Wings of Wax

“Launch is in twelve hours,” the metallic voice radiated over the comms. “All crew must be logged in, gear stowed and station ready in nine hours.” The announcements came every twelve hours regularly for the last week. She could hear that voice, droning on, in her sleep. I don’t think I will ever get that out of my head, not until I die. She had heard every one, but in twelve hours they would stop. In twelve hours, the largest starship ever conceived would be sailing through the darkness, away from the light of every star in the galaxy, and into the unknown.

The Icarus, a colony ship larger than any station she had ever seen, was a marvel of engineering. The only question is will it hold together for even the beginning of the journey? Will that behemoth make it out of this junkyard of a dock? Questions she had asked herself many times in the three cycles she and her brother had been a part of this. It wasn’t exactly a corporation, the focus was science, research, discovery, even a little adventure.

Nearly thirty cycles past a small group had come together in the hopes of exploring the great unknown that is the Void. Every screen in every region brought news that someone wanted to know what secrets that vast darkness held, and they would stop for nothing. I still think these people are insane, but their focus and dedication is viral. She was not fully on board, she was going but not convinced, but her brother, Sogor, was a devout follower of the Icarus. Wherever he went, she went, and they kept each other alive and sane.

There are so many children here, why are there so many children? It was hard to focus when there were crowds, not even crowds, just other children. Salay closed her eyes for a brief second, took a deep breath, and redoubled her efforts. It has to be in here somewhere, there is no way it isn’t. The keys winked beneath her fingers, a storm of constant flashing as they glided along, dancing from one to the next. “Sogor, it isn’t here. If it isn’t here then I won’t be able to find them, I don’t know how to keep track of someone in such a mess.” The line was silent. “Sogor... Sogor!” Why does he always do this to me? He knows this is important but he just ignores me anyways! When she caught up with him, they were going to have another talk.

Closing down the terminal, she glanced through the viewport once again. Behind the Seraph, the gigantic colony ship, was the third plant of the Aiskhuno system. From this view that megalithic structure seemed an artificial moon. And it is beautiful. Asteroid colonies could only hope, dream, to reach the size and scale of this ship over the course of their life. Will I miss the planets, stars, and everything else that I am so used to? No time for those questions, but she couldn’t look away just yet.

The planet was a deep red, specks of brown and white forming whole swirls as the storms raged across the surface. Aiskhuno 3 was a dead planet, bioforming had done little to improve the conditions, and it was rough for the miners to make a living. With all the resources it had to offer, it was only natural that there would be a shipyard in orbit. I bet they never expected there to be three, and that those three would fall short of the task being put to them. Salay chuckled, though it was strange to see three stations and a mess of gantries, supports, and structure reaching in every direction around the Seraph. Not to forget the small fleet of tugs, fuel carriers, freighters, and service vessels buzzing endlessly around and through the whole web.

At the center of it all was the Seraph. Just over a kilometer in length, the one and only starship of the Icarus corp would carry over 32,000 children into the heart of darkness. With the latest in research and orbital colony tech, this ship was the greatest feat the children had accomplished since leaving terra. If the whole thing works, actually makes it out into deep space and keeps all of us from freezing to death or drowning in radiation. At the front of the ship was a dome the size of a small moon, followed by observation decks, comm towers and antennae, magnetic couplers, and a slew of maneuvering thrusters that would act as the main drive for any other ship. Simply massive. The ionic propulsion drives were nine of the largest ever manufactured, and the largest ship before the Seraph only needed three. When they fired the light would be blinding.

The constant cacophony of falling feet, the mutter of voices and noises, and the shuffling of fabrics as clothes swept and swayed brought her back from her musings. There are so many of them, everywhere. She hoped that the number of children on the ship would not envelop her like a wet blanket. “Sogor, I’m coming to you.” The comm was silent again, “if you don’t answer me I am going to boot you until you cry Soggy.” Nothing. She growled in frustration, drawing a few worried looks from passersby. If they haven’t gotten to him already, I am going to kill him myself. Family.

Observing the streaming crowds, she waited until she could catch the children going the right way and joined in the mass. Left on gantry C9, carry it over to BC transit module, take the lift down to gantry B15, and head into B station. Of all the things to skimp on when it came to this massive undertaking, the shipyard, or yards, was probably the worst idea ever. There were so many disparate pieces floating around this planet they could probably build another Seraph, and that’s only if they could plan that accordingly.

Coming out onto B15, a more isolated transit arm, she focused on the space outside the windows, away from all the children. This is probably what it feels like to fly through space without a suit. All that darkness out there broken by little specks of colored lights, free from everything. She loved space, but she also understood the absolute horrors of decompression. Is that a crack? Oh that was terrifying. No one else even seems to be bothered. She lifted her arms, bumping into the child in front of her, and opened her interface. “Reports.” The red screen came to life in front of her, and her fingers once again danced. There, at least now it is in the system. They probably won’t even touch it until after we have left.

