The next day brought violent rain in cascading waves outside the open hangar. Not a lot of traffic in weather like this. Each bay adjoining the Stardust’s was empty, which made the preparations slightly easier. Though Nash would never outright float things through the air in public, her telekinetic ability made the heavy lifting a little lighter. Sunburnt and sore, she and Kory loaded the craft with their own baggage and whatever other provisions had been delivered. The trip ahead was supposed to be a long one; four grueling weeks hopping between different sites.

  Once everything was packed in, the two sat on the ship’s entry stairs and waited for the others to arrive. After a few moments, Kory spoke, cutting a blunt edge through the heavy sound of water pelting the roof. “You know I did something crazy the other day?”

  “Oh yeah?” Nash responded lazily.

  “I went and saw my mother.” Kory said.

  “On purpose?” Nash teased.

  “I didn’t believe it either, but there we were,” sighed Kory, betraying the vast effort this had been.

  “What did you talk about?” Nash inclined her head in Kory’s direction, more curious now than tired.

  “All that we’ve been getting into lately had me wondering… you know, because we see so many weird places that a lot of other people don’t see,” she mumbled almost bashfully. “It got me thinking about my own planet.”

  “Oh?” Nash paid more attention, even if Kory’s tone made it sound no more compelling than the weather. “Did she say anything about…”

  “No, nothing about how it’s going now, with the whole prospecting thing.” Kory brushed this line of questioning aside, knowing full well there was nothing she could say her friend didn’t already know, even if that itself was painfully little.

  “…Because my uncle might have mentioned that they’re still in the super early preliminary stages right now. Like, I’m talking evaluating the old orbital architecture to see how much of it can be salvaged and remanned.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure he did mention, but that’s not why I went to see her.” She breezed past the obvious direction, intent on cutting her own path,

  “Well… it must have been important for you to try and be in the same room as her,” Nash needled.

  “I asked her what our planet’s name is. Because its name, it’s real name isn’t in any of your records and histories.” Kory sighed, leaning back against the metal stairs. “So, of course, I ask her one simple question: what it’s called. And she launches into this whole exhausting lecture about how at one point our people didn’t have a concept of other worlds and that the groups which were contacted first didn’t even know how big their own world was and on and on and on…” She rolled her eyes, earning her a conciliatory nod from her friend. “…But finally, she got to the point and told me that, though it wasn’t always the case, in time it came to be called Sirmnoc.”

  “I thought it was Twelve?” Nash puzzled.

  Kory cared little for that meaningless number. “The people who were alive at the time used a word that had something to do with the caves.”

  “Which caves?” Nash trailed. Her concentration started to split between Kory and the arrival of the distant figures at the front of the hanger.

  “The ones you won’t keep your greedy purple fingers out of,” she thought, electing to take the high road. “But you see what I mean? We don’t even know our own history. Do you remember that temple –”

  “Hold on,” Nash interrupted, rising to her feet. Greg, Mia, and Zol came into view among the far-off rows of ships. Kory stood with her friend and breathed a mournsome sigh for the moment that passed, never to return.

  Half an hour later, she slumped in the copilot seat and gazed longingly out the front windshield at a smaller craft exiting the bay doors. Its red, blinking lights disappeared into the dense wall of rain. She wondered who was in it, where they were going, what music they were listening to, and whether or not they were having any fun. It didn’t take long for her moment of contemplation to be unwound by the shrill complaining of her sister from the passenger area.

  “I said, I don’t want to hear it!” Kory snapped.

  “But why can’t I sit up front? You know I get motion sick!” Mia whined.

  “You made that up. You’ve always been making it up. And by the way, why weren’t you on time? You were supposed to be here for the loadout. Me and Nash had to put all the stuff in ourselves!” Mia had no response but to cross her arms in a huff and continue to pout.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  To Kory’s left, Nash had nearly finished the pre-flight checks, immune by this point to the sister-squabbles, having listened to them for nearly a lifetime. “Almost done everybody,” she mumbled happily, flicking a few more switches of indeterminate purpose.

  “He’s here now… in the hangar,” Kory said ominously, glaring in the direction of the passenger door, still open at this late hour.

  “He still has twenty minutes,” Nash said absentmindedly.

  “Give him a minute and he’ll take a year…that parasite,” Kory wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  “Why are you being like this?” Nash argued.

