Chapter 7
Vaesa, meanwhile, was a work of art.
When she was young, Torian was assigned to make a diorama of this solar system: Rhymarra, plus two planets with failed terraforming attempts, three gas giants beyond, and the human space stations built in various locations.
The result was a chaotic collection of foam spheres sticking from a center sun with wooden dowels, accented by eighteen squigglies of pipe cleaner.
Vaesa looked like that, except more geometric, more intentional.
Foam spheres became hexagonal domes: the upper half windows constructed with honeycomb supports, the bottom half a solid metal base.
The dowels became long, white tubes that connected each dome, some of which were as wide as the Destitute.
The pipe cleaners mirrored the asteroids, misshapen and unpredictable.
In the center was Vaesa’s crowning glory, a massive dome occupied by the biggest tree Torian had ever seen. Its leaves were crystal blue, gleaming in the reflected light of the nebula. It was surrounded by a forest of normal green trees, but that main tree made them appear very, very small.
“What did the nylarians use this space station for?” Torian asked. “Population overflow?”
Moss sounded exasperated. “No. The nylarians are exceedingly long-lived and reproduced slowly. Like most space stations, this was a waypoint to make space travel easier. Do not be fooled by its appearance—it is nothing so majestic.”
“It looks majestic.” Torian couldn’t hide the wonder in her voice.
“You are mistaken. The nylarians wanted space to feel like their home, and so Vaesa has sixteen biomes across its domes, each with its own ecosystem. It is, frankly, chaos.” A pause. “And if you are impressed by the blue tree in the center, don’t be. It is an inconsiderate asshole.”
Torian never should have taught Moss that insult. She was startled into a laugh, even as the Destitute approached the space station. It was vaguely intimidating to see the huge space station growing bigger and bigger, but it did offer a perfect view of the asshole tree. “What’d the tree do to you?”
Moss sat in petulant silence before replying, “It is an offshoot of the oldest kerrac forest on Verdaan. It thinks that time made it ‘wiser,’ and years of nylarian worship did nothing to temper that absurd attitude.” If a living computer could infuse a scoff into its tone, Moss managed it.
“As if a tree can outlive moss. I am ancient. I am wise.”
“You are indeed wise.” Torian patted the center console reassuringly, being careful not to touch Moss’s actual moss. “I’m shocked the tree is still alive, if the nylarians are all gone.” A hesitant pause. “Is—anything still living on the space station?”
Would they have company?
Moss seemed confused. “There are many things living on the space station. The tree, the forests, plus the biomes in each dome. Is your human memory bank malfunctioning?”
They were soaring between the domes now, navigating to the center of the space station.
It was like flying between a bunch of lollipops, except the sticks all connected in a haphazard fashion.
Torian snorted, pushing off the pilot’s chair.
There wasn’t anything to do here—the auto-nav system clearly had a procedure to dock without her input, and she doubted it’d let them leave Vaesa until repairs were complete.
And frankly, now that there was a whole space station to explore, Torian figured they could stick around for a bit. Not forever, not enough to risk Celise, but … well, she really wanted to see what nylarian living was like.
“I meant aliens. Are we going to find any aliens on this space station?” She paused in the sleeping pod, where she’d discarded her clothes from yesterday—and her gun. If she was going into an alien space station, she wanted a weapon. Even jelly bullets would incapacitate a predator for a time.
Probably, there was nothing hostile here.
But after her years in security, Torian wouldn’t take that chance.
Moss followed over the speakers. “As I said, the nylarians are gone.”
“I know that. But—did they have friends? Is it possible something … else … moved in after they left?”
“The nylarians would not allow another species into their sanctuary. They are the reason the dust of this nebula is so thick.”
“Thick? We can see through it perfectly, for the most part.” Torian stepped into the cargo bay, riffling through her duffel.
It was full of things both useful and sentimental—the pot from her first plant, a rotating supply of shirts and pants, her green hemp jacket, a few pictures of her parents and Celise, documents for Rhymarra.
She paused at Celise’s photo, grimacing. This won’t take long, Lise. I’ll get us back in space, back on task. Promise.
“The fact that we can see dust at all implies it is very thick. Nebulas only appear dense when compressed into a two-dimensional image. In reality, their particles are very fine, or they would have amassed together to form a new planet already.” Moss paused.
“I thought you were a solar-engineer pilot human, versed in space.”
That part was accusatory.
“I am! I just didn’t research nebulas that much, because I never expected to be here.
” Torian’s cheeks warmed. She absently sifted through the rest of her duffel bag for anything useful—but all that remained was a coffee mug, a bag of scrap metal and her pocket welder for starship modeling, a couple of her favorite books, and a smaller leather backpack that held important documents.
She left it all on the mossy floor, just in case she’d need it later.
Moss sounded suspicious. “My subsystem has flagged your statement as exaggeration. I request more information on your pilot education.”