Just ahead where the gantry opened up into B station she caught sight of algae-green hair, moving into one of the lifts. “Sogor, why did you come to B station? I told you to meet me at the boarding gantry on A.” Lifting her head she began pushing through the crowds, “move, move, come on, make a hole.” Ignoring the disgruntled replies and colorful remarks she pushed on, arriving at the lift just as the doors closed. A brief sigh left her mouth and she maneuvered herself to be the first one into the next.

The doors slid open, and a whole new flood of children made their way out into the nexus, streaming off in all different directions. They waited. So many children. As soon as the last left she and others pushed their way in and crowded the lift to capacity, likely more than.

It felt like they weren’t standing side by side, but like all of them were laying on top of her. Did the grav shift? Are we lying down now? Her breathing quickened. No, no, this is a normal lift and we are all standing. She could smell them, a dozen different scents, body odors and perfumes, hormones and oils, from all over Free Space and beyond. The Calayen in front of her shifted, his elbow pushing briefly into her stomach before moving away. She was breathing faster now, the lights beginning to flicker and the whole world slowly turning into a spin. Her eyes slammed shut, the lids heavy, seemingly slapping her cheeks with the force of a meteor impact.

The doors to the lift opened and the throng began to move out. Her body trembled and shook as shoulders nudged her. Before the last child left she scrambled, pushing through them and out into the somewhat open space of the deck. Standing up on her toes her eyes darted left and then right, and when she finally found a corner she sprinted. A young Filln woman nearly toppled as she climbed over her to get into the somewhat open area, and the curses flowed free. She came to a stop in a corner, bending over to place her hands on her knees. Her breath came fast and raspy, all of her lungs struggling for recycled air that had never really left. Control yourself. Calm. Calm. Breathe, slow and easy. Her brothers words echoed in her mind. What was he doing in B station?

There was only one more transit gantry to go before she would meet her brother and board the Seraph. If he was where he is supposed to be. He enjoyed going out on his own, shucking her off and doing his own thing. It was going to get him hurt, they won’t care that we aren’t together, they will take any chance they can get. And they had taken many chances over the years, trying to destroy a freighter full of children innocent of her and her brothers crimes, opening fire in crowded clubs and stations, or sabotaging colony security and environmental systems in an attempt to force them out. They had lied, cheated, stolen, and murdered their way across the planets in order to catch her and her brother. They would not stop until they were dead, and all for the crime of freedom.

They will not catch us here. She had worked harder and created more false leads than ever before when they decided to join the Icarus. I will not be caught with them alone, in the depths of dark space, and no law save Icarus codes between them and us. Her determination had also taken great risks, nearly ending them many times, which would definitely please their hunters. This time would be different, they were going away from everything, out into the Void where it would not matter. Out in the Void, they could do nothing. If they are not going there with us, that is.

That droning sound once again broke her out of her thoughts, “launch is in nine hours. All crew must be logged in, gear stowed and station ready in six hours. Repeat, launch is in nine hours. All crew must be logged in, gear stowed, and station ready in six.”

When I find out who makes those announcements, I am going to remove their voice box. Looking up she was once again surrounded. A few had been staring at her, and when her eyes met they looked off. Let them look, I am only over here because of them, and their never-ending encroachment. It’s not their fault, there are just so many of them.

Turning around to face the viewport, the Seraph loomed over them like a god lifting his boot. The superstructure was duotanium, it could be nothing else. The plates of ceramite shone like ivory in the light of the stars, wearing the crimson of Aiskhuno like a shroud. The sheer size of it had required tugs to link in and burn hard twice alone since they had arrived. Sogor never seemed to appreciate the scope of what they had signed on to. My brother is a simple man, and there is no harm in it. It was magnificent, and it would serve its purpose, just as they would serve theirs. The Icarus Seraph would take them away from this place, from all the stars and the conflict they held.

The reflection of a screen caught her eyes. Another kidnapping, this one recorded. Over the last five cycles children had been disappearing. All across the systems regional securities had been holding random interrogations, scanning their suspects with odd tech, and then stunning them. It had been happening everywhere, almost like they were working together. As if that were even possible. But still, it held the faintest light of suspicion when regional securities started disappearing children. She had even witnessed it once or twice herself; a regsec team would stop someone, scan them against protest, and inevitably stun and carry them off. He was terrified, confused, and only trying to catch up and understand what was going on. The look on his face when they drew. He held up his bag to deflect the blast, but he was too slow.

The family that had been staring at her from their chairs were watching the screen, the information washing over them as they waited. What are they waiting for? Are they going with us, her and her kids? Who was to say. Most of the traffic had been diverted away from the shipyards over Aiskhuno 3, but there still seemed to be a fair amount of travelers that came through.

Salay always envied Calayens their beautiful skin. She could never figure out how to get her hair into beads or dreads, the braids were fine but Amatoren hair was much thicker than that of other children and never seemed to hold the decorations well. Her skin is so, milky. Women of Calay had flesh that defined the border between umber and chocolate, and it always seemed so smooth. Salay was pale in comparison, her hints of blue and purplish moles seeming so, bland. The woman caught her eye again, smiling this time, though meekly. She spoke softly, just loud enough to be heard, “rays guide you.” Salay responded eagerly, “waves keep you.” They exchanged a nod.

