelled like that. “How do I make it?”
She half expected Moss to reply I am not your barista or something similar, but it seemed to be in a helpful mood after everything. “Add hot water. The powder will dissolve.”
Five minutes later, Torian had a steaming mug—a metal piece with a thick handle—cradled to her chest and had sunk onto the comfy sofa beside the bank of windows.
The nylarians must be similar in appearance to a human, because while the cushions were a bit deeper than she expected, she fit pretty well overall.
“This is gorgeous,” Torian breathed, taking a reverent sip of the ravla.
Warmth slid through her veins, and almost instantly, she felt both relaxed and alert.
It was a curious sensation, and far preferable to the precarious balancing act of coffee—drinking to wake up, without tipping into the negative physiological side effects of too much caffeine.
As her mind focused, she ran options, drumming her fingers on the side of the mug. “Okay. Maybe I can fix the engine before we get to the nebula. If we can diagnose the problem—”
“We will arrive in the Kialoa Nebula in three minutes.”
“What?” For the second time that day, Torian catapulted up like she’d been burned. Dark liquid sloshed against the edge of her mug, and she desperately course-corrected to save the drops.
Whew. Careful.
Moss replied, “Some wormholes are shorter than others, despite actual distance. Most wormholes leading to the maintenance base are swift. That is why Auto-Nav enacted this response.”
“Great.” Torian groaned, moving swiftly back to the flight deck. She sat in the pilot’s seat just in time to see the stars sparkle back into existence—but she’d almost missed them through the massive wall of dust looming before the Destitute.
The Kialoa Nebula.
It was bubblegum pink, which made it seem almost whimsical and welcoming. Inside were some of the richest asteroid clusters in the system, heavy in valuable metals waiting to be mined. Discovering that had prompted a rush of ships into the nebula millennia ago, and only a few ever limped back out.
The rest remained inside the pink dust, drifting.
Dead.
“What—” Torian cleared her throat, sinking into the pilot’s seat.
She was grateful for the cup of ravla, because Heavens knew she needed liquid courage right about now.
If she’d had coffee, her heart would be thrumming in panic, but right now she felt coolly attentive.
“Ah, do you know what kills ships inside the nebula?”
Moss was silent for a long moment. “I do not compute.”
Torian almost said, Come on, like Moss was joking with her. But Moss was a closed system, and it was impossible to tell what it had been exposed to—and what slid past its database. She drew a short breath. “The nebula. To humans, it’s a known ship graveyard.”
“A ship … graveyard.” Moss sounded unimpressed. “What is a graveyard?”
Most people on the space station colonies—at least the human ones—didn’t mention graveyards, considering standard practice was to incinerate any bodies and release the dust into space. It wasn’t surprising Moss hadn’t heard the term.
Torian fumbled through a way to phrase it. “It’s a planetary thing from Earth, before humans settled in this solar system. When humans on Rhymarra die, their bodies are buried, and become sustenance for the plants above. They call it a graveyard.”
“And this nebula, to humans, is where ships are buried.” A pause. “In soil.”
For something so smart, it sure missed the point. “It’s a place where starships go to die. Something happens to them when they enter the nebula, and they drift forever. It’s a death sentence for the crew.”
The Destitute fast approached the nebula.
Torian braced herself, but they slid seamlessly into the dust. At first, pink surrounded the ship, like bubblegum clouds that washed over the windows.
The farther into the cloud they got, though, the more it diffused, until it was nearly impossible to tell they were inside a nebula at all.
Unconcerned by this development, Moss replied, “A nebula is merely a collection of dust and gas. It will not affect our ship.”
That wasn’t right. “Then why did you agree with me when I said it was a dead zone?”
“Once, the nylarians lived here. Now, they are gone. I reasoned that was a human equivalent to ‘dead.’”
Torian was still tense, but they continued flying through the nebula at top speed.
In the distance, wreckages littered the space around them, drifting.
Husks of derelict ships, some broken by the asteroids.
Torian pointed at one of them on the radar.
“Those. Those are human ships…” Something caught her sight and she trailed off, squinting through the flight deck’s massive window.
A sliver of darkness seemed to glimmer, but the moment she focused on it, it vanished.
A chill swept up her spine. What the hell was that?
“They are human ships, yes.” Moss didn’t seem to understand.
It took a moment to drag her focus back to this conversation. “I know. What made them break down?”
“Human engineering is subpar.” Moss was clearly trying to be patient, but with the exasperated tinge of a parent walking a child through an exceedingly simple concept for the sixth time. “We are not utilizing a ship with human engineering.”
Poor construction didn’t explain why hundreds of ships from hundreds of centuries just stopped flying in this exact spot. Torian clenched her jaw. Before she could reply, something else flashed high above them—but the second she turned to look, it was empty space and distant stars.
A nervous laugh crawled from her chest. “Are you … um, are you registering anything outside?”
“Outside is a vacuum,” Moss replied.
Torian nearly groaned in exasperation. “Yes, I know.” She opened her mouth to clarify, but then a large asteroid shifted, and a fucking planet appeared before them.
But that was impossible; if there was a planet in the Kialoa Nebula, she’d have known.
Right?
The planet was small and green, nestled in the traces of pink space dust. A dwarf planet, maybe? It was hard to tell the ecosystem from here, but it was clearly lush with alien flora.
“Verdaan,” Moss said grandly. “The nylarian homeworld, where my spores first sprouted.”
What? Torian nearly balked. “Hang on. When you were talking about nylarians, I thought they were visitors. You’re saying the nylarians were from this solar system?”
“Yes. Humans are the visitors here.” It sounded like that was obvious.
Torian’s brain raced. A new planet. The nylarian homeworld.
Considering the Destitute had been found on a human station, there was strong evidence that nylarians and humans could tolerate similar climate ranges.
Their planet looked green and habitable, at least from this distance—which meant this was a second option to Rhymarra.
Unless Moss had drastically changed the ship’s interior to accommodate her, nylarians must have similar oxygen requirements.
If Rhymarra didn’t work out … Torian knew where she wanted to explore next.
This discovery could change everything.
“Is that where the maintenance base is?” The flickers in space were forgotten as she gazed at fresh hope: a planet that might be habitable, might be a replacement for Rhymarra and their infamously tough meritocracy.
And then Moss ruined it. “No. It would be inefficient to perform starship maintenance on a planet.”
“Oh, of course,” Torian replied, forcing reason back into her dreams. There was very little chance she could convince Celise to settle on an alien planet anyway.
Even if it was habitable, it was likely already occupied by dangerous fauna—and Celise valued community above all else.
What would they be? Castaways on a deadly planet no one else knew existed?
Hope fizzled, and Torian pushed past the sudden disappointment. She had to focus on the problem at hand. “If the planet isn’t our destination, where are we going, then?”
At that moment, the Destitute’s auto-navigation smoothly steered them right, rounding the planet. As they moved past a few asteroids, a space station appeared on Verdaan’s horizon line, half-bathed in sunlight.
Moss said, unnecessarily, “That is our destination.” It didn’t sound enthusiastic as it added, “Welcome to Vaesa.”