James Cambias - A Darkling Sea

In the seat next to her, Robert sat silently, occasionally looking at the little carved stone box in his hands. He had been nearly comatose since they’d left Hitode. During the elevator ride she had been so tired and hungry herself that she hadn’t minded, especially with six people jammed into the elevator and no privacy. But it would be a very long trip home if Robert was going to be morose the whole way.

From the flight deck she could hear radio chatter and the occasional terse remark by the pilots. Through the window she could see the white surface of Ilmatar rolling past, marked with lines and faint blotches. A screen above her seat showed the expedition ship, surrounded by a halo of drones and shuttles.

At last Alicia could stand the silence no longer. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You have been a living corpse ever since we left Hitode. Is something wrong? Traumatic stress?”

“Broadtail gave me this,” said Rob. “He got it from one of the bandits; where the bandit got it from is anyone’s guess but the surface erosion suggests it’s pretty damn old.”

“Why does that make you sad?”

“I’m not sad. I’m just—here. See for yourself.” He handed Alicia the little stone box. She opened it and looked at the object inside, nestled snugly in the little niche that had protected it—how long?

“Go ahead,” he said. “Look through it.”

She picked it up carefully by the edges and held it up to the light. It was scratched and chipped, but not yet opaque.

It was a lens.