The Griffin-class Gilgamesh did not feel like the Copernicus. It felt restless — a fleet interceptor built for speed, waiting for someone to say go. Gem liked it immediately. She had earned two promotions. Nike First Class. Still enlisted. Still Communications 27-BA. But no longer the recruit who had stared helplessly at a lifetron modulator.
The Gilgamesh
Sometimes Gem would open a maintenance panel and hear Himari in her head. Again. Fredrick Olafson learned not to ask what was wrong every time Gem became quiet. Their relationship had happened gradually — a meal became two meals, evenings became nights spent together whenever duty allowed.
One evening Fredrick showed her a message from Roy — Shaqueem Royce Miller — with supporting documentation for a forty-two-credit wager from a gravity ride on Sudana five years earlier. "THE WAGER IS VOID BECAUSE YOU SCREAMED," Gem sent. "SCREAMING WAS NOT PROHIBITED. PAY ME," Roy replied. "You two would've been terrible together," Fredrick said. "Catastrophic." "Jealous?" "Of Roy? A little." Gem kissed him. "Idiot."
Five-Moon
The Gilgamesh received the Five-Moon assignment nine days later. It was not supposed to be dangerous. Five-Moon was the largest moon orbiting the fifth planet of a system near Gliese 876, large enough to hold a poisonous atmosphere and sustain a complex ecology. Gem loved it before she touched the ground. Purple-black growths clung to stone. Thin stalks twisted from fissures. Every few minutes something small and many-legged moved between rocks and disappeared. Life. Real alien life.
The assignment came from SIAGE. A research probe had crashed, transmitting an automatic biological hazard warning before impact. Find the probe. Do not open it. Do not collect samples. Establish a perimeter. Wait for SIAGE recovery specialists. Proceed carefully.
The Pit
Gem's boot came down on something soft. HISSSSSSS! The SW-17A screamed. EXTERNAL SUIT DAMAGE. The blue organism had collapsed. A blister near its center had ruptured. Liquid covered her leg. The outer surface of the suit was bubbling. "Acid!" Then the ground disappeared. Gem fell. Her helmet struck something. Darkness.
Her oxygen indicator changed. 00:57:13 Then 00:14:22. Then 00:09:41. The spores had entered through the acid-damaged suit and reached the life-support circulation system. Every attempt by the SW-17A to compensate circulated them faster. 00:07:00. Seven minutes. Exactly.
Home entered her thoughts. Nike. Her room. Tritonnia Zermonthu playing while Stanley complained about the volume. She imagined Stanley opening the door to a formal uniform. No. She pushed the image away. Then Fredrick. Then Roy — furious that she died owing him forty-two credits. That thought genuinely helped.
Then Himari arrived. Not the last moment. Training. A table. Components. "Lifetron modulator." "That." "Very impressive." "What does it do?" Gem smiled. "Something important."
00:01:46. "I'm scared." "I know." "Tell my parents—" "You're going to tell them yourself." 00:00:49. "Fuller?" "Here." "Jones?" "Here, Gem." "Washington?" "Right here." "Blanch?" "I'm here." Gem smiled. "Okay." 00:00:21. She wanted to say something profound. Instead she desperately wanted cold fruit juice. Then light. Not above her. Around her. No visible lamp. For the briefest instant, the overwhelming sensation that she was not alone. Something was there. Observing. Then warmth. A strange pressure behind her eyes. Then one absurd thought. Oh. The timer reached zero.
Recovery
The recovery team reached Gem fifty-two minutes later. They expected a body. Fuller dropped beside her. Then stared. Gem was breathing. "Why are you yelling?" The SW-17A was intact. No acid burns. No rupture. Oxygen indicator green. 100%. "That isn't possible." Nobody disagreed.
The Bird
Platoon Leader Ryan O'Neil visited her. "When I was nine years old, I found a bird. Little bird. Broken wing. I took it home. We took it to a rehabilitation center. They treated the wing. Fed it. Eventually released it." He leaned back. "What do you think the bird thought happened? Something enormous catches it. Carries it somewhere impossible. The pain gets better. Its wing works again. Then it gets released." Gem said nothing. "Did that bird understand medicine? Buildings? Did it understand why I helped it?" Gem looked down. "No." "I didn't help because it was an important bird."
Ryan activated a stellar display. Civilizations older than ours. Not a hundred years older. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Maybe more. "What would human technology look like to someone from the year 1200?" "Magic." "So what does a civilization with another fifty thousand years look like to us?" Gem looked toward the stars. "You're saying something repaired me." "I'm saying you should not assume repairing you was difficult." Gem swallowed. "That's worse." "Why?" "Because I thought surviving was the impossible part." Ryan smiled. "Maybe it was only impossible for us."
The Gliese 876 region contained an ECKTO civilization already known to monitor Consortium activity, although no evidence proved that ECKTO-377 had anything to do with Gem's rescue. Gem settled on grateful. Then Roy called. He looked exhausted. "I heard something happened." "Technically, I died." Roy stared. "What?" "Long story." Roy rubbed his face. "Mine might be longer." Gem noticed something in his voice. "What happened?" And somewhere far from the Gilgamesh, the next story had already begun.
The story continues in “The Weight of Honor.”
