Call of Worlds Read online

  Kal emerged, clean and shining, though not wet. Her hair would be a little sticky until it dried gunk-free and shiny.

  Walking around the ship naked was something Kal felt tempted to do, but she didn’t. It would be forever recorded in the annals of the ship’s log, which was amusing to imagine if it happened after her time but not so much otherwise. Business as usual. Clothes as usual.

  Suited up, she made her way to the bridge, ready to check in with Rai and look at some pretty pictures of where they were going, where they had been. It all seemed so abstract now. With the rest of the crew there, everything they did was vital, life-saving, urgent. Now, at the bottom of it all, with Rai guiding the ship along, Kal alone, there was some element of…pointlessness? Kal shook herself as she had this thought, shaking off what she knew must be a side effect of the isolation and not a true reflection of how things were. She hoped.

  The stars out the great eye of the astrolab were becoming friends. Kal knew the Huntress had shot her, during her hallucination while Rai attempted to asphyxiate and download into her. Kal knew this meant the Huntress had a message for her, a message she had sent right to her heart. The problem was, Kal didn’t know what it was. It worried her. She tried to go into a trance sometimes, while she lay on the floor of the lab, to receive another message if she could. There was something vital about this journey she needed to know.

  By the sixth day, Kal began to wonder what it would be like to talk to Sif.

  Kal had veered away from asking Rai to bring back the holo of her aunt, since that first terrible day when Rai ejected the pods for their own safety. Although part of her wanted to see the holo, another part of her wanted to get through this part herself, to prove she could do it, and bring her aunt in later as a reward, when Kal could tell her how well she had done.

  But Sif.

  Sif was something else. It seemed dangerous to talk to Sif. It would probably be unwise. That was why Kal wanted to do it.

  Before she got too tempted that day, when she’d already talked herself out of it three times, after her bath and before her trip up to the astrolab, it was time for a pod call. But before Kal could call them, they called her.

  It was Sasha on the line.

  “How’s it going today?”

  Kal responded as she always did. “Good. All on track. Like yesterday. How about you?”

  “We’ve had some bumps, but all’s well now.” Before Kal could ask about the bumps, Sasha continued. “I’m in another module from the rest, right now. I’m alone. I wanted to speak to you privately.”

  An unwanted trill of anticipation zipped down Kal’s spine. “Oh?”

  “You haven’t sounded like yourself the last couple days.”

  Kal couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

  “It’s hard being on a starship alone, I’m sure. I think you’re the first person who’s ever done it, as a matter of fact.”

  “I’m not completely alone,” Kal said.

  “You mean Rai?”

  “And Sif.”

  Kal could hear Sasha thinking. She could almost see the expression on her face.

  “Kal.”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you talking to Sif?”

  Kal felt very tired all of a sudden. “No.”

  There was a beat while Sasha decided whether to believe her. Humans are so predictable, Kal thought.

  “But you’re thinking about it.”

  Kal didn’t say anything. Maybe there was something wrong with her.

  “I can understand the impulse. She’s the only other person on board. Person plus.”

  “We don’t know quite what to call Sif, do we?” Kal said, trying to be light, but her voice was heavy.

  “We don’t.” Sasha’s agreement gave Kal a warm feeling. The first warm feeling she’d had in a while, now that she thought about it.

  “I know you’re strong, Kal. I know you’re tough. Why do you think you had the job guiding us through the portal? Who do you think gets that job?”

  Kal was silent. This was the pep talk, she guessed.

  “I’m not trying to make you feel better,” Sasha said, sounding frustrated.

  Kal smiled at that. Sasha was picturing Kal’s expressions, too. And she was right.

  “I’m not in the feel-good business,” Sasha said. “You know that. You’re not right and I’m giving you a reality check.”

  “Okay,” Kal said.

