Chapter 3
If there is no wrong way to be, if I am just as right as the starlight and the rising of the suns, then why does each day come accompanied with such shame? If I am just as right as the turning of the tides, then when will I embrace myself just as I do the natural movement of all celestial bodies?
Why do you ignore my pleas, O, Light?
From the unabridged diaries of Vessel Iris, Volume Four
Another droplet fell an inch from Iris’s face.
Drip. He’d been watching them plop closer and closer, but he was far too sore to move from their path.
Drip. He lay flat on his back, arms outstretched, staring aimlessly into the tall ceiling of the cargo bay.
The heavy silks of his robes did little to cushion the pinpricks of moss along his shoulder blades, the fabric itself already tattered and muddy at the edges from the rummaging he’d been doing.
Giving the bones a languished look-over, Iris groaned through clenched teeth.
The mountain appeared unchanged in quantity and volume despite hours of work.
You should eat, VIFAI said for the fourth time.
Iris ignored it for the fourth time and reached out to pick out a thin fibula from the pile, identifying it by touch alone.
He held the bone high above his head, blocking out the dim lights.
One rough flexion of the fingers and it would easily splinter.
Living people had the ability to put up more of a fight, but even they were far more fragile than they cared to admit.
With a rough shake of the head, Iris shied away from the thought.
Such violent leanings were unbecoming of a Vessel.
He was taught better, knew better, he chastised himself.
There were few things truly inexcusable for the Starlit.
Violence for the sake of violence was one of them.
The one cardinal and unredeemable sin a Vessel could commit was the taking of a life before its due time.
A polite cough saved Iris from further ruminations.
Someone’s here, VIFAI said, two seconds too late. Unable to ignore both the owner of the cough and the echoing voice in his mind, Iris placed the fibula down and sat up.
The man in the doorway could have been in his late sixties or on the rougher end of forty.
He had the face of a kind and brilliant man, only briefly touched by madness; his beard and the remains of his thinning hair on his head were grey-speckled and unruly.
“My name is Dr. Ora. Ishtan Ora,” he said nervously, avoiding Iris’s eyes, and poised in a stiff half bow.
“I’m the archaeologist Riyu must have mentioned.
You don’t have any use for my professional titles.
Oh, just call me Ishtan, Vessel. Can I call you that?
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Yan said we had a Vessel with us, and I—well, he didn’t use those words. ”
Iris couldn’t help but beam at the doctor’s charming awkwardness. He smoothly rocked to standing and bowed low to the man. “What words did engineer Yan use?”
Ishtan winced. “I believe, and I am paraphrasing here, he said the gravedigger has set up shop in the cargo bay, and he was hoping the garbage would get cleaned out by the end of the week. He can be—”
“He can be quite articulate.”
Ishtan laughed. He stepped into the room and bowed to Iris again.
Iris returned the bow immediately. “If I am to neglect your professional title, you should neglect mine as well. Please, call me Iris.”
“I’m so excited. A real Vessel. I’ve never met a real-life Vessel before. I’m sorry, I’m—I’m rambling again.”
“I didn’t realise we could be popular, given the”—Iris gestured widely to the pile of bones—“but Dr. Alo did say you would be thrilled. I hope I meet your expectations.” Ishtan shifted on his feet, glancing sheepishly around the room.
Cautiously, Iris asked, “Is there something you would like to ask me?”
Ishtan laughed, a brisk ha! “Oh, a thousand things. A million things, but I wouldn’t want to distract you from your important work.
It is important work, don’t listen to what the others say.
It’s very important work.” Iris wanted more than anything for someone to distract him from his important work.
The excitement of reassembling hundreds of skeletons had long left him, after he had completed his third one.
Now his neck ached from looking down for hours on end, and he was growing bored. He was also starving.
“We could start with a few questions,” Iris said with reserved amusement.
Anything, anything for some reprieve from the mind-numbing sight and texture of human bone.
“Perhaps over some tea?” There would most assuredly be tea, and where there was tea, there was always food.
In any place frequented by academics, there would be food with tea, an axiom for all institutes to obey.
There would also be lively debate about all things scholarly, far more amusing than the scripture debates Iris had witnessed at the temple.
