Chapter 11 #3
She kept that thought to herself, though. Eventually, Moss disconnected from the conversation, and Torian pivoted from her half-built model of the Destitute to repotting the plants in peaceful silence.
Well, peaceful for her, since she couldn’t hear them complaining. Moss, occasionally, would comment:
“That plant wants to be called Exalatar the Great, and it thinks this soil blend is beneath it. I told it that is correct—this soil blend is beneath seventy percent of its plant matter. It did not like that.”
“You are squishing that plant’s leaves. It will not injure it, and that plant has submitted three times the complaints of the other one. Please, continue squishing.”
“Cleaning old soil off that plant’s roots is opening uncomfortable doors. It likes it. Too much.”
(Torian stopped touching that one.)
Finally, Moss’s announcement about Rhymarra concluded her transplant session.
She pushed to her feet, dusting off her trousers.
“We’re almost at Rhymarra? We made good time!
Are they clearing us to land?” She jogged up the stairs to the flight deck, desperate for a look at the planet below.
For so long, she’d dreamed of this moment.
And it didn’t disappoint: Rhymarra was stunning.
She’d seen pictures, of course: evocative images of a big planet with patches of green and large swaths of water.
But here, she could see more detail. For one, there was an actual atmosphere—real clouds and rain—over parts of it.
In some areas, she could see the clouds swirling with wind. Actual wind!
Verdaan had appeared greener, a lush forest with very few oceans, but Rhymarra was an Old Earth replica: a human paradise. Its continents were all beaches and forests and lakes and big open land with huge solar windmills she could see from space.
It was a spacer’s dream.
“They are requesting a reason for your visit.” Moss flashed the flight deck’s holoscreen to grab her attention.
She tore her eyes from the planet and read the transcript, which was something along the lines of You aren’t a registered supply ship and we don’t appreciate unannounced visitors.
Amelia had warned her that Rhymarra had carefully controlled customs. Even so, Torian had extensively researched any loopholes. She hastily recorded a reply. “This is the starship Destitute, landing on vital business with the Terra Nova University.”
Silence.
A channel of instant communication opened. A space traffic controller said, deadpan, “Our systems register your ship as the Traitor. We have your file, Captain Razner, and we don’t take kindly to smugglers on Rhymarra.”
All this time, she’d wondered if Amelia had been exaggerating about Rhymarra’s entry rules because she simply hadn’t wanted to make the trip. It was a small comfort to know her ex-captain had been telling the truth.
A small comfort, followed by a shit-ton of panic.
Fuck. Fuck.
“I’m not a smuggler!” Torian said before she could stop herself. Then she cursed under her breath and plowed ahead. “I am a citizen of Colony 13. Under the Right of Planetary Visitation Act, space station citizens are allowed to visit Rhymarra for educational purposes.”
Hopefully that was still true, too. It was a little-known law, one rarely used as the colony colleges fell further and further behind in education.
“And what’s your educational purpose?” The space traffic controller sounded annoyed.
She’d spent a few hours thinking about options, and now settled on the most obvious one—the one easiest to prove through visual inspection of her ship.
With her jaw clenched, Torian lied through her ass.
“I’m a botanist. We’re exploring the melding of organic matter with a computerized intelligence, to see if it can substitute artificial life support in space. ”
Moss stayed silent, thank the Heavens.
“Hmm. One moment.”
Torian clicked away from the communication, muting herself. “Is that okay, Moss? I can tell them we’re still in development stages—if you stay quiet, they never have to know you exist.”
“I am not offended. After a century in one of your space stations, I am aware that your species is embarrassingly far behind requisite technology. I am a superior template for such strides.” Moss sounded pleased.
A weight lifted off Torian’s chest. Heavens, she was starting to love this organic computer.
“You really are,” Torian agreed. For a moment, she entertained what it’d be like to actually use Moss as a template for this.
If she were truly here as a visiting researcher, presenting something intriguing enough even the Rhymarran educators would take notice.
If she was viewed as an equal, rather than a desperate woman begging for entry.
It was a nice dream.
The space traffic controller returned moments later: “Cleared to land. Authorization 722.23. Dock at Terra Nova University. You are permitted to remain on Rhymarra for exactly twenty-nine hours unless an exemption is filed on your behalf.”
One day to achieve an exemption. Torian set her jaw.
Time to get to work.