  “You’re a badass and I know it and Rai knows it and now Sif and the Carys know it, too. So don’t get swayed by natural feelings of loneliness while you’re essentially alone on a ship meant to carry a hundred people. Sif’s a murderer, Kal. Don’t forget it. She could easily put you in danger if you engaged with her. We don’t know what she’s capable of, but we do know she’s dangerous to human life.”

  This was all sinking in, slowly, as if Sasha were speaking to her in a dream, with a thin layer of distortion between herself and Kal.

  Sasha kept going. “I’m here to help. Chyron and I were talking about you, how you’ve been jollying us all along, telling funny stories, making the pods feel like everything’s okay. It’s not your job, but we’ve put it on you without even thinking about it. While there you are, alone with a murderer, an AI who recently attacked you, and a starship to captain.”

  Kal didn’t think she’d ever heard Sasha speak so intensely. She was vaguely impressed. Sasha cared about something here. Kal was pretty sure it was the ship making it safely to Demeter. She must be worried Kal would fuck up and Sif would escape and take over and the ship would be out of their control. Made sense.

  “I won’t fuck up,” Kal said.

  “Kal.” Sasha’s voice changed again.

  “I’m okay. I won’t speak to Sif. Rai’s got everything under control. It’s a straight shot. Nothing to concern me until the landing. You guys need anything?”

  “Kal,” Sasha said again.

  “What? I’m here. I hear you. I won’t let Sif out or do anything crazy, okay? I think I earned at least that much trust.”

  There was a long silence. “You have.”

  “Okay, then. Don’t worry.”

  “Will you ask me for help if you need it?”

  “I have been. I will.”

  “I want you to speak to Chyron.”

  Kal blew air up straight, where her bangs would be if she had them. She realized she hadn’t braided her hair like usual. It hung loose around her shoulders, a glistening black cape. “If you think it’s necessary.”

  “I do. I’ll go get her. I’m here if you want to call, anytime. Day or night. Even if you see a funny shadow or Rai doesn’t laugh at your last joke. Call me.”

  “Will do,” Kal said. Whatever made Sasha feel better.

  “Here’s Chyron. Bye. Take care of yourself.”

  “Thanks. Bye.” Kal felt detached. It was a good feeling. So much angst she’d had over Sasha.

  She got up from her seat on the bridge, Sasha’s seat, and started walking. She needed to move to get through the next part. She liked Chyron, but an appointment was different.

  The gangway gave its characteristic thwong thwong sound as she crossed it. The atrium below was lit, as it always was now when Kal was awake. She didn’t want darkness below anymore.

  Chyron’s voice was warm and soothing as she greeted Kal. Kal smiled despite herself. Chyron was just plain nice, which Kal didn’t find was always true of the kinds of people who flocked to space travel. “How are you, Kal? You’re having an adventure over there.”

  “Jealous?” Kal said.

  Chyron laughed. “Mighty. Think of all that room. The kinds of food, the biscuits and gravy, the yogurt, the protein. My mouth waters just thinking about it.”

  “Yeah, the food is good.” Kal hadn’t had much of an appetite since they’d left, so she’d stuck mostly to water and protein drinks. That did get boring. Her stomach hadn’t noticed.

  “You can get wild on the physio and no one will laugh at you.”<
br />
  “Oh, is that what you were doing before?” Chyron’s office wasn’t too far from the physio.

  “Every chance I got. Perk of the job.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “You still use it, without Inger there to hound you?”

  “Every day,” Kal said, accompanied by a sinking feeling. She had thirty-nine more days to go, minimum.

  “You’ve got discipline. Rai chose well.”

  Kal had reached the spiral ramp which circled through the five floors of the ship. She started winding her way down so she could begin from the bottom and go all the way up while she spoke to Chyron.

  “What do you mean?” References to Rai choosing her didn’t make Kal feel good, whatever the crew on the pod thought.

  “Someone who can keep things going, keep herself together. Rai wanted the mission to succeed and all the rest of the travelers to make it. She made the best move she knew how.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t like that.”

