Ravana's Shadow (35)

Kit was the last one left on the bridge. She stayed in her seat, helmet tethered to her by a short elastic cable. She was still there when they unclogged the coolant pump and air flowed back into the cockpit. She was still there after the multi-hour process to inflate the crew section, and everyone rushed down the ladder to unpack.

The operation protocol for the Ravana mission only required someone at the helm within a few hours of an anticipated maneuver, and there were none of those for the next two weeks.

Kit sat at her seat anyway, her display split into a dozen little windows. Some showed system status, others Neophyte's guidance and their current reserves. The gentle hum of pressure tanks faded behind music from all the cockpit speakers.

Not all the Aether's databanks had been recovered yet—but some had, including Kit's extensive music collection. Her fingers twitched quietly on the controls, tracing the patterns of simple chords she didn't quite remember.

Kit gestured at her screen, flicking through a dozen different live video feeds, until she found the one she was looking for.

It came from the promenade, where drones pushed brooms and picked up empty food containers. Only one colonist was still out there.

The mouse sat on the statue, resting his head up against the metal rocket. He kicked out with both legs in steady rhythm. Maybe he was listening to music too.

“We have an incoming transmission,” Forerunner said. There was probably a delay to those words—only a few seconds now, though it would get worse as the journey progressed. For now, Mara was so close that Kit couldn’t judge from his responses. “It’s a video signal, but you could respond with text if you prefer.”

“Might as well take it,” Kit said, sitting up. She straightened her hair, for all the good it did. She was so soaked with sweat that her hair stayed up in the position she left it. Even with the coolant system working again, it would take a few hours before the cockpit was comfortable.

The screen cleared completely, and a familiar image appeared there. As with every time Kit took calls alone, Garrick’s face was unfiltered. They probably wouldn’t be able to modify video live while traveling, or else they’d need to relay every signal through Mara first.

“Kit—we don’t have any telescopes sharp enough to see you coming. But your Forerunner sent an abbreviated mission report.”

Kit nodded. They had detailed video of the entire struggle, of course. But the last thing she needed was to give Garrick more reasons to distrust them. We’re coming no matter what. “A few minor malfunctions, but nothing serious. You better still be alive when we get there.”

Garrick stood up, and the camera moved with him. He tugged himself through a huge room, then up a set of stairs to an office of sorts, with a huge desk covered in printed pages. Kit recognized many of them as designs Mara’s various experts had sent. Each was meant to extend his life or make things a little better while he waited.

“I’ve got a few more of these I can try,” he said. “But now that you’re on your way, have you thought about my earlier offer? I could still refuse your docking permissions.”

Kit was too tired for this. She yawned, stretching both arms all the way out to either side. “Forerunner? You explain.”

The AI spoke over the radio, and Kit knew his voice would be traveling through both sides of their conversation. “Pioneering Society regulations dictate that, should an authorized mission be dispatched using drive classification Epsilon or lower, docking permission is no longer required. Should the mission be refused for any reason, the craft is still permitted to rendezvous, and remain as long as it takes to construct a return vehicle, which will be dispatched with reasonable compensation. In this case, the only compensation Ravana can provide is mass in raw materials—accounting for everything we have invested in the rocketry program, every test, and the construction of a return craft of sufficient size to safely transport that compensation and this mission’s crew.”

Kit nodded along with him; eyes closed. She wasn’t watching Garrick’s face, nor did she care. “And are we required to provide humanitarian aid?”

Forerunner continued. “No. If resources permit, we must accept requests for asylum from any Pioneering Society colonist deemed free of contagious physical or digital disease. Beyond this, relief we provide is at our discretion.”

And if he does that, I’d become the governor of Ravana by default. More importantly, she could send him down to Remedial until his attitude improved. A few centuries would be a good place to start.

Kit met his eyes again, folding her arms across her chest. “You haven’t turned over Ravana to me yet,” she said. “And my Forerunner won’t let us take it from you. But we were never really built for violence.” She held out one thin arm, flexing her feeble muscles. “I’m not coming to fight you. But that doesn’t mean you can turn us away, either. We’re landing one way or another. If you’re smart, you’ll sign, save the lives of everyone on your station, then come back with us to Mara. If not, we’ll build a new ship using your metal, then leave you on that rock.”

“I see your face, Kit. If it came down to it, you’d help. You and that glorified daycare you call a colony is not going to stand by and watch a man die.”

She kept focused on the camera, never blinking. “Probably not. I know my people—they would want to help you, keep you going. I would keep feeding you until we finished our departure ship, and it was time to leave. But we wouldn’t repair your station or treat your frozen people. When we left, I’d just order Forerunner to block any further communication from Ravana.”

“If I agree, I get to watch you cut my home apart for scrap. Another people will build their future with the land mine labored over.”

