Starlight

STARLIGHT



They toiled under the dull, distant Sun. Overhead, green clouds drifted with the wind, the journey marking the passing of time. Each day, everyday, cold and numb as their dying Sun. The only warmth they had came from their physical exertion.

The soil was dry; thin and brittle like worn out teeth, eating up everything they put into the ground. When plants grew, they reached out feebly for the meager light; dark and gangly as decomposed fingers. The land was dead, they said, the planet was a corpse.

When night fell, wanting rest from the day’s labour, they slept fitfully. They dreamt of the Natives, those creatures roaming outside the Dome. In their sleep, they saw the Natives tearing through their shield, pillaging their fragile homes. They witness reptilian hands ripping apart their dead planet, flinging them into cold space. Nothing catches their fall; they jolt themselves awake.

The sun rose, but brought forth no warmth. Astor knew that. It was her hundred and fiftieth sunrise on Tebel. The Sun here was unlike the one on her home world. Seeing the sunrise on Tebel felt like watching a bedridden man live another day, with the same sense of grudging acceptance.

Shivering in her frayed sweater, Astor made her way to the mess hall. The builders had made no effort to please the aesthetic senses—it was a structure pieced together from spacecraft parts. Sometimes when the night wind was strong, she could hear its metal parts rattling dismally. She always entered the structure with a sense of danger.

A raggedy queue had begun. Subdued chatter filled the hall. She joined in the line.

“Astor,” the man in front of her turned, smiling warmly.

“Captain,” she returned the smile, but her cheeks felt taut and papery.

“What’s on your roster today?”

“Recycling.”

“Good, good. We’re almost out of building materials. You were a mechanic for five years, you should be a fast worker. ”

She recognized the demand, and her smile faded a bit.

They received their food and sat down at separate tables. Like everything else, the furniture was made from spacecraft parts. Sometimes she felt like she had never left the ship.

“What’s this? Rainwater?” Ryan said, tilting his spoon so that the food ran in a translucent stream.

“It’s breakfast, stupid,” Theo quipped.

It was an unspoken rule not to comment about the food. Astor glanced at her bowl, and understood why Ryan had lost his manners.

“This is not worth waking up for,” she said.

“She said it,” Ryan nodded.

“But with you being the Captain’s pet…” Theo leaned towards Astor, his hazel eyes gleaming.

“How many times must I tell you people, the Captain lives like the common man. There’s no secret stash of food anywhere, trust me. I’ve looked, plenty of times.” she said.

A boy came over to the table and sat down beside Astor. He was pale-haired, rangy, with a hint of stubble on his chin.

“Things will be better. Very soon,” he said, with genuine optimism. “If you’ve been reading the weather reports, we’re in for a heat wave. More warmth, more growth, better harvest.”

Astor mussed his hair and smiled slyly at him.

“You’re not real. An unjaded teenager cannot exist.” she said.

“I’m not real because I’m the boy of your dreams,” Finley said.

Theo and Ryan gave a collective groan. Finley put on a brotherly face and lapsed into his usual pep talk.

“Hey, you fine looking young men, go out there and find a girlfriend. Don’t you feel the heat? It’s mating season! The Captain said we need to achieve critical mass, remember?”

-----------------------

Recycling was tough business. The worst of the labours. Although everyone was on a rotating schedule; underage colonists, medically unfit citizens or pregnant women were exempt from recycling.

This was not the tree-hugging, Gaia-worshipping business back on their home world. On Tebel, recycling required the hardcore skills of a ship mechanic. Each rotating group required at least one ship mechanic to every five workers. The premise was simple: take apart a ship, sort and prepare the components for communal use. The implication was clear: don’t blow up anything.

A pioneer technology was inevitably a kludge. The mothership that carried them light years through space was not a gleaming, streamlined vehicle as envisioned by many; instead, it was a grungy vehicle of mismatched parts and a lagging system bugged by errors. But the time had come, subtle problems had turned into a crisis, and so the colonists had to settle for a kludge.

The one redeeming feature of these ships was that they were designed to be broken down, to be used as colony resources. Needless to say, the breaking apart of the fragile systems was hazardous.

Smaller ships carried lightweight biological resources that they needed to jump start their colony, and most of these had already been stripped down. The versatile material was then modified and processed by the Material Engineering team for dwellings, tools, recon robots, land vehicles, and upgrades. Building a functional weapon was a capital crime. On a lighter side, scraps were used to make decorations to cheer the place up a bit.

An unspoken consequence of recycling was this: there was no turning back. Whether it was intended or not, the colonists were uncomfortable discussing the issue.

