Steven Harper - Dreamer

“Attention! Attention! Hull breach in sections six and seven alpha. Atmosphere at fifty-one percent.”

“Take your console, Kendi,” Ara said. “Have Harenn check you for bruises and capillary damage later-you’re going to be sore.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Peggy-Sue, open intercom to Gretchen Beyer,” Ara continued. “Gretchen, is everyone suited up down there?”

“Sejal got his on,” Gretchen replied. “That Fen guy fainted, but Jack and I got him into his suit. Did you know Fen is Silent?”

“Yes. What about Trish and Pitr?”

“I have no idea. They aren’t down here.”

Kendi swam over to the pilot’s chair. “Take us out of slipspace, Ben. We should be safe by now.”

The ship shuddered and boomed.

“Attention! Attention!” Peggy-Sue said. “Hull breach in sections six, seven, and nine alpha. Atmosphere at thirty-eight percent.”

“We’re leaking like a sieve,” Ara groused. “Harenn, can you repair all that, or are we going to be wearing these suits all the way back to Bellerophon?”

“I am still assessing the damage,” Harenn replied. “I will report the moment I know more.”

Ara shoved herself into her customary chair and belted herself in place. The suit’s thin material was slightly rough, catching the chair’s fabric and preventing her from sliding off while she did so. Then she took several deep breaths to quell her roiling stomach. Zero gee had never been Ara’s personal favorite.

“Where are we, boys?” she asked to distract herself.

“No idea,” Kendi said. “I was concentrating too hard on getting us into slipspace to program any coordinates. There’s a K-class star within easy reach, though, if Harenn wants a power source.”

“Head for it.” Then Ara remembered she hadn’t checked on Trish and Pitr. “Peggy-Sue, open intercom to Sister Trish and Brother Pitr Haddis. Are you two suited up?”

“Suited up and heading down to help Harenn,” Trish said.

“Pitr?” Ara said. No answer. “Pitr, please respond.”

Nothing. A chill slid up Ara’s spine.

“Attention! Attention! Hull breach in sections six, seven, and nine alpha. Atmosphere at thirty-one percent.”

“The intercom might be damaged,” Ben pointed out.

“Peggy-Sue,” Ara said, “where is Pitr Haddis?”

“Brother Pitr Haddis is in his quarters,” the computer replied.

“I’ll go down and check on him,” Ara said to Ben and Kendi in a carefully light voice. “He’s probably fine. You two stay here and figure out where we are.”

She unbelted herself and pushed toward the door. Pitr was fine. The intercom had just been damaged. He was not hurt, he was not dead.

So why was he still in his quarters?

“Attention! Attention!” the computer said. “Hull breach in sections six, seven, and nine alpha. Atmosphere at twenty-seven percent.”

Ara reached Pitr’s quarters and tried the door chime with a gloved finger. No response. The door, when she tried it, turned out to be locked. Abruptly, she’d had enough of being in suspense.

“Peggy-Sue,” she snapped, “captain’s override for the lock on Pitr Haddis’s quarters.”

“Voice print verified. Override accepted.” The door slid open, revealing a darkened room. Pitr, Ara remembered, always shut the lights off when he went into a Dream trance.

Ara floated in the hallway for a moment, then grasped the doorsill with both hands and hauled herself in. She immediately rebounded off something big and floppy. With a shriek, she shoved herself away from it. The motion sent her spinning, and she couldn’t see. Darkness swam past her faceplate. One of her arms connected with something solid, and she collided with a…wall? Ceiling? Whatever it was, it halted her. Her suit made a hissing noise as the fabric brushed the ceramic bulkhead. Ara finally got her bearings. She was pressed against the floor.

“Lights!” she hollered.

The room sprang into brightness. Ara turned. Pitr’s corpse, the thing she had rebounded from, drifted toward the ceiling. His arms floated outward from his body, his legs were splayed, and his face was red and bloated. Across the room, a dermospray flipped slowly end-over-end.

Pain and sorrow crushed her against the floor. Ara tried to hold back the tears. Crying in zero gravity was difficult enough-blobby tears gathered in the eyes, blurring vision until they broke free and drifted away. In a helmet, they splashed everywhere. But Pitr was dead. He had been in the Dream holding back the Unity when the ship started losing atmosphere. Trish had left the Dream in time, but Pitr’s body had probably fallen unconscious and he hadn’t made it to a suit. Now he was dead. What was she going to tell Trish?

“He died saving us,” she whispered to see how it sounded.

It sounded fake.

“Mother Ara,” Harenn’s voice said, “we have patched the breaches. We are venting no more atmosphere. Trish and I will continue to augment the repairs until it is safe to re-enter slipspace.”

“How long will that take?” Ara asked, surprised at how steady her voice was.

“Three or four days. Less if others help. After that I can fix main power and reinstate gravity.”

“Understood. Peggy-Sue, close intercom.”

Pitr’s body bumped the ceiling. Someone should secure him-it? — before the gravity came back on. It wouldn’t be right for the body to come crashing to the floor. And there would be funeral arrangements, and burial, and a Dream ceremony, and Pitr was dead, and he had died for her.

Zero gravity or no, Ara put her helmeted head in her gloved hands and cried.

SEJAL’S JOURNAL DAY 4, MONTH 11, COMMON YEAR 987

My old journal got left behind when we left Rust, so I’m starting a new one on the ship. Everyone’s pretty upset around here, so I’m staying out of the way. That means I pretty much stay in my room and mess around on the computer like I’m doing now.

The ship’s called the Post Script and it’s pretty cool, though Kendi says it’s a piece of junk even when they have gravity. Being weightless made me sick as a dog for an entire day. It feels like you’re falling, but when you look around, the walls aren’t moving and you never hit anything. A tiny push sends you spinning, but it seems like you’re holding still while the ship spins around you.

At least I didn’t throw up like Fen did. He barfed in his helmet, and it floated around his head like chunky fog. It would’ve been funny if it hadn’t been so disgusting. Gretchen-she’s big and blond and kind of pretty and she seems kind of familiar-turned on some kind of vacuum that sucked most of it away, but bits and pieces still clumped in his hair. He couldn’t take his helmet off to clean up, either. No atmosphere.

Anyway. Kendi took me to a room and set me up. He told me to stay in it until all the repairs were made. I do tricks in zero-gee and hunt through the computer database for stuff to read. We got atmosphere back a few hours after Harenn made basic repairs, though Fen still couldn’t shower. No gravity. As for me, between monkeying around with zero-gee and the computer, I haven’t gotten bored yet. I play the flute a lot, too. I can sit cross-legged in the air upside-down and play. And the room I’m in is a lot nicer than my room back ho-back on Rust.

I’m trying not to think of Rust as home. I don’t live there anymore. It’s weird. For years all I could think of was getting off Rust. But now I’m not so sure. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. Kendi says we’re going to a monastery on Bellerophon, which is in the Independence Confederation. They’ll train me how to use my Silence.

I’m Silent.

I said that aloud while I was typing it.