It was almost a dream, being here, now, with the ship so near to completion and launch so close at hand. This is bigger than any of us. Every child in every region recognized the name, Icarus. It had been scattered by the pulse, shunted into every screen and droned into every mind. The resistance was phenomenal, the regional governments declaring ownership, then support, then control, then denying. The whole project had been plagued with politics since the founding. None of them actually supported it, which ensured they could not control it. If even one of them got their hands on the schematics for this ship, they could use those for the stars knew what. They can’t be trusted, just like the rulers of our own people can’t be trusted. The donations were the only thing keeping this from being turned into another tactical positioning between those organizations.

Salay slipped quietly back into the crowd, back on track for the meeting before boarding the starship one last time. She kept her eyes high this time, look to the ceiling and ignore all the heads. This gantry was shaking, a low hum slowly building into a vibration. Looking down, outside the floor to ceiling window a tug was moving out, coming dangerously close to the station. Flight control better be all over that pilot. Sogor would never try anything like that, especially in a tug. Well, he would, but not in a tug, they don’t fly fast enough. The energy from the drive was shaking the gantry now, not enough to throw people or start breaking the moorings, but it was noticeable.

Her device gave a tone. It’s about time he got back to me. “Soggy, I swear...” Her words trailed off as she read the alert. No. After nearly fifteen spins command had just updated the crew roster, and there, near the end, was another member who refused a medical examination. Why? After all of this time, why now? This could not be a coincidence, or could it?

Salay’s pens had been scouring this system for every bit of data, nearly bringing them to the authorities more than once, since months before they arrived. Crew rosters, interviews, ID scans, medical records and exams, everything. How could it be that just now, hours before launch, someone just happened to ping?

No, this isn’t it, it isn’t them. At this late in the schedule, boarding a new crew member would require cutting corners, everyone is capped out on their work load. Launch is in nine hours and all crew must be logged in, gear stowed and station ready in six. She was bobbing her head in sarcasm and making a face, much to the amusement of the Filln to her left. When Salay saw her eyes, she regained her composure, somewhat.

Of course she would be next to a Filln when she was making faces. They were some of the most annoying children in the verse. Taller than even those who grew up in zero-g colonies or stations, Filln could reach two-and-a-half meters in height, sometimes three. Their hairless bodies pale and pinkish, or even yellow. Their propriety is what made them so difficult, as they insisted that not only they maintain courtesy and hierarchy, but that everyone around them join in their civility. Most of them eventually tampered down their urges, but they could still be witnessed bubbling to the surface and igniting a whole slew of upheaval with whoever was nearby.

And this one is probably judging the burn out of me, “making faces in public, really?!” Salay kept the funny faces in check, but the sarcasm with this thought was comparable.

The three-meter by three-meter passage opened up into a five-meter tall, 20-meter wide room of some considerable length. There were airlocks to either side, many of them sealed, and a number of lifts tucked into a corner on the far end. A hall continued on the left, leading to more rooms, more gantries, and more airlocks. The lighting was struggling, flickering occasionally and giving only just enough light. It was always best practice to be found in these stations when the sun was out. The walls were hard metals and dark colors, bringing the room even closer in than normal, with the occasional ventilation port, control box, or diagnostic panel, and some screens to entertain those who weren’t moving on.

Breaking off from the stream, she set down in a hard composite chair next to a Bahlian. Shaped by generations of mining and honed by the harsh environments of their world, Bahlians were tough children.

Bahli was a barren rock, overrun with electrical storms and atmospheric static, discharging frequently and violently. Freighters and transports going to and from had to coat their hull in ceramite, an old practice from the days of early exploration. Most composites would work well, but there were some that had brought on enough power to run a whole section of the Icarus, turning a hundred miners into ash and their transport into flaming debris just before a new crater emerged.

Splaying her fingers brought the interface back to life, and immediately recalling the alert. There wasn’t even a scan. How does someone get on board without a scan? There were plenty of crew without scans, and a hundred reasons why. Gremlins, bugs, glitches, data corruption, all side effects of this amazing accomplishment. Progress always had a price.

She focused on the medical end for some very valid reasons. Neither her nor Sogor had gotten a full exam, which spoke to the dedication her hunters fretted over. A thorough medical scan would compromise them, and that was not going to happen. There are ways to get along in the verse without forgetting who you are, but they will never understand that. Minutes rolled by while she checked everything her pens brought her, and she even went so far as to check the extent to which they had penetrated the systems. Maybe I missed something. No, she hadn’t. Apparently none of the newly approved crew had a full workup before their data was transferred from station. Typical.

Her mind was racing, and her feet needed to match speed. Salay closed her interface and rose, realizing now that she was light-headed. The old miner eyed her worriedly as she stabilized, moving to rejoin the masses flowing through the tunnels and rooms like water. The records could have been corrupted. Though that would be a massive oversight on the part of command, it did happen. If the scans were never made or never sent in an official capacity, that kind of breach could sink this whole operation. It was deadly to allow unscanned crew onto a vessel, those without proof that they were not contaminated or carrying plague.