Today, Astor supervised a motley group. The three boys were on her team, and they needed little supervision. The other two were more problematic. One was a death row prisoner with an attitude to match his tattoos, the other was a passive-aggressive, teenage ex-junkie. Somehow she always ended up with the convicts, rather than decent, honest ‘contracts’.

She marveled at the dichotomy in the colony. Half of them were convicts and problem teens, and the other half were contracts--people repaying their loans for their family members or friends through colony service. Mix the scumbags and the virtuous, toss them on an alien planet, and what do you get? A colony that was plodding along in fits and starts, but definitely progressing.

A rare few were volunteers, like her. One had to be really whacked to join an ad hoc, no-exit pioneer colony.

The bulky prisoner sat heavily in a half dismantled cockpit, and she winced. He noticed, and glared at him.

“You got a problem with fat people?”

“No. I got a problem with blown-apart people.”

He shrugged.

“It’s okay. I’m disposable. I admit it. Different from your bunch.”

“If you’re hoping I’ll quote a motivational poster, dream on. Get to work, you got two hours left until sundown.”

Astor hopped off the cockpit, the hard ground jarring her. There was barely any soft soil here, only a thin layer cracking in the parched air.

She walked across the shipyard, now morphing into a scrapyard, to check on Finley. His eyebrows knitted in concentration, and sweat soaked through his work clothes.

“I’m getting cross eyed.” he said without looking up.

“Sorry. You know the other two trashies can’t handle the small stuff.” she paused for a moment, the slid up to him. “But I’ll make it up to you.”

He put down his electronic component and smiled hesitantly.

“But you haven’t been around much in the evenings. I assume the Captain is keeping you busy with council duties.”

Her expression suddenly darkened, and she turned away.

“Hey, hey, don’t get me wrong. I completely understand. Your duties are way more important than I’ll ever be. There’s always tommorow right? And I know that you’ll make tomorrow better than today.”

He reached for her hand, almost apologetic. She pulled away.

Quietly, she said, “I’ve been away. But it’s not my duties. It’s myself.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been alone most evenings. I don’t join in the gatherings anymore. I don’t want to hear his dreams, his goals, aims, all those things I don’t get. Something’s changing. Sometimes I feel different. So I walk alone in the shipyard, along the Dome, watching the Native forests. Just to be away from the colony.”

“You’re freaking me out. What are you talking about?”

“I can’t help it. I’m doubting everything. I’m planning unthinkable things, criminal things. I’m afraid of something, but I can’t name it. I don’t like it here anymore.”

She trailed off, sounding almost childish.

“But I’m here for you. Isn’t it enough to get you through everything?” he said.

She could not bear to answer him. Anger flashed in his eyes, but he controlled himself.

“I’m not enough. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he said through clenched teeth. “I could have helped you. Now I’ll have to pretend that you didn’t just tell me all that bullshit. We’ll talk in the morning when you feel less whacked.”

“I’m not--”

“You’re not well today. Go get some rest, I’ll take over. We’ll have a nice talk in the morning, clear this up.”

He stood stiffly, glowering at her, daring her to refuse. She left without looking at him.

-----------------------

Three nights later, Astor returned to her usual routine of wandering around in the evening. She left out an important detail during the last conversation at the ship yard. Finley, being the archetype of masculine optimism, would not understand anyway.

She walked in the gathering darkness because she wanted to see her home world.

At about 6pm, if a colonist looked to the Northeast, he would see an unblinking star climbing over the horizon. Their home world, reflecting light from their blazing, young sun. No one knew this, unless they had worked it out from the star charts.

If the Captain knew, he kept it from the colonists. Nostalgia was toxic for the community.

Astor watched as the Gloaming Star ascended. It weaved in and out of jade-green clouds, an untroubled light against the deepening sky. She saw it as a beacon, guiding her heart; and sometimes she thought it was a glistening eye, watching the colony without judgment.

She walked up to the Dome perimeter, so close that she could feel the residue heat. The barrier was dangerous on both sides. Nobody talked about this either. Keep the Natives out, keep the colonists in.

In a few years time, she would be like him, making these unspoken decisions.

The wind carried a commotion from the distance. She glanced back and saw the glimmer of a bonfire. Dark figures weaved in and out of the flame. In the first few months, she had made it a point to join in the evening gatherings, later on it became a diplomatic task. Weeks ago she had fallen out of it.

A movement in her peripheral vision startled her. She turned back to the uncharted land. Something darted across the alien forest, sending shivers through the trees. The rustling grew louder.

Don’t be scared, she told herself, don’t be scared don’t be scared don’t be stupid, the Dome will protect you.

She wanted to bolt. But she forced herself to keep watch.

The creature exploded from the forest like a dark inkblot, flinging itself at the Dome. Electricity rippled, burning through reptilian scales and flesh.

