Justin Stanchfield: Ghosts Come Home

The station seemed to rotate on the screen as Dev Verlain brought the shuttle in, the waiting docks a spiny forest of grappling arms and gantries. He played the throttles as he guided the battered cargo container in front of him. It was his third grab of the day, and he briefly considered making a fourth trip, but in the end the lure of going home to his tiny apartment and Letha won out. He brought the boom mic closer to his lips.

“Approach, 7748 Uniform, inbound with cargo. Request vectors.”

“Roger, Four-Eight Uniform,” a woman’s voice answered. “Computer guidance to commence in thirty seconds.”

“That’s affirm.” Reluctantly, Dev turned control over to the tower. He had been genetically tailored to fly starships, and despite nearly two decades here he still rankled each time the computers took control. He placed his hands in his lap and waited, splitting his gaze between the flight-board and the vista of steel and carbon that made up Oasis. The station was one of the oldest in service, ugly as child’s crude drawing, a thousand sharp facets and angles slipping in and out of the light as the station turned on its axis, forever locked in orbit around its red dwarf primary. It was a nexus for transport to the real colonies light-years away, a refuel point along the way to worlds with names like Seraphim, Allegro, and Novus, worlds with open skies and air scrubbed clean by rain. Worlds Dev Verlain would never see. After so many years fighting the idea, he had at last reconciled himself that the station was, for better or worse, home.

The shuttle surrendered speed and altitude, sinking toward the waiting berth. Other ships came and went, the darkness twinkling with running lights. Occasional bursts of noise crackled in his headset, pilots and computers talking back and forth, the normal flow of traffic a discordant symphony across the flight bands. Dev listened without really hearing, his attention suddenly drawn back to the screen. Ahead, hanging above the station’s jagged outward rim, rode the largest starship he had ever seen. He whistled in admiration.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” the controller answered, no doubt watching the video feed from his navigation console. “Just broke out of N-space in a couple hours ago.”

“Where’s she out of?” Dev asked.

“Portius. She’s hauling refugees.”

“Yeah?” Dev’s voice trailed off. Something about the massive vessel called to him, reached deep into his soul and woke things he had fought diligently to keep asleep. The starship grew on screen, her sleek white hull making her seem more like a creature from some mythical sea than a mere construct of carbon fiber and titanium. As his shuttle passed abeam, he fought the urge to switch his view to the rear, an almost magnetic pull centered deep in his chest as if he was being drawn backward toward the enormous ship.

Annoyed with himself, Dev fished his phone out of his breast pocket and flipped it open. The screen flashed a cheerful blue while he waited for Letha to answer. A few seconds later he was rewarded with a blurred shot of his tiny apartment before she moved into view and sat down in front of their console. She leaned closer to the camera.

“Hello, flyboy.” Even on the tiny screen her eyes, brown as melted chocolate, seemed to shine. Her smile turned down into a mock pout, raising dimples on her plump face, her dark hair drawn back into a short ponytail. “Ever coming home tonight?”

“I’m about five minutes from docking. Give me an hour to lock down and grab a shower and I’ll be on my way.”

“Cool true.” Her voice had the typical drawl of an Oasis native, the local slang as polyglot as the population. Her smile returned, then vanished as she panned the camera down past her breasts and settled on her stomach. She patted the obvious bulge with her free hand. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

The phone went blank and Dev flipped it closed. He sighed as he slipped it back into his pocket, the sight of his pretty and extremely pregnant wife almost enough to keep his mind off the gleaming white transport riding somewhere behind him.

Hair still damp, Dev made his way down from the hangar where he berthed his shuttle to the trans-rail, leaning spinward against the rotation. Deeper inside the huge complex where he and Letha rented their cramped quarters, Oasis’s spin wasn’t as noticeable, the centripetal forces generating less than Earth-standard gravity, but out here, close to the skin, any quick turn of the head could send a wave of vertigo crashing against even the most experienced station rat. He found a waiting car and shoved his way aboard, clinging to the handrail as the platform surged forward.

A thousand sounds and aromas brushed past him as they descended level by level, hot peppery oil from sidewalk cafes, ozone from overheated electronics, and the inevitable cloud of too many bodies pressed too closely together. Here and there a bit of greenery flashed by, potted citrus trees or wall gardens, but most of the station felt artificial, gunmetal walls and garish storefronts, a maze of corridors and passages constantly under construction. Dev scarcely noticed. Compared to the ship he had spent the first twelve standards aboard, Oasis was a virtual paradise.

The car entered a wide, sweeping curve, everyone leaning against the new tangent. Dev bumped the man behind him and apologized, oddly self-conscious. Normally, he would have paid little attention to his fellow riders, but today he couldn’t shake the sensation that he was being watched. He felt ill at ease, but put it off as simple exhaustion, the result of too many shifts without respite. It would be good, he decided, when the baby did come and he could spend a few weeks at home tending his family before boredom or a lack of funds sent him once more into the cargo lanes.

The trans-car slowed and Dev gripped the rail as the car lurched into the hub. He shuffled off the platform, a cold breeze washing downward from the recirc fans high overhead. Unexpectedly, a sharp pain slid through his stomach, strong enough that he drew a breath between his clenched teeth. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, letting the flow of bodies spread around him until the pain subsided. Despite the cool air, sweat beaded on his forehead.

“What the hell?” he muttered under his breath. Normally, he was a healthy as a horse, his gene-mods keeping him safe from all but the most exotic ailments. Frowning, he turned around and gasped in surprise. Across the hub, one level up, a slender woman with short blond hair stood beside the rail, staring down at him. From the stunned expression on her face she seemed as shocked to see him as he was to see her. Suddenly he felt hollow, emptied, no more substantial than a shell filled with dust. Dev took a step toward the woman and would have walked off the platform had he not ran into the waist-high rail. He shut his eyes and counted to ten, then looked back up at the platform.

The woman, if she had ever really been there, was gone.

The door sniffed his palm and slid aside. Blue light bathed him as he stepped inside the apartment, a cool cerulean glaze cast by the wall murals, a tangle of thick branches swaying somewhere in the jungles of Seraphim. It was one of Letha’s favorite backgrounds, a scene more inspired by the adventure programs she played in her off time than by any real interest in alien biota. She looked up at him from the kitchen counter and smiled.

“Hello, Luv-B.” She came around the counter, her movements exaggerated by her pregnancy, and stood up on tiptoe to kiss him. His arms slid around her, the hard bump of her belly pressing against him. Dev held the kiss longer than usual, needing the reassurance of her body against his. Finally, he relaxed and let her settle back to the soft-tiled floor.