Her and her brother knew of every loophole in medical standards and practice across the systems. Their preferred method of privacy was agreeing to allow blood testing for contagious pathogens, but once the results came back, their samples had to be destroyed. And Sogor watched them work every time, often for hours on end, to ensure they burned. Medtechs often fought, bucked, and screamed about being dictated in their work. Protocols this, standards that, and a whole lot of bluff and bluster, trying to get their way. Medtechs have to know everything, all the time, and it is not only impossible, but dangerous. There were a few times they had to get their point across with a barrel, but she didn’t like having to go that far.

Driving through the waves like a courser, she tried to distract herself with other thoughts. This could ruin everything. They had been so close, and so careful, and now it could all rupture and disintegrate. In joining the Icarus she had kept herself from making friends, even acquaintances. Knowing us alone is deadly, but being close is far worse. Her memories drifted to the Sprite, the first freighter they had joined since leaving home.

It was a beautiful day, when her brother returned home. He had just retired, and we finally got him back. His smile that day was the widest it had ever been, and though he was happy to be home, he was as anxious as her to start their adventure. The next day is when they traveled to the docks, bright and early, looking for a ship, a transport, anything to get out into the verse. Captain M’sin had the most ludicrous mustache she had ever seen, thick, bushy, never trimmed, and enveloping his mouth like a curtain of well, hair. Every time he spoke I had to lean close, he was so quiet. Commanding, but quiet. Their negotiations had been short, and they threw their gear on board without wasting any time. S’rin had showed them around the ship, her lithe figure cutting dreams into Sogor’s mind that would never leave.

Those were the best years, before it all came apart. Knowing they would eventually catch up, they did. We were so young, and we had no idea what they could, or would, do. So many messages begging us to come home, pleading for the sake of our people, it was our honor and duty to live planetside now that our “urges” were satisfied. These weren’t urges though. How many nights did Soggy and I avoid sleep by peering into the stars above, telling each other tales of the great adventures we would have? These aren’t urges, out hearts lay in the space between planets.

Three cycles. Her and her brother had been away from home for three whole cycles when they finally caught up. She knew it would happen, eventually, but she didn’t know what would happen when they did.

Salay normally left her brother to do his supply runs alone, she had no fear then. But this time, after hearing so many stories about the strange beliefs and superstitions of the Kyrrikins, she tagged along. With a sidelong stare Sogor told me “you’ll have to sit on the cargo, this thing ain’t made for two.” Salay replied like she normally did to her brothers antics, punching him in the arm.

The shelves of nearly every depot they went to were filled with trinkets, strange medals, and odd tech. Some even had these things hanging from the ceiling, making the cramped spaces of earthen materials seem even more like a cave rather than a structure. There were faint smells of moisture and growth, mildew or fungus or something else that was widespread in the choking moisture. The air was silent too, not just still, but eerily quiet.

The strange figurine she had held in her fingers felt like wood, but it was also smoother, like an ivory or bone. The creature was humanoid, with her, probably a female, holding out her arms in the pattern of a cross. Her faces was lifted, eyes staring into the sky, with strange tendrils sprouting from her head, rising with her eyes and almost cupping, as if holding some invisible object. She’s reaching out to the stars, to hold them. She had never seen anything like it, and her gaze spied more and more details as she focused longer and longer.

“You liiike the buried queeeeen?” The squeaking voice broke her concentration, startling her as she jumped. She heard a brief snicker escape her brother as she turned to look at the Kyrrikin male behind the counter.

“The buried queen, yes, I like.” She clicked her tongue at the end of her statement. “Sogor, scrip the man, I think we’re done here.” She found her gaze sliding back to the strange object as she left the depot, nearly tripping over the skiff. Salay had not noticed the intricate workings of clothing before, what looked to be a dress of strange design, hugging her body close, and it almost looked as if it were scaled. Were those there before?

Reaching to the small of her back, Salay’s hand quickly found its way into her satchel, taking hold of the carving. One of her most prized possessions, this little trinket. Whenever she touched it without looking, it always felt like she had worn away the statuette, especially on the curved back where her thumb would work when she felt stressed. Then she would take it out, flip it over, and see those tiny details of the scaly dress. Or was it a coverall?

Bouncing along, her and Sogor made their way back to the docks. Skiffs don’t normally bounce, and it wouldn’t be unlike Sogor to dampen the compensators just for his beloved sister. Before she could fall off the cargo the statuette was stowed away, put in her personal satchel, the one that would carry it wherever she went.

Pulling up to their ship, she hopped down from the cargo before it even came to a stop, already shouting to the rest of the crew before halting in her steps. “I’m sorry everyone, I tried to hurry him along, but you know...” Her voice died in her throat. Why is there blood on the boarding ramp? Her brother drew down for the first time in front of her, his instincts taking over and a dangerous gleam altering his eyes. There is so much blood, where did it all come from?

The crowd came to a halt, a hushed exchange catching her ears. Two Calayens were talking in low tones just ahead of her in the herd. “We are here, and we can’t change that or go back now. Why are you acting like this?”