Kit smacked both arms down on her seat. “And you’ll be in good company. The Neophyte was built that way, hollowing out and melting down the carcass of the ship I loved. The whole Institute was built from my predecessor’s starship. It hurts a little at first, I’ll admit it. But when I saw how many years the Aether would give the Institute, how many lives it could improve—I realized losing my ship wasn’t so bad.”

Garrick set the camera down. “See you in three months, Kit. Ravana out.” 

The screen flashed, then went back to Kit’s previous feed of system information, and video of the Institute. Her music started playing again.

“How did you know you could do that?" asked a voice from the back of the cockpit, near the ladder.

“I’ve been dealing with Garrick for a while now,” she said. “He always says the same things. He always backs down in the end, because if he tries to get rid of us, he dies.”

“Not him,” the weasel said. “That flight. We should be dead.”

Kit leaned back in her seat. "Here to relieve me, Wren?"

"Morgan," she said, exasperated. She caught Kit's seatback, coming to an abrupt stop. Morgan wasn't wearing the outer suit anymore, only the tight inner layer. That meant she didn't have the assistance of magnetic boots to walk. She didn't seem to need them. "How did you know that would work?"

Kit looked up. "Before we launched, we knew none of our critical systems would malfunction. We tested and simulated and fabricated and certified the results. Still had systems fail on us. You never know. You practice, you prepare—then you try. That's all I did."

Morgan floated past Kit's chair, holding onto her console. She glared at her through the clear screen. "Instinct," she said. "That wouldn't be acceptable if it were just your life at risk. With everyone here..."

"With everyone here, we get to save the Institute." Kit tapped her screen, replacing the false window in front of them with an outline of their course. "I didn't know we would make it. But I trust them. Trust their engineering, their skill. And mine too, I guess. Was I wrong?"

The weasel grunted, bearing too-sharp teeth at Kit. Her tail swished sharply, her ears folded back—was she going to bite her? Wren pushed the display out of the way, folding it up into the ceiling. She rested one hand on Kit's shoulder and squeezed.

"You're right. I should've trusted you in your world, Katlin Rowe. Guess you really are the saint of the lost. Most old legends have some truth at the bottom." 

Kit unclipped her harness, then pushed her way out of the seat. Her eyes lingered on the display for another second. Jay looked up, almost right at the camera. Did he know?

"I'm not Katlin Rowe anymore," she said. "Call me Kit Red Squirrel. Or captain, if you prefer. Did miss that part."

"Alright, captain." Morgan took her arm, then pushed up against her back. "You've been in this seat for fourteen hours. You can have it back tomorrow."

Kit stopped in the doorway, tapping a few fingers on a screen there to stop her music.

"Eh!" Morgan glanced back from the captain's chair. "Turn that back on. I love classical."

She tapped the screen again, filling the cockpit with sound. "That's the Beatles, Wren."

"You telling me an old soldier can't enjoy classical music?" She spun back around, then pulled the controls down in front of her. "Pretty sure Maddie won't sleep until you do. Might as well get down there."

Kit descended the ladder into the Neophyte's crew sphere. She passed through a single airlock, then into their living room.

Everyone was waiting there, not just Maddie. Each had removed their outer layers, though left the inner suits. Kit could hardly blame them—tested or not, the inflatable crew sphere had yet to be deployed in the field.

Despite nine months of training, some aspects of their mission were impossible to fully condition before departure. Not a single one of her crew looked comfortable in micro-gravity. Abel tried to sit at the table, but without the straps he kept drifting to smack into it, then pushed himself back down. A small cloud of fish-shaped snacks now surrounded him, spreading further away as they drifted from the bag. 

Kaden did a little better, sketching something on a tablet. He floated freely through the air as he drew, before smacking into the "ceiling" and changing angle slightly. He didn't seem to mind.

Emma and Sadie had brought their sleeping bags from their quarters, zipping them together. But they hadn't properly reattached it to any of the mounting hooks and were now hanging "upside down" in the air over everyone else.

"Want help getting that off?" Maddie asked. "I know you wanna clean up."

Kit caught one of the handrails, then spun her suit around so the back faced Maddie. "Sure."

The fox clambered over her. It only took her a second to reach the collar, where she began disconnecting the various fasteners and clips. Maybe their base on Ravana would have all the machinery to apply and remove suits automatically, but that was an awful lot of mass for something they would not be doing very often.

According to the mission specs, Kit wouldn't need her external layer for the next three months.

"Now just imagine if we had... another few decades for research, instead of one year," Maddie muttered, as she worked. "The crew sphere would be solid, and it would spin for Mara gravity. Not as good as a projector, but we still don't have a Starforge, so..."

"I'd take spin gravity over this." Chase appeared in the doorway, holding something close to his chest—a plastic squeeze-bottle, heavy with liquid. He alone wasn't wearing the internal layer of his EVA suit. He'd swapped it out for the short-sleeved uniforms they would all probably be wearing for the trip, once they felt more comfortable.

