writing.
“Hey, it’s all in English,” I go. “It takes you a billion years to get here and you speak English?”
“The ship says the flinders equipped us with the language we needed for our mission on Earth. When we woke up from stasis, we couldn’t remember any Homefleet words. Your language is the only language we know now.”
I keep looking round over my shoulder cos I really don’t like that the ship ain’t talking to us no more.
“So how does the shuttle resetting work?”
Erin points at a jagged cut below the screens. It looks like someone’s taken an axe to it and there’s all this spongy, tangly gunk inside, like sheep’s guts.
“All the control centers for the shuttle are severed from the rest of the ship’s nervous system.”
“And that means what, exactly?”
She thrusts both hands into the wound. “I have to bridge the gap. Don’t be alarmed – I probably won’t make much sense for a while.”
“You ain’t making sense right now.”
But then she closes her eyes and starts shaking.
“Erin?”
Her face goes slack.
“ERIN!”
I shake her and try to pull her arms out, but they’re jammed in pretty good, all coiled up in the innards … And just as I start to panic, Erin starts calmly reeling off some nonsense, like “geo-sink stable” and “air equal-lies” and “Anglia moment-tum in hold pattern,” all in this flat voice like she’s reading raffle numbers, bored out of her box. And then, all of a sudden, it’s over and she opens her eyes.
“It’s done. The shuttle’s re-primed. Let’s get back to Peyto.”
I ain’t sorry. This side of the ship is giving me the creeps – it’s too hemmed in, with too many hidden nooks and turns.
We head back in silence. The shaft has moved and the hull breach is now facing outward to the bare universe. And the black view is heartless, a place where prayers might get lost. Looking at the emptiness, I’m suddenly desperate for home, and I think about these space travelers, how they set out one day, never really knowing if they’d find a place to settle. Scavving ain’t no picnic, but it’s
something
at least.
When we get back to the sleeper side, Peyto’s waiting, but when I get closer I see that his eyes are all red. He looks at us, all quiet and lost, and I know he’s been crying.
I give him a hug then, cos it’s awful to see him so upset.
He chokes back his tears. “She’s dead.”
And there ain’t nothing I can say to that. Cos it has to be true.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” he yells at the
Aeolus
.
No answer.
“Maybe there’s a way she’s still alive,” says Erin gently. “Maybe she’s in stasis or something …”
“How, Erin? There’s nothing to keep her in stasis on Earth. She’s dead. She died years ago while I slept.”
“We can’t give up,” she pleads. “The others need us …” She’s on the edge of tears now, too.
Peyto takes a couple of deep breaths to get himself under control. “I knew she was dead. From the moment I woke up. I
felt
it.”
“Oh, Peyto …” Erin takes his hand. “We’ve got to keep going. We’ve
got to
. It’s not just us anymore, it’s the world down there, too; it’s everyone.”
He looks at her at last. “What do you mean?”
“The
Aeolus
said if the sleepers die, then the whole world will be in terrible danger.”
PLANS AND LIES
S eeing Peyto brings it all back to me, about my own mum. I remember the feeling when she died. You suck yourself in, bunch yourself up, but your head goes out wandering into daydreams and memories, searching for that face you know you won’t see again. And when you come back to yourself, you’re a bit older, a bit harder.
Slowly, a calm settles down on us all. I check my watch cos I’ve lost all sense of time up here, and it don’t seem possible we’ve been on the ship less than an hour. Erin hands me something then. It’s a silky cuff, see-through and frilly at the edges. The solemn way she hands it to me,
“Hey, it’s all in English,” I go. “It takes you a billion years to get here and you speak English?”
“The ship says the flinders equipped us with the language we needed for our mission on Earth. When we woke up from stasis, we couldn’t remember any Homefleet words. Your language is the only language we know now.”
I keep looking round over my shoulder cos I really don’t like that the ship ain’t talking to us no more.
“So how does the shuttle resetting work?”
Erin points at a jagged cut below the screens. It looks like someone’s taken an axe to it and there’s all this spongy, tangly gunk inside, like sheep’s guts.
“All the control centers for the shuttle are severed from the rest of the ship’s nervous system.”
“And that means what, exactly?”
She thrusts both hands into the wound. “I have to bridge the gap. Don’t be alarmed – I probably won’t make much sense for a while.”
“You ain’t making sense right now.”
But then she closes her eyes and starts shaking.
“Erin?”
Her face goes slack.
“ERIN!”
I shake her and try to pull her arms out, but they’re jammed in pretty good, all coiled up in the innards … And just as I start to panic, Erin starts calmly reeling off some nonsense, like “geo-sink stable” and “air equal-lies” and “Anglia moment-tum in hold pattern,” all in this flat voice like she’s reading raffle numbers, bored out of her box. And then, all of a sudden, it’s over and she opens her eyes.
“It’s done. The shuttle’s re-primed. Let’s get back to Peyto.”
I ain’t sorry. This side of the ship is giving me the creeps – it’s too hemmed in, with too many hidden nooks and turns.
We head back in silence. The shaft has moved and the hull breach is now facing outward to the bare universe. And the black view is heartless, a place where prayers might get lost. Looking at the emptiness, I’m suddenly desperate for home, and I think about these space travelers, how they set out one day, never really knowing if they’d find a place to settle. Scavving ain’t no picnic, but it’s
something
at least.
When we get back to the sleeper side, Peyto’s waiting, but when I get closer I see that his eyes are all red. He looks at us, all quiet and lost, and I know he’s been crying.
I give him a hug then, cos it’s awful to see him so upset.
He chokes back his tears. “She’s dead.”
And there ain’t nothing I can say to that. Cos it has to be true.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” he yells at the
Aeolus
.
No answer.
“Maybe there’s a way she’s still alive,” says Erin gently. “Maybe she’s in stasis or something …”
“How, Erin? There’s nothing to keep her in stasis on Earth. She’s dead. She died years ago while I slept.”
“We can’t give up,” she pleads. “The others need us …” She’s on the edge of tears now, too.
Peyto takes a couple of deep breaths to get himself under control. “I knew she was dead. From the moment I woke up. I
felt
it.”
“Oh, Peyto …” Erin takes his hand. “We’ve got to keep going. We’ve
got to
. It’s not just us anymore, it’s the world down there, too; it’s everyone.”
He looks at her at last. “What do you mean?”
“The
Aeolus
said if the sleepers die, then the whole world will be in terrible danger.”
PLANS AND LIES
S eeing Peyto brings it all back to me, about my own mum. I remember the feeling when she died. You suck yourself in, bunch yourself up, but your head goes out wandering into daydreams and memories, searching for that face you know you won’t see again. And when you come back to yourself, you’re a bit older, a bit harder.
Slowly, a calm settles down on us all. I check my watch cos I’ve lost all sense of time up here, and it don’t seem possible we’ve been on the ship less than an hour. Erin hands me something then. It’s a silky cuff, see-through and frilly at the edges. The solemn way she hands it to me,
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