The man looked at her aghast, “because this is the last time we will ever see the stars again. Another report of another recon vessel missing their check-in by spins. Not hours, spins! They...”

She didn’t let him finish, raising her voice just shy of yelling, “we knew that that was a chance!” Her head swiveled as her tone lessened again, “we had heard all of the reports, all of the claims that ships were missing, and you convinced me that this would be different, that we would make it.”

He stammered, “but I didn’t think this would actually work, I just figured they would build this brand new great carrier and market it out once they realized how ridiculous their plan was. I just thought...”

That was the shocking nature of this mission. Those reports are why it was so surprising that so many children had volunteered for the Icarus. Everyone knew them, everyone heard them. Each time a new skin came up in the screens about another missing vessel, it still made the verse chatter. And they didn’t even know about the reports that didn’t make the screens.

She had seen one, once. On a run through an asteroid belt, delivering “recreational necessities” to a remote research and analysis station, Skippy had stumbled onto a secure feed. After that run the whole crew was well aware that the feed was meant for the dark post we had just made an off-the-books shipment to, but no one said it.

Skippy was a fun guy. He didn’t just slice his way through the nets because he was driven by some deep urge to check the corps or the waning governments. He didn’t know “everything” so he could lord it over everyone around him. He sliced into anything and everything just to see if he could, and it was fun for him. That drive had gotten him more than one bloody nose when he went snooping through Salay’s notes, and he understood the gravity of their situation, once he began putting together their history.

Sogor had talked her into that one, had talked her into sailing with that crew. Planetary security were the only ones allowed to go off world back home. They kept the travelers and freight-haulers in line, making sure no one stayed too long or stuffed their chins into business not theirs, even working with other plan-sec or cor-sec on regional issues. All those notes I got from Soggy, all those scans of different places and strange peoples. It wasn’t just their talks that drove her into space, it was seeing the verse through the eyes of her brother, off on grand campaigns and telling her every detail along the way.

He hadn’t shared everything of course, not until years later. What he had to do, what he had to see. They should have known then what they were capable of, but they hoped beyond anything rational that it wouldn’t happen to them, that they would escape it somehow.

The crew gathered around Skippy’s console, covered in snack dust and prapple shavings, with empty cups lying here and there. On the primary screen he we was working magic, there was no other way to describe it. The ship had wandered through a beamed signal feed on the way to the dark station, and Skippy, always looking for government signals and hidden corporate nets, recorded every second.

The feed was heavily encrypted, the algorithms turning over a hundred times in a second, but Skippy was not letting this go. Everything he had, he threw at that wall, and slowly it came crumbling apart. Somehow he caught the tracing undercode too, dismantling it, but lost the destination in the process. At least they didn’t know where we were when we saw what no one was supposed to see.

Static. Blues, greens, whites, scattered reds, all crossing the screen in strange lines and fracturing up at the pixels. The steady sound ringing in our ears as Skippy’s fingers shot like needles, millimeters at a time, his hands rotating around the control sphere glowing above his lap. Oh gross. “At least change your coveralls before inviting the rest of us into your sanctum!” As I looked away from the snack smears on his legs, the chuckles from the rest of the crew and my groans were both cut short.

Was that a scream? The sound that came through the static was more of a howl, a guttural noise choking its way through a curdled throat.

The static broke as Skippy gave a sigh, his fingers still twitching from the exertion. “Ikey, jus’ wait a secon’, aye goin’ to clean id.” The Rhoan accent always gave Salay trouble, Outliers really lost the gift when it came to their speech.

The screen went black as the feed began again. Someone was scanning from their personal interface, probably mounted on a visor, and they were staring at an airlock. The doors were not yet open, the vapors spilling from the sides and through the catwalk below, barren and worn. The walls around the door were equally worn, atmospheric runoff staining the metals, but there were no exposed panels of boxes. Wherever this was, it was an old military installation, maybe from before the wars, when governments still held firm most of the verse.

The view was bobbing a bit, turning only slightly here and there. Movement immediately drew our eyes, a weapon came up, and the head turned to take in two more grunts, armored in black with no ID anywhere on their uniforms. This was a black station, like the one we’re going to. As the soldiers closed in, the cycling ended and the airlock door opened. One of the others went first, stepping into the airlock slowly but sure of action. The one scanning went next, and their comms were muted, barely able to hear their coordination. Why are they being so quiet?

They made their way through the double doors of the airlock and into a ship. That first hallway told a story all its own, but the rest was no better. There was a grime covering everything, almost like mold, but more akin to the algae used in older atmospherics. This was dark though, a red hue painting the panels, floors, and ceiling. Even the lighting was coated, and the scene was dark, tinged red.

There was that howl, much more clear now that the static dissipated. It was chilling, that throaty moan piercing the air and sending shivers down the spine, curdling the blood. These were professionals, they didn’t stop, it looked like they almost didn’t hear it, there was no reaction. But they did hear it, they couldn’t have missed that.

“What was that?” Sogor’s voice broke the absolute quiet in the room, making half the crew jump as they all leaned in to see the distant movement in the screen. Something was moving down the corridor.