Chase took another sip from the bottle, then slumped into one of the seats. He brought the straps across his chest with several loud clicks, then closed his eyes. "Can't we just keep the engines on the whole time?"

"Yeah, just load a few billion cubic meters of hydrogen and oxygen into the tank," Abel said. "Just push extra hard on the pumps, I'm sure we won't explode."

Something clicked, then Kit’s restraints came loose. She let go, wiggling out through the opening in the back of her suit. "Thanks, fox." It felt much better, her movements instantly smoother. The inner layer could breathe easier too, dumping a little of the humidity that made every inch of her feel sticky.

Kit stretched, extending her arms high overhead, then leaning forward and stretching her tail all the way out. "Much better."

Not relaxed, of course. She would still be sore until she removed the inner layer and disconnected it from her circulatory system. Kit caught herself on the rail before she could start drifting too. "I'll be back, gotta pack this."

"No, captain." Chase unclipped himself, then rose, leaving his water-bottle behind. "You've done enough. I'll store it for you."

She opened her mouth to argue with him, but her words transformed to a yawn, and she pushed away from the suit. "If you... yeah, that would be great."

"Told you," Emma said, poking her head out of the sleeping bag. She extended one arm towards Abel, expectant. "She sleeps every day. You shouldn't argue with me."

Abel grunted, then pushed his bag of crackers towards Emma. It drifted the short distance, and she caught it, vanishing it into the sleeping bag. "It doesn't make any sense. You saved the mission and our lives, but you sleep as much as a Remedial patient."

"I don’t," she said, nudging herself into one of the other chairs. "Maddie, is there..." She didn't have to wait very long. The fox put a plastic bottle into her hands, cool to the touch. She didn't keep arguing with Abel then, she was much too busy draining its contents.

The fox squeezed her in a brief, tight hug. "So, what if she does? There's nothing wrong with being small."

Kit emptied the last drop before finally releasing the bottle, clipping the ring to her belt. "It wasn't me, Abel. I didn't save you—we saved ourselves. We worked together and we survived." 

She floated past the empty shell of her armor, caught Sadie's sleeping bag, and guided them sideways over to the wall. She clipped them in, then pushed off, so she was higher up in the air. 

"This last... eternity... there was always Forerunner taking care of things like this. You didn't have to fight to survive. But that doesn't mean you can't. Every colonist on Mara was once the very best in their field, someone brave enough to sign up and scan their brain into the Pioneering Society. Past these templates, that person is still there. All I did was help you let them out."

Sadie was the first to speak. "Maybe we did. But I think you need to give yours a chance to rest for a few hours. Talk tomorrow, okay?"

Abel nodded. "We've already started reviewing designs for the Ravana mining and extraction outpost."

"With spin gravity!" Chase called from a nearby doorway, Kit's suit floating along under his arm. "Three months is long enough. I'm not doing this for years!"

"With gravity," Abel added, exasperated. "If we have to."

Maddie took Kit by the wrist, tugging her towards the doorway. The fox had already figured out more about moving in microgravity than most other crew members. Once she had leverage against the railing, she could shift another colonist with relative ease, even if they were bigger.

Kit waved to the others, then followed Maddie through the doorway. They passed several small bedrooms, before ending at the one with their names.

The door was really just heavy cloth with a zipper, but the room beyond was almost as spacious as standard Institute quarters. They used a central bunkbed design just like at home, except here the walls divided personal space, instead of the floor.

Forerunner dimmed the lights as they entered. 

"Want help with the rest of your suit?"

She shook her head. "I'm tired enough to sleep with it this time. I'll be comfortable tomorrow." She crawled into the open sleeping bag, far tighter than anything on Mara. It had to keep her from drifting around the room while she slept, after all. "Make sure we don't explode while I'm out."

Maddie pushed off the side of the bed. But she didn't leave, she only reached the closet, then floated back, offering something to Kit.

"Jay wanted me to give you this. Even though I told him I'd be here to keep you company myself." She tucked something into the opening, and Kit caught it—a stuffed toy. She knew it by its shape without needing to open her eyes. A mouse, obviously. 

"Tell him thanks," she whispered, wrapping one arm around it. "Any plans while I'm out?"

Maddie held the railing, her legs drifting behind her. "Nothing important. Morgan's gonna make an EVA to bring in a few drones. Other than that, should be quiet." She let go, drifting slowly backward through the doorway. "Don't worry, Kit. It's like you said—we can do this. We saved ourselves, now we save Garrick. After that, we go home and save Mara."

If Garrick doesn't kill us first. Kit didn't say that, of course. She hadn't told anyone about what might be waiting for them on that derelict colony. That would have to change before they arrived.

But not now. Maddie zipped the door closed and vanished down the hall.

Kit heard laughter and conversation coming from beyond, until sleep finally took her.