Day One

Almost wasn't out of my own will I'd unpicked myself from the sheets this morning, nor—in fact—got to the space-port at all. I'd been out drinking arga with the Orlos girls all Tuesday, spent Wednesday recovering by meditating under the falls of their lush planet, and in the night received a message from my old man to make it to God-damn Montressor spaceport by Friday morning. I only managed to ignore it for a few hours before excitement was drumming on my heart again.

I'd scarce any money left, but one of the local boys helped me get on board an old creaking transporter in return for a favour stretching some weeks back. We reached the docks eleven-thirty in the night on Thursday, and I curled up in a bed in one of their boarder-rooms, silently and secretly dreaming of being back out in open space. My topmost consciousness could not understand that I'd made it to the port at all, but really I was reeling with excitement. All over a mining-expedition? Yes: to be back high up in the Etherium winds, scrabbling about with that crew of zero-heads—and Heaven knows what it is they were after on a mining trip—, to have some destination, some final-end to meander towards, for a portion of time.

The port's air was warm, thick, lovely, yet I woke groggy and somewhat dishevelled. Only a sliver of distant orange sun gave me light to dress by. I bade a nonchalant farewell to my lodgings and trawled my body into the heart of the port, through the commotion, the deepening humidity, Father's note scrunched in my fingers. I glanced it over again—RLS Legacy. It wasn't difficult to locate; it towered above the port, sails gleaming silently.

"My God," I said, out loud. At the sight of our vessel, state of my own inner-world—all in a tumult, naturally—, or the vision of that ancient, ridiculous crew crawling about the decks, I don't know. All-in-one; it's all the same. Though I'd been gone for a long while, I remained comfortably accustomed to the nature and behaviour of father's crew: they were only family to me: an indelicate, intolerant, slightly vile and immoderately disjointed family.

I padded up the plank towards deck, where Captain Amelia—who I'd encountered briefly before—was talking to a couple of faces I didn't recognise. Arrow was beside her. Everyone else appeared exactly as I remembered them. No one acknowledged my presence except for Hedley, who glared at me. I smiled inwardly, because it was somehow good to see them again, and trudged down to the galley to call on Father and Morph.


The kitchen was dark and cold, but booming with all Father's clattering-around. Morph hurtled to me soon as I stepped in, collapsing into my cheek and dribbling down my neck.

"Aw, lass! I 'ad feeling you'd make it on time today," he said as I approached him, his strongly accented voice bouncing about the walls. I kissed him on the cheek and pulled myself up onto the side-counter, snatching a purp from the barrel beside me.

"When'd I ever let you down?" I said, and he laughed.

"We ain't gettin' into that, doll. It's good t'see yer still in one piece."

"I'd say the same." I yawned, and looked at him fully the first time, his cyborg-half gleaming under the dim yellow lamps. "You settled in quick enough."

"Aye," he said, smiling, "and you're soundin' more'n more like me." I smile, too. "Where you been these past months?"

"Places more interesting than some ship-deck! Where exactly we goin'? I asked about for the place you gave me, but everyone were sayin' it's far as Hell. And since when's you lot interested in mining? I gather it's a spoils-load, but you bein' crew'n all you're not gettin' a high lot. Why you workin' on a thing so fancy, anyway, and for Amelia?"

"Calm yerself, Sayds," he said—in that age-old, soothing tone—, as he poured a great deal of vegetables into a pan. "All in good time." I took another mouthful of purp as we heard clumping upon the staircase, and heavy footsteps drawing down towards us.

"That woman—that feline! Who does she think is working for whom?"

"It's my map, and she's got me bussin' tab—"

"I'll not tolerate another cross-word about our captain! There's no finer officer in this, or any, galaxy." I'd seen all three of them on deck just some minutes ago: Arrow; a doggish man in a weird, sphere suit; and a younger, darker boy about my age—less, most probably.

"Mr. Silver!" Arrow called, as they stepped towards Father. I was concealed almost entirely by the small alcove at the opening of the kitchen-area, and remained wholly unnoticed.

"Why, Mr. Arrow, Sir!" Father said, a great false smile wrenching itself across his mouth, "bringin' such fine-lookin' distinguished guests to brace my humble galley." I choked on purp-flesh, but no-one else seemed to comprehend the hilarity of his sarcasm; and beneath the hissing of the kitchen-vents, my sputtering apparently went unnoticed. "Had I known, I'd'a tucked in me shirt!" The dogman and darkboy look confused and uncomfortable; the darkboy glanced about the room as though searching for the source of that strange, sudden laughter.

"May I introduced Dr. Doppler, the financier of our voyage." I lost interest in their conversation then, but held my gaze upon the boy, whose own troubled eyes were fixed on my father's synthetic half. Such a dark face. His eyes were so dark. His lips were torn downwards as though in discomfort, or general distrust. His irises were deep, sad blue, and he wore the same, single earring that Father and I did in our left earlobes, only mine was silver and theirs were gold.

Excellently sarcastic compliments were exchanged, introductions and propositions made; all the while I sat chewing upon the counter, remaining—somehow—unnoticed. Morph took a liking to the newcomers, particularly that boy who had been introduced as Jim Hawkins. The tensions stirred thickly about them. And Jim allocated Father's charge—Heaven help him!

"Lastly, Mr. Silver," Arrow began, "would you be kind enough to reveal the meaning of the presence of this ghostly girl perched atop your kitchen counter?" Ghostly! I threw the gummy purp-stone at Arrow's uniform; happily, it left a trail of orange upon the breast. I launched myself off the counter, and Father grabbed me by the shirt and hauled me beside him.

"Aye, Sir! I almost fergot," he said. "This is Mercedes, me daughter. Best lookout fer parsecs." I avoided eye-contact with anyone, frowning at the floor, but was conscious of Arrow eyeing the pair of us sceptically.

"I was not ma—"

"Best be gettin' to that nest, lass!" he said, shoving me towards the galley-steps. I looked around to scowl playfully at him, and he turned to the others and chuckled. "She don't stick round much but ye'll be seein' her." They watched me, seeming somewhat dumbfounded and yet almost totally uninterested, as I proceeded up to the deck.


I was always blessed for a ship-job, being lookout for Father's crew—on and off—, for near on eight-years. Alongside Onus, who was forever in my mind a baby-brother equivalent. He tended to claw at the day-shifts, which I'd no issue with; presently, however, I assumed the post as he preferred to be on-deck during takeoff, whereas the launch in the nest is especially intoxicating to me. The whole crew was the size of my fingernails.

"All clear!" I called down, as the sky ahead emptied. Arrow continued to yell upon deck; Jim, apparently released by Father to observe the launch, wandered about facing the sky, eyes wide. All crew spurted toward the solar sails—all those old, ugly faces I knew—to loosen them, yet the main of their time up there was spent screaming and shoving at one-another. As we drifted upwards I gripped the rigging above my head and latched my legs tight round the nest. Snuff engaged artificial gravity and several groans sounded below; a couple of passengers had clearly never been on a space-ship before. The vibrations of the engine were everywhere—in the boards, in my blood, in my fingertips.

"Take her away!"