The soldiers came to an intersection, rounding a corner and nearly tripping over a body. Their mumbling picked up again and they stayed their distance, examining and reporting what they could without contact. They’re wearing internal atmos gear. “That ship is under quarantine,” Salay nearly whispered.

Her statement caught a brief shaking from Tallet, the captain, also ex-security. “No Sal, if that was quarantine conditions then it would be haz personnel not sec winding through corridors there.”

Tallet is a smart man, maybe too smart. He served plan-sec for many cycles before retiring and running a brief stint in cor-sec, doing a lot of things that gave him the contacts at this dark station where they were running. He made his livelihood off old friends and friends of friends and not quite friends. And he’s not really all that friendly.

The first soldier in line stood after completing his report, raised his rifle, and a single flash of blue light was all that appeared before the body jerked, a hole melting its way through the skull and into the bulkhead beneath. Tallet’s jaw dropped, “maybe I was wrong.”

Something wasn’t right, besides a sec grunt just fusing an innocent. She leaned over Skippy a little, her face closing in on the screen. “Skip, rewind a bit. There. Now, go in on the body, the uniform, right there. What is that?” Skippy was good at following direction, when the situation was right.

The screen filled with the body now, and as the enhancements came, the view became even more staggering. The body was pale, unnaturally pale. Spacers living on stations were pale, living out of the reach of natural UV, but this was much worse. With the lighting brought up the veins were clearly visible, their blue-green streaks like roots in the soil. Coming out of his ear was some of that reddish algae, like what was coating the walls. Skippy’s voice sounded repulsed, portraying the feeling all of us were getting, “is that blood?”

She pushed the memories back, out of her conscious stream. The rest of the feed was only worse, and the fact that they were one of who knew how many ships that actually came back from dark space only made them all the more real.

The Calayens ahead of her were muffled by the bodies around her, the drone growing louder as they made their way into the next station. They weren’t the only two, Calayens never traveled in such small numbers. Those peculiar children were always in bonds, what most called a family, of no less than four, usually six or seven. They went everywhere with their bond, living, eating, sleeping, and working together. Everyone knew that a singular Calayen was either dying or already dead.

A Calayen is easily spotted not only by their numbers, but their orange-hued skin is adorned with all manner of ornamental grafts. What most don’t know is that those grafts symbolize rank among the bond-mates. The way in which they style their hair also appears to be a matter of taste, but it identifies the bond in which a Calayen exists, primarily when they are among their own kind. The tangles of beads, braids, and occasional dreads attracts a great deal of attention, the exotic nature of their body modification still a draw for many from other systems.

The voices trailed off and the movement picked back up. Neither of them were wrong, dark space was more dangerous than anything going on out here. Unless you were being disappeared by Centrality Security forces, of course. The Void had never seen anyone who went in return, it did not release those it captured. That vast stretch of empty black held no light, no signals, and no one understood it. Come to think of it, the fact that this corp had gone from fledgling to mega in just under thirty cycles was a miracle, and spoke to the willingness of children to throw others into the breach, hoping to seal it or understand it from their sacrifice. We joined this mission for many reasons, getting away being one of them.

There was something different about this ship, and it wasn’t that it was the most massive object ever created by the offspring of terra. Yes, that counted, but that wasn’t what she saw in this quest. Five primary comm towers, eleven observation platforms, and twenty-five no, twenty-seven biohab bays would not save them from the darkness of that cold vacuum. Only they themselves could do that. These people, mixed in with all their doubts and fears, had hope. They hoped beyond reason that they could not only survive the Void, but that they could find something within that would help them understand it, and maybe understand something else about all of this outside of it. It was that hope that had infected her and Sogor, dispelling their worries and allowing them to dream of a time when they were not hunted by the hounds of their past.

The Seraph grew closer with every walkway suspended between the stations, hanging in the open black surrounded by stars and vessels. The hull was split by stretches of transatine, walkways and observation decks, allowing the crew to scurry about like Tyrolian hive beetles. Spacers from all over, with a smattering of others, would be gazing into the Void from behind those viewports. There are so many children. Spacers, pilgrims, settlers, colonials, outcasts; all come together for this journey, this grand voyage.

She turned, waiting for a gap in the traffic, staving off glares and mutters about her standing in the way. When the hole presented she took it, stepping up her normal pace to fall in line with those making their way along the crowded gantry from A station over to C. There were so many of them, children from every corner of nearby space, and like her and her brother, some from beyond that.

Free Space is well represented here. Everyone knows that spacers are far more adventurous than settlers, and especially pilgrims and colonials. The Icarus does have them too, but they make up most of the command and organization structures, given the lavish lives of education and opulence. Out here, spacers are more adventurous somewhat because they have less to lose, and infinitely more to gain. Speaking of pilgrims, a Delphian in polished boots and spotless uniform was just ahead of her in the throng.

As the crowd of crew snaked their way through the gantry, Salay found herself thinking of home. She had long ago become comfortable among those not found on Amatore, but she had been away so long. Her and Sogor rarely spoke of it, neither wanting to incite the nostalgia in the other. Now though, on the brink of setting off into the depths of the unknown, she found herself wishing she had stopped by at the least, on her way here. Her skin longed for the constant winds filled with sandy particles, the calming whispers of the breeze and the nearly intangible tingles on her face.