Astor watched, fascinated and horrified.

Thrown back by the field energy, the Native landed on all fours, an awkward position for a biped. A crack opened across its featureless face, a glint of fangs and saliva, and its snarl rattled her bones.

She had caught a fleeting glimpse once. But seeing the creature up close, face to face, each aware of the other, was incredible. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach, her heartbeat drummed out of control, and she trembled with adrenaline.

She continued to stare, unsure of where to focus her gaze. A small, calm part of her mind intoned: simian, hulking, with black amphibious skin, no visible orifices aside from the mouth, ape-level intelligence. That paragraph in the Field Guide hardly did justice to the majestic animal.

The Native paced restlessly. Its breathing came in a low, constant thrum.

Barrier, she told herself, it’s there it’s there it’s there.

They were three feet apart, with the Dome between them. She might not get a chance like that in her lifetime.

She inched closer, her sneakers scraping along dry ground. She closed the distance one quivering step at a time. All the while, the Native breathed and waited; an idle engine.

One more step and her foot would be sizzling in the Dome. She could see the gleam of moonlight on its slick, black skin.

She spoke before thinking.

“If there’s something you want to tell me, you stupid oaf, you better say it now.”

Its mouth widened in response, stretching across half its face.

“I’m not scared of you. I’m going out there, to burn your forests down.”

“Call it my parting gift.”

-------------------------------

The days grew colder, and the risks of hypothermia loomed. The weather forecasts had betrayed them, and it wasn’t the first time. Perry, leader of the Climate/Weather Team was voted out of the team and delegated to recycling. He was the only colonist with a degree in climate studies, so the CWT was left to die out slowly.

That arrogant prick had the nerve to file a complaint to Astor. Astor gave him a cold look and ripped up his letter of complaint.

“Tell it to the rest,” she said.

“Tell it to the Captain.”

“There’s breakfast in about fifteen minutes. Morning assembly. Bring it up then. No one has used the speaker’s corner in weeks.”

His glaucomic eyes widened in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me? Have you seen the look on their faces?”

“Yes, I have. I’m hoping they’ll mob you and tear you to bits.”

Pleased with her remark, Astor turned and started towards the Mess Hall.

Perry ran after her, airing his grievances.

“This is completely unfair! I thought this was a democracy! And now you’re telling me to shut up! Where else are you going to find another climatologist? You people are so fucked!”

Astor smiled calmly at him.

“We’re on another planet, so maybe home-world vulgarities don’t apply.”

The vein on his temple throbbed visibly.

“I’m boycotting my new job!” he almost squealed.

“Go ahead. It’s just one less mouth to feed tomorrow morning.” Astor’s smile widened.

She entered the mess hall, surprised by voices that were softer than the steady wind outside. They sat hunched over their bowls, elbows forming fortresses around their rations, eyes darting like thieves’. Beneath the silence was a mounting frustration; a dam on the verge of bursting.

Hunger. It reduced people to scavengers.

She had read that somewhere, back in her warm bedroom on her home world.

The communal pot sat dismally on the counter. Empty.

Still, it was not a wasted trip. Finley sat at the usual table, scooping lumps of cereal with a shaky hand.

She noticed that his blonde hair had lost its usual gloss, and was now a dull yellow. She sat beside him, her heart aching as he ate clumsily.

“Theo smuggled a bowl into his room,” he said.

“You can have it,” she said. “I just wanted to talk.”

“What about?”

After a moment of consideration, she said carefully, “Do you still want to stay here?”

His eyes hardened. His voice was low and even.

“If you are questioning my loyalty to the colony, I can only give you one answer, no

matter what happens.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” she said, touching his bicep.

“I have to be. We all have to be. I know what I signed up for. When you’re here, you have to harden your soul, make them strong as your callused hands, then this goddamn planet will bend to your will. But if you lose a little grip, the wind will blow you over.”

“Maybe you don’t understand this,” he continued. “But this colony is my redemption. Back in prison, I was on death row. I killed my brother, I didn’t mean to, but I was so angry then. I destroyed his life, his family, I destroyed myself. But when I come here, I build up lives, homes, stitch together my soul; make up for all those things I’ve ruined.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand.” she said.

“I hope you never have to.”

He stood up awkwardly, his tall frame towering over the table. She walked with him to the communal sinks.

“What are you planning?” he asked.

“Re-assignment.”

“Good. It’ll be good for you to get off the ground for a while,” he said with a tight smile.

She stared at him. Something had changed. They had always spoken frankly to each other, none of this courteous diplomatic bullshit.

He continued rinsing his bowl, ignoring her gaze.

“Thanks. I’ll be at the office if you need me.” she said.



TBC....