“I don’t want to give that information,” Torian muttered.
“You piloted the starship admirably, at least until Auto-Navigation took control.” Moss paused. “My databanks indicate that it is a human sign of trust to avoid keeping secrets.”
Ugh. Torian grudgingly replied, “It was called the School of Pilot Licenses. I earned their Certificate of Really Authentic Piloting.” She felt stupid just admitting it.
Denial was easy when Celise had been staring at her, because they were sisters and Torian would die on several of their conversational hills.
Amelia, meanwhile, had been given only minimal information: I’m hoping to become a pilot someday. Can I watch? Her old captain had rolled her eyes, but never ordered Torian out of the flight deck—even as Opula, the quartermaster, scowled at the exchange.
But Moss was different. Moss was intelligent enough to seriously judge her, and new enough for that judgment to cut through Torian’s soul.
Its silence was very, very loud.
Her defenses rose. “Okay, look. Obviously, it was a sham. But I didn’t do it for that certification. They had a holographic simulator, and it’s hard to access those at a reasonable price otherwise.”
“Books and a simulator.” Moss paused. “My records state that you need a human baccalaureate degree to fly a starship. The impound lot would not have let you purchase the ship without it.”
“It…” Torian coughed. “It may be forged.” One nice thing about working on a Fleet vessel was the never-ending supply of less-than-honorable people with highly unique skills … such as forgery.
“So, you are not a pilot human.”
“Degrees are overrated. I could pass that exam if I wanted.”
Of that, Torian was certain. She loved learning and studying and puzzles. With enough study time and access to a college’s program and textbooks, she could absolutely pass that exam.
Trouble was, her first degree nearly put her parents into bankruptcy. Celise was halfway through hers at the time, and there was serious discussion about whether they could afford to send Torian, too.
She chose solar engineering to try and make herself as appealing as possible to Rhymarra—and later learned it meant absolutely nothing unless she could physically reach the planet. Explaining all that to Moss would take time they didn’t have.
But Moss clearly wasn’t willing to let this go, even as Torian strapped her pistol to her thigh. It asked, “If you could pass, why haven’t you taken the exam?”
Torian puffed a sigh. “I think you’re underestimating how much cost factors into human lives.
Those degrees aren’t cheap. And after you get it, you have to pay yearly fees to maintain a pilot’s license in the human colonies.
I bypassed all that because the most important thing was buying the ship.
” As an afterthought, she added slyly, “I wanted to meet you, Moss.”
“Oh.” The computer considered that. “I am aware you are flattering to divert my suspicion. I am still suspicious. I am also flattered.”
“Perfect,” Torian replied, and carried the extra stuff in her duffel bag up the stairs, tossing it onto the sofa. She shrugged into her green jacket, clawing her hair into a high ponytail. “Can I breathe on this space station?”
The lights flickered. “You’re leaving the ship?”
Ah, shit. Organic supercomputer with abandonment issues. Torian stopped, finding the nearest camera to look right at it. “Moss. I’ll be back. You and me, right? This is my home now, too.”
“I cannot follow you into Vaesa. My central system is aboard the Destitute.”
“I won’t be long,” she said, pressing a hand onto one of the bulkheads, a few inches from a clump of moss. Was that comforting? Torian hoped so. “I promise. I just want to look around. Then we’ll fix the engine and be on our way to Rhymarra.” Hopefully.
Moss grudgingly said, “We are docking soon. Proceed to the cargo bay. Vaesa’s atmosphere is breathable in fourteen of the sixteen biomes.”
Torian nodded, yet again heading down the staircase to the cargo bay.
They didn’t speak as she approached the docking controls, watching for confirmation on the holopanel that they’d docked.
She hadn’t seen any airlocks, so she had to assume they used energy shields here—which would mean she’d have no real indicator that they’d entered a true atmosphere.
But several moments later, an icon flashed on the screen. Docking successful.
Torian clicked the button labeled: Begin Disembarkation.
The blue energy shield flickered out of existence, and the cargo bay doors slid open to reveal a very pleasant welcome area similar to the public hangar on Colony 13—except this hangar was decorated with warm colors and wood accents, a stark difference to the metal of the human stations.
A thrill swept through her. This was an alien space station, and she was the first human to explore it. She couldn’t believe it. She took one step down the ramp.
Moss’s voice echoed behind her.
“Please come back.”
Torian’s heart broke. She wished she could give this sentient, organic computer a hug—but that was impossible, and wouldn’t make it feel better anyway. Instead, she turned back to the ship, to its cameras, and said pointedly, “Hellfire and black holes couldn’t keep me away, Moss. I will be back.”
Moss didn’t reply.
Determination settled in Torian’s soul, and she pivoted on her heel. Just a quick look around. Then, back to her ship, with her new friend, to fix the engine and get on their way. After that … the entire galaxy awaited.
One step at a time.