Finally the artery spilled all its contents out of the long corridor and into the gallery. Children started immediately filtering off into different directions, some the lifts and haulers that would take them deeper into C station, others into halls that would take them to other gantries or rooms or wherever they were headed.

“Hey Soggy, I’ve been looking for you. Why didn’t you reply?” Her brother Sogor was stocky, his muscled arms resting on the sill of the port while he gazed out at the Icarus Seraph, silver eyes glazed over in thought. He was only slightly shorter than her, and sensitive about it, and when he stood he brought himself straight up to his full height, all of 1.7 meters, right on average for an Amatoren male. Like her, his skin was rough and stony, with the faintest hint of scales, though that was just how solid and thick their blue-tinged flesh was. Salay held a bit more purple than her brother, but they both shared the family algae green hair, nearly a centimeter thick in each strand and as tough as the fibers carrying currents through the station.

She stared at him with eyebrows raised, impatience nearly turning her golden eyes coppery with frustration. His reply was nonchalant, “because I didn’t, I wanted to wander for a while.” Thoughts of home still lingered, and this time she would be the one to break their normal unspoken vow of silence.

“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” Doubt filled her question and moisture welled in her eyes. As she went to turn towards the port Sogor reached out and took her hands, his face and tone taking on a more serious tone.

“We have seen so much. The only thing left to see is the Void. If, if we can actually see it.” She met his gaze and gripped his sandy hands tight. Of course she could lean on him.

“No fear. No loss. No death.” The words of their people echoed in her heart, and she recited the mantra back, “no fear. No loss. No death.” Thoughts of home did not bring only sorrow, but strength as well.

She took back her hands and shook them out, reinvigorated she wiped the tears from her cheeks, which grew more violet with her flaring emotions, and slapped her brother in the chest just in time to kill his chiding. Salay joined her brothers former serious tone, “Time to go. We’ll be working soon.” Sogor nodded his head as a grin reached from ear to ear. He leaned down to pick up his satchel and with her in the lead, off they went.

Salay and Sogor, the only two Amatorens in the whole region, had signed on as technicians. She was truly gifted when it came to designing, building, or maintaining a starship and all of its varied systems, but he found his love in piloting. The whole crew of pilots came from experienced freighter and starliner crews, of course, and his vast knowledge was more a burden than an asset, and a secret to be kept for the sake of their people. So he just went along with his sister, taking her lead and studying hard to fill in his disparate gaps in skills and knowledge. Her expertise would cover his lacking, and command was happy to not only give them the same primary, but also assign them the same station and quarters near to one another. Colony ships more often than not had families for crew, and made sure to accommodate them.

It took nearly four hours of winding their way through lifts, transit cars, and gantries, dodging countless thousands of children scurrying to make their way, but they finally reached the boarding gantry. At this distance the Icarus loomed out to either side as if there were no ends. Here most of the traffic was moving into the ship, luckily for them, those going upstream would have a hard time and be pressed to make it at all.

The sun, Aiskhuno, shone brightly and at just the right angle to nearly blind Salay, her brother, and anyone looking up or to the right. The panels of ceramite, newly printed and probably just attached this week, shone brilliantly in silver-white, reflecting the sun like a mirror. As the stream began to slow and bunch up near the airlock, she took the scope of the Seraph in one last time. Seraph was more technically the designation, that was the class, but everyone called it the Icarus, and command had given up on that correction cycles ago.

The corridors inside were only a little larger than the gantry, and children made their way down this hall or through that door, peeling off in all directions. Some were even moving to the ceiling, four meters up, that was also fixed with gravinium plating. When she first saw traffic in the corridors on both ceiling and floor it was a little unsettling, but now it would be just another day. The interior of the Icarus, despite cycles of greasy technicians moving to and fro, remained just as pristine as those exteriors freshly applied. The rubberized catwalks were not degrading, the ceramite still shone without smudges, and the viewports were not chipped, stained, or burned.

Squeezing Sogors hand and pulling him through, they went left down the corridor, still dodging, but not nearly so many. Back inside they could look out and see the cage, the crisscrossing network of service gantries, shipyard stations, fuel depots, and a smattering of tugs and service support vessels. They were breaking away now, moving back to give the massive ship room to maneuver out into space. That would cause problems, many of those gantries had been attached for more than ten cycles, but that was a concern for emergency repair crews, her and her brother worked inside the ship.

“Launch is in six hours. All crew must be aboard and logged in, gear stowed and station ready in three.” They were making good time, better than expected. As she spotted the airlock up ahead their pace quickened and she dodged inside. With a challenging look and a playful smile Sogor wrenched his hand free, and she leaned against the bulkhead to catch her breath.

“You all right?” He knew she didn’t like crowds, she wouldn’t break down or do anything dramatic, but she did not like crowds. “Yeah, just crowd sick.” After a moment she stood, gave her brother an assuring nod, and they continued.