  “You were like this too, not so long ago. I remember you standing right there…” she pointed behind her to the aisle. “…with your finger in his face –”

  “Shut it. He’s coming up the stairs.” Nash whispered harshly. Kory did as she was told, however indignantly, and faced forward, refusing to greet the one whose chill she felt cross the threshold. Though a brief sidelong glance brought her attention to his choice of dress. She supposed she hadn’t noticed until now, but something about his new slick fashions led her to believe he was trying to appear more important than he was. The tailored trousers, with dress shirts or turtle-necks, long coats, and new pieces of jewelry every time she saw him was a far cry from what she remembered him wearing in their youth. He once favored soft, formless sweaters, something to render him even less visible. These days he seemed to have the opposite desire, as if the ghost of someone obsessed with their own image had possessed his soul. Whether he wanted to be seen now was none of her concern, she decided, and hoped to do as little of it as possible on this trip.

  Greg, eager to be a team player, rose to meet him at the door to polish over the discontent with a dense application of the usual schtick. “There he is! Say Rob –”

  “Absolutely not.” Sohrab had turn the heat off that rancid nickname before it could fully cook. He had more than enough of those to contend with in his other line of work. All too often he was addressed by some base condescension like Robbie the Rat, Whitesnake, Silver Bullet (he didn’t mind that one so much), Bobby Bitch, or any variant thereof.

  “Noted,” Greg moved on. “Settle a bet for us will you?” He pointed between himself and Zol, who could not have been less invested. “You call it a ‘foyer’ or a ‘foy-yay?”

  “What kind of a question is that?” he scoffed as he took his seat.

  “Alright, 0 for 2, then,” Greg raised his hands in defeat.

  “Obviously it’s a ‘foy-yay’,” Sohrab said.

  “Hah, I knew it!” Greg clapped Zol on the shoulder. “You owe me eight thousand dollars.”

  #

  A tidy little sun, neat as a pin, began its short, but tireless trek through the sky above the ancient settlement. At the edge of the western horizon, the second moon was half-cloaked by distant purple hills. It’s departure was imminent, as it was foretold to follow the path of its father forever, same as it always had, hidden from view until a later time. Smoke from household chimneys and the fires which burned eternal in the squares blanketed the town in a comforting haze; soon to be shaken off as the day began anew.

  It was into this quaint vista that a young man named Olokee emerged from his family’s modest home into the streets, joining those who started their day with as much hope for the future as he had. The lad was twelve, and with great pride, would complete his final year of formal schooling any day now. Though he would be the first in his family to achieve such a feat, he dreamed his younger sisters and brothers might one day realize the same.

  The town he called home was older than anyone could remember, yet its primary industry spanned the length of just one generation. His father was only a boy when the mine opened. After it came the port, the schools, and the influx of things the likes of which no one on Cha’eb Anu-Gal had ever seen. Why, just this time last week he’d been served a slice of freeze-dried mango as a special dessert, courtesy of the mine representatives who’d put on a career fair for promising young men like himself. Certainly, his grandparents’ cohort never had anything that nice. Olokee was even able to impress his classmates by identifying the inscription on the box the fruit came in. “Fresco de Mexico, Junio 2337.” Whatever it meant he was proud to have read it.

  His mastery of galactic languages surprised even himself. He could read a few different dialects passably, even old Iolite, but his spoken English was flawless. Needless to say, his teachers assured him that a promising occupation awaited him upon graduation. Surely he wouldn’t have to labor under the same conditions as his father and uncles and neighbors. No, he was destined for a greater station, like an overseer’s apprentice, or even an educator if he tried his best and studied hard.

  The thought if it all filled him with joy as he trod the stony streets to his school at the bottom of the hill. It was more than just a thought though, wasn’t it? It was a dream, a grand dream that seemed to rise to the heavens like the white trails of the spacecraft coming and going from the port at the distant edge of town. He kept his eyes upward as he walked, watching them pass each other in the sky. A small flock of birds briefly interrupted his view. They undulated through the morning air, thrumming their six wings each in a rhythm known only to themselves. Olokee craned his neck to see around the intrusive fowl, nearly tripping over a box in a market stall in the process. With a half-mumbled apology to the merchant, who scolded him for not watching where he was going, he turned his gaze back to the paths of the ships.

  After a few moments more, he reached the school. Just before heading inside with his fellow pupils, he glanced once last time in the direction of the port. One vessel in particular caught his attention. It was descending, and to the naked eye looked no different than any of the other similar-sized craft which landed each day. Yet there was something about it he just couldn’t shake. He studied it fiercely, attempting to unravel the source of whatever unsettling quality he believed it possessed. But there wasn’t enough time. An instructor had come to the door, broke Olokee’s concentration, and led the boy inside.