  Indignation bubbled up in Kal’s chest. She hadn’t told any of them how she felt, even the cactus that stood in for Chyron during her venting sessions.

  “No matter how any of you say it, it’s not a privilege, Chyron. It’s not a gift or an honor or anything. More like getting chosen as a target. A victim. Like Yarick.”

  She thought Chyron was nodding. Kal liked that she didn’t immediately try to talk her out of what she’d said.

  “It’s my fate but I don’t have to feel honored by it.”

  “I see. I didn’t know.”

  “No one asked.” Kal had reached the bottom. She gave a cursory glance around the looming dark corridors branching off from the spiral and started back up again, as if something were after her. “They told me how I should feel about it.”

  “Yeah. We all did that, huh?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I feel bad about that. I’m sorry. Yarick got killed. You could have been, too.”

  “Such an honor being chosen.”

  “I get you much better now. I’ll talk to the others, too, if you want me to. Explain how it is.”

  “If you can get them to stop acting like I’m lucky it will be enough. I’m sure Inger already knows.” Inger had been attacked, too, while she worked out on the physio. Rai really hadn’t been trying to hurt people. She’d attacked Inger on the physio during the fourth and last attempt, because Kal had gotten a concussion when Rai tried it with her. The following time Rai had wanted the person to be safely suspended when she tried to infiltrate her mind.

  “Inger’s been pretty quiet ever since.”

  Kal thought that over. “What about Noor?” Noor had sounded normal every time she’d talked to her. Noor had been the first to be chosen by Rai.

  “She’s her old self.”

  “Tell Inger I…” Kal couldn’t finish, as if the words were caught in her throat.

  Chyron said, “I will.”

  Kal had begun to huff and puff as she got further up the spiral, around and around. Her eyes were focused on her steps upward, the textured rising floor of the ramp in front of her. “I don’t like it.”

  “Don’t like what?”

  “Any of it.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “Not about the flight. Rai has it under control.”

  “Are you confident you are mentally sound for the rest of the journey?” The way Chyron asked it, as if it were a formality that needed to be gotten out of the way, made it more okay.

  “I’m sure I’m a little off. I’ve been through shit. I don’t think I’m going to lose it, no.” In motion, all this was easier to talk about.

  “Good.”

  “What if I said I was? What could you do about it?”

  “The captain and I discussed the possibility of you slowing the Ocean down for us to catch up.”

  “No.” Kal almost shouted the word. It came from her gut, somewhere deep and sure. Kal was startled by her own response. What did she know that she wasn’t telling herself? It must be more dangerous than she thought, than she wanted to rationalize. Instead of being superfluous, maybe her position alone on this ship was so vital, so dangerous, that her rational mind had shut down her autonomic fight, flight, or freeze instinct for survival.

  Was it like learning to beat a truth detector? She’d learned how, by accident. Or necessity.

  “Kal?” Chyron’s voice expressed her concern, though Kal was sure she thought it was hidden by her professional veneer. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Kal stopped on the spiral. She was almost to the astrolab. She had to be convincing. “The situation is stable. It’s still dangerous. Sif in quarantine. Sif on the ship. That in itself is enough. Rai knew better than any of us, and she chose the safest option. You need to trust her. And me, if you’re so inclined.”

  “Nothing has changed?”

  Having caught her breath, Kal charged ahead. “No. Nothing has changed.” She was soon over the lip and onto the level of the astrolab. Entering this space, this bubble of starlight, Demeter and Mythos were as magnificent a view as Kal ever hoped to see. It was all hers.

  Kal stood looking at Demeter. It was close enough now to be brighter than a star, larger than a heavenly body. It looked like a place she could get to.

  Demeter was where she was going.

  “Did I pass the test?”

  Chyron didn’t try to deny it. “Yes. I want to talk to you every day for a while.”

  “Whatever floats your pod. Bye, then. I got stuff to do.”