Despite Mother Nova’s encouragement, he never took part, not due to his lack of knowledge of scripture but rather from the discomfort of being the centre of attention.
With a gentle tilt of the head, Iris motioned at the door, beckoning Ishtan to take the bait. Ishtan took it with unbridled glee.
“How long have you been a Vessel?” the archaeologist asked as they moseyed down the winding corridor back towards the common area.
Iris kept half a step back, treading softly across the mossy floor.
VIFAI listened to the conversation in the background of his consciousness, poised to nudge Iris, albeit always too late, if Ishtan began to pose any serious risk.
It was odd for someone to take such a keen interest in a Vessel, and both monk and construct were on alert.
“I had taken my precepts as a Vessel nearly ten years ago, but Mother Nova insists we are all chosen at birth. Starlit Order or otherwise, some people are Vessels whether they know it or not. That’s how she has always worded it.”
Ishtan nodded thoughtfully. He had a nervous habit of tugging at the tip of his grey beard when he was thinking of the next thing to ask.
He was tugging at it now as they walked.
“I noticed these aren’t the regular robes I’ve seen Vessels wear in the media.
” Ishtan paused and tugged at his beard once.
“I hope you don’t mind me prying. I was wondering what that meant. ”
That was bound to come up sooner or later.
It hadn’t for nearly a decade, since Iris started venturing out into the world on his own, but no one had scrutinised his robes with such intensity before.
A Vessel’s robes were typically fashioned from heavy silks, although material and cut varied by both temple and climate.
Most Vessels from warmer planets wore the silk lightly draped over their bodies, their right shoulder bare.
The Northern Temple was blessed to experience several seasons, and their robes came with a set of wide sleeves that in practice did little to warm the body during colder months.
But beneath the heavy silk, Iris’s body was covered with an additional, fitted garment, the long sleeves and high collar of which had initially drawn Ishtan’s attention.
You could say it’s a fashion choice, VIFAI said.
I don’t think that will work.
You can’t lie?
I can’t. Not about this. He could, in fact, lie, as VIFAI had suggested.
But the principle of the thing wouldn’t let him.
He would omit, yes—not quite a lie, not quite the entire truth.
He didn’t owe Ishtan the whole truth, not yet.
“The robes are never identical and vary by temple. We’re also given the discretion to wear them in line with our personal preferences,” Iris said.
“As long as they follow the standards, of course. Just as our malas. The Starlit doesn’t strive to erase our individuality, only to simplify the choices we make every day so that our faculties are best applied to other work.
” The high, starched collar sitting just below his jawline had suddenly grown stiff and irritating.
“Marvelous,” exclaimed Ishtan and clasped his hands together, signaling the natural end of their conversation, much to Iris’s relief.
Their exchange had taken them to the common area, where they were greeted with the fresh notes of genmaicha and two new, unfriendly faces, which Iris recognised as station security by the dark grey uniform.
Jesi and Tev were loitering by the electric kettle that Riyu—surely it had to be Riyu—had brought onboard.
The three academics were engaged in a loud and animated debate.
“All I’m saying is”—Tev gestured with his cup so vigorously that drops of tea spilled from it—“you don’t know for a fact that there aren’t any snakes here.”
“Why do you think there are snakes here?” Riyu asked in a way that indicated she had asked this question before, many times, to no satisfying answer.
“Well, there are mice.”
“There are mice, and there are other ones that hop around,” Jesi added, resting her mug between her palms. She noticed Ishtan and Iris and nodded for them to come over.
“The mice would’ve snuck aboard when this ship left, probably while they were still building it beside a station,” Riyu explained. “Those other ones are probably just a different type of mouse that either snuck on or evolved in their time here.”
Tev snorted. “Then why didn’t they get rid of the mice? If they snuck on?”
“Have you ever tried to get rid of mice?” Riyu put her mug down and shook her head. “There’re no snakes here, Tev. There wouldn’t be any predators at all. I don’t know what you saw, but it wasn’t a snake, I give you my word.”
“You’re a botanist, so it’s not worth much in questions of zoology,” Jesi said, sotto voce.