The corridors changed from silver-white, gray, and steel or black in color to shades of blues, greens, and oranges that appeared to stretch out to some illusory horizon. Shiftpaints were nearly commonplace in starships that stayed away from planets for long periods. Most of the children would find comfort in the colors of their homeworld sky made to seem distant, and the green was their own. Crew quarters on most ships were often decorated in interesting fashion, more comfortable than passenger accommodations, and more personal than most would share.

Squared halls with colors splashed like waves were quiet, even the distant echoes of the exterior corridors died off before reaching this deep in. All the crew would either be at their primaries or rushing to get there. Sogor and Salay twisted their way to their cabins, positioned right across the hall from one another, stowing the last of their gear and donning their uniforms. Technician primaries had full orange coveralls that could function as a vacsuit in emergencies, but only for a short time and never to be used for exterior work. Each suit also indicated a crew members secondary, and for that Salay had white stripes adorning each side, while her brothers was red. Sogor was a security secondary, he had chosen to give his military experience with his background, despite Salay insisting he include his piloting instead. Sogor was an excellent pilot.

Strapping on tools and emergency equipment they made their way back out into the maze of halls and continued working further into the heart of Icarus. The bowels of the vessel were a stark contrast to any of the exterior, nearly as messy as the guts of a Daragonian maw. Salay had never seen one of the infamous beasts, she would like to at some point, but she probably wouldn’t survive to tell about it. Sogor often told tales of his brief and harrowing encounter, but she knew those stories were more for entertaining new friends than anything actually experienced.

Several transit cars, corridors, lifts, and a few twists and turns later, they arrived home. Their station would cover many of the infrastructural necessities of the ship, energy transfer, environmentals, waste recycling, data distribution, this was one of the many nodes that acted like the creatures nerve clusters. Surrounding their monitoring station were catwalks, not rubberized like those of the outer corridors, fiber cables, pipes carrying fluids, plasmas, gases, and waste, as well as diagnostic and control panels or analog inputs. The air was acrid, filled with the dank smells of a thousand different substances and constantly clouded with layers of vapor or moisture venting from the heat exchangers. Hissing, whirring, thumping. The sounds were almost musical, but they held a language that Salay could understand, allowing her to keep at least this station from failing like an organ and killing the rest. She would know if Icarus began to sicken or die.

She didn’t realize she had stopped in the doorway to marvel until Sogor pushed past her, intentionally bumping her shoulder to throw her off balance. Before she could hit him he ran up the steps, clanging all the way, to plop down into his chair and throw his feet up on the console. As she half stomped up to join him, he was lacing his fingers through the hair on the back of his head and settling in for a long nap. “And now we wait Sal.” He sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

Sogor was more excited about the journey, seeing his primary as a way to be involved with the next great adventure of the children of terra. Salay enjoyed adventures, but being a technician on the largest starship ever constructed was the grand feat that interested her. Oh sure she wanted to be part of the exploration, the group of firsts to sail into Dark Space and make galaxy changing discoveries, but right here, in this room, was her challenge and her goal.

Salay had always been good with her hands, and her family swore she was gifted with technology. Her parents lauded her as a prodigy, wishing that she would become an engineer and invent the latest and greatest thing for her people. But Salay was also a traveler, her and her brother stricken with wanderlust from a young age. That was truly a rare element, almost no Amatoren ever wanted to leave, many feared what they might bring home.

After Sogor retired from service, Salay scooped him up and they joined the first freighter that would take them. The destination didn’t matter, and that first ship gave them many years of happy memories. The Anaxian Sprite had carried them from the Settlements to the Outliers and the Colonies to Free Space. Her and her brother had seen more stars and worlds than their childhood imaginations could have comprehended. Each trip was an adventure, each dock a celebration, and whole scrips disappeared into local dives for drink and for friendship. Sogor loved talking about the Sprite, to him no other experience could ever come close.

Sogor was also good with his hands, there was no doubt about it, but he just didn’t find the excitement in technical work like he found in the pilots couch. The cycles of training they had gone through to join the Icarus had been rough for him, bit it was also refreshing for Salay. Many things had changed in the cycles since the Sprite. He knew the work well enough to get along, and that was good enough for him, but she could climb into any maintenance tube, technician station, or vital junction and handle any problem this behemoth had to offer.

“Launch is in three hours. All crew must be logged in, gear stowed, and station ready. Repeat, launch is in three hours. Stow your gear, log in, and report station ready.” Today was the first day, there would be many more ahead, but today was the first. No one knew what was to come, no one had ever been into dark space and come back. The void did not release its prisoners. Most of the stories were old spacer-tales, meant to earn a drink or a little bit of humility and respect for those who traveled the lanes in the old days, when it was rough and deadly. But some of those reports held bits of reason, possibly even truth. 32, 538 beings were about to venture off into that darkness, held aloft by the streams of light.

Salay finally decided to mirror her brother, laying the straps from her chair across her lap and kicking her feet up onto the console. As she settled in his eyebrow raised, peaking out just long enough to crack another grin. They both laughed, and settled in to wait for the point of no return.