  “Bye, Kal.”

  As she stood there, she felt a presence next to her. It didn’t surprise her. She knew it was Rai, in the holographic form of Priscilla, her aunt. Rai had asked permission before, if she could inhabit Priscilla now and then, to experience walking around like an echo could, having eyes to look out of. Kal had said yes. She couldn’t say how she knew the echo standing next to her was inhabited by Rai and not Priscilla, but she knew.

  “There’s Demeter,” Kal said. Rai never minded when she stated the obvious.

  “Yes. There’s Demeter.” Kal thought Rai mimicked her sometimes lately, trying to learn the rhythms of a more human conversation. It seemed to be easier for her to learn this from inside the holo.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “A beautiful planet,” Rai said. “The colors are intermingled in an aesthetically pleasing array.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Do you think you’ll love it more than Earth?”

  Kal turned to look at Rai. When Rai wore Priscilla’s body, she pushed her hair back differently, more away from her face, and stood with more stiffness. Rai looked back. “That’s a very human question,” Kal said.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I don’t need to love one more than the other. Love doesn’t have to be quantifiable like that.” Something struck Kal for the first time. “Will you be happy to be reunited with the Land? Do you…know each other?” Another thought struck her with greater force. “You’re not the Land, are you?”

  “No, Kal.” If it were possible for a hologram of an AI to look affronted, Rai did now. “We are separate entities.”

  Kal placed her hand on her chest in relief. “I thought so. I’m sorry if that was a wrong question.”

  “I am myself.”

  “Yes.” Kal felt she was skirting a delicate issue. “I know you, now. I didn’t know if, knowing you, I’d feel like I knew the Land, too, when I met the Land.”

  “You won’t know the Land,” Rai said.

  “I see.”

  “If I meet one person, it doesn’t mean I’ve met another person.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Kal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why haven’t you asked to see your aunt?”

  Kal looked out at the majesty spread out before them. She stood here, in a giant tube floating through the vacuum of space, light years from her people
and all the people there ever were, next to a new intelligence brought into being by their own.

  It was strange.

  “I need to get through this part myself. With you. I’ll talk to her later on in the trip.”

  “Okay, Kal.”

  Together they looked at Demeter some more.

  3

  Demeter To Ocean

  Kal was jerked out of sleep by a call from Rai. “Captain Black Bear to the bridge.” Yanking on her suit, she stumbled out of cabin, lurching from not allowing her balance to establish itself before she leapt from the bed, and flat out ran up the ramp to bridge level. Her feet made vibrating sounds on the gangway. Once on the bridge, Rai said, “We’ve had contact from Demeter.”

  Panting, Kal pulled herself together. “Are they on comm now?”

  “No. They sent a pre-buzz to let us know they’d be coming through within the next thirty minutes.”

  “Do we know exactly who we’ll be talking to?”

  “I have the Land’s manifest and holos if you’d like to review. The comm was sent from an R. Morra. Here’s his CV holo.”

  Rai projected the image in the space behind the pilot seat. The three-dimensional image of R. Morra was detailed and looked like a cross between a photorealistic image of a person and one that had been painted with watercolors, slightly transparent. His recorded avatar said, “I’m Roan Morra, chief of biohab construction, materials acquisition specialist, and secondary experimental agriculturalist.”

  Kal studied him, tried to imagine talking to him. It had been a while since she’d had to communicate with anyone outside their own ship’s travelers. Although not shy, sometimes she had to remind herself not to resent and be suspicious of outsiders. Her upbringing had been isolated until she’d gone away to school. This was not an outsider, not really. Both ships were on the same team. This person had headed-up construction of the structures they would inhabit once they were on Demeter. Before she could read further information about his history, geographical origin, and training, Rai said, “Morra on comm.”

  Kal cleared her throat, wished she’d taken the time to braid her hair last night, straightened her shoulders. He would be able to see her, too.