Day Thirty-Five

The Legacy became very hushed following the encounter with the black-hole. Amelia remained within her state-room most hours—frequently attended upon by Doppler—, but continued to be as sturdy and as her reputation promised; Jim and I were softer, more damaged; Papa and I were distanced though remained largely affectionate. I was now fully aware of what was brewing underneath the surface—saw it in the flashing of all the crew's eyes, in their surreptitious engagements within the galley. Yet I knew, also, that Papa loved Jim, whom I could not disclose the reality Amelia and I had discussed with. It would puncture his heart and he would not be able to fold the secret up, and everything would be lost. I suspected that Doppler was aware of the approaching upheaval, too.

I consumed an inordinate amount of food following the storm—perhaps as a result of stress—, and my side had healed considerably. I removed the bandage about three days later to observe the wound more closely, and saw every mark of intentionality. Scroop had burrowed his claw into the flesh with horrible sureness, and I winced each time I imagined the pleasure he took from it.

However, over a month of being daily in the nest had finally begun to take serious effect upon my skin. Burns from cosmic-radiation coated my arms and shoulders; I wore jackets to cover the flesh, but this only increased the pain by providing a material to cause friction.

Upon that day—the fifth following the black-hole—the sky was an odd marble colour, seemingly burnt in places, which cast an alabaster sheen over the Legacy. It was mildly windy, which cooled the stinging of my shoulders. Yet the crew was markedly agitated, and I felt a hastiness beginning to spur inside of me, too. Everybody had become weary, except Doppler, who was vastly comforting to me at that time.

After eight straight hours in the nest, I stepped carefully down to the deck. I had taken food up with me and so was not remotely starving. It was only seven o'clock; the sky was beginning to dim. I went straight downstairs to the galley.

"Hey, Sadie," Jim said, smiling, as I approached him. I put my hand on his shoulder as he finished mopping the floor.

"Hey," I said, then laughing seeing the imprints of my bare feet upon the shining, still-wet floor. "Sorry."

"Don't worry," he said. "You done for the night?"

"Yes."

"Good, me too," he said, wiping his sleeve across his forehead, then dropping the mop into the bucket. We drained the mop-bucket and took the cleaning equipment to the storage shelf in a small room off the galley, then, as it was empty, settled on one of the tables, our legs swinging.

"What happened to your arm?" Jim asked, lifting it gently with soft fingers. It looked very red against the blanched-white of my skin, and some was crusting and peeling.

"Star-burn," I said. He let go, mildly amused.

"What?"

"What what?"

"What the hell is a star-burn?"

"A burn from the stars."

"Like a sunburn," he said.

"Yeah, but from lots of faraway ones," I said, and he laughed. His eyes were shining. It never mattered that I was older, that Jim was disinterested in literature and music, in analysis, in science and philosophy, that I was disinterested in engineering, and travelled in a dreamy—not adventure-seeking—fashion. There was a loveliness in him that glowed, his blue eyes, once so dank, almost liquid.

"Jim," I said, suddenly, looking down at my feet, mildly anxious.

"Yes?"

"I heard you found the map for this trip." I looked at him. "W'you show it to me? I wanna see it."

He seemed surprised. "Of course," he said. "But why?"

"Curiosity."

"What do you know about where we're going?"

I shook my head. "Only that its cover-up is a 'mining expedition', that you found the map, and that the actuality—if not legend—proffers immense wealth."

"You've figured it out, then," he said, smiling.

"I heard whispers of Flint's name."

"Come with me," he said, pulling at my arm. "I'll show you the map."

My heart was heavy as I went along with him, but I wore my self nicely. I was amazed by how easy it was for him to enter Amelia's state-room and open her safe. I gazed around us, entranced, as though seeing the place for the first time.

"I'm happy you trust me," I said. A darkness came across his expression.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked.

"I'm just one of the crew—aren't I? I don't s'pose you're even s'posed to disclose information on the destination, let alone open the safe in front of me." He calmed and shrugged.

"You're not just one of the crew, though, are you?"

"Well," I said, gazing at the ceiling, "that's what I mean. I'm happy you trust me." He pulled the map from the safe and held it in his fingers as though it were a glass ornament.

"How's it work?" I asked, intrigued. I put my fingers on it. It was very cold. "'s it gold?"

"Dunno," he shrugged, "some guy crash-landed outside our inn, and gave it to me." He sighed and began tossing it between his hands, watching the light move across its surface. The gold reflected itself within his eyes, tinting them yellow. "Then the pirates attacked us. I told you, didn't I? Our inn burned."

He looked expectantly at me. Keep it together, I told myself. Given your previous statements he will know it was this crew if you break down here. Knowing too soon will put him in danger. I swallowed and returned his stare.

"You didn't tell me." I closed my eyes, then reached out to touch him. "I'm so sorry, Jim." He shrugged, again.

"It's no big deal."

"It is, a bit." He shrugged once more, and I felt vomit rising in my throat.

Some hours later, Jim found me in the hold, peeling skin from my arms behind the supply-crates. I had thrown up ninety minutes previously.

"Mercedes?" I swung round, because the voice was so familiar yet had never called me by my full name before, and so shocked me that I forgot just how intensely I'd prayed to remain hidden.

"Jim," I said, wiping my eyes. He treaded carefully over a crate and into the space beside me, falling with a dull thud. I turned back to face the wall. Tentative fingers landed on my shoulder, but retracted quickly upon feeling the skin.

"It looks really bad now," he said. I looked it at. It did look bad, and I was in a fair amount of pain, but it paled in comparison with my emotional discomfort. "Why is it so bad?" he asked. I sensed the night all around us, though the room was windowless.

"Pleiadian skin ain't built for high-intensity radiation." I drew circles on the wall. "Erra's a long way from Taygeta, our sun, so most of the light's reflected off the moons."

"So when light hits your skin directly from the stars, it burns? The cosmic radiation, and everything?"

"Pain in the butt," I said, frowning, looking down at my white hands. "Ain't usually so bad, t'be fair."

We sat quietly for a couple of minutes.

"Sadie, tell me about your planet," he said, and I looked into his pale eyes. I forgot about pirates and mutinies and inns burning.

"Right," I said, slowly. "Alright." I leant my head back against a crate and closed my eyes and pictured home. "It's a weird place. It's surreal. Most'f the land outta the cities is salt-flats, like white deserts. So empty and vast, and when the rains come they're all upside-down glass ceilings, burning in the pale light, so much whiteness, iridescence, mirroring. It drives your mind crazy. Easy to hallucinate, out there." I bit my lip, pulled at some of the flaking plaster on the wall. "At night the light from the four moons bounces across the plains and makes the mountains glitter. If you sit'n listen, too, there's avalanches all the time. You can hear 'em like big distant rocks rollin', sometimes even feel them in the ground, if you got no shoes. Most people go without shoes. What's the point? Everything's clean; the oceans are pure as hell. You touch them, your ripples extend to the other side of the globe."

"Impossible."

"You'd think. The old stories go the Ancient Pleiadians pushed the waters together, left the salt-deposits behind in hills. It's stagnant, but not dirty. There ain't a thing in it t'make it dirty. If you're swimmin' in it and it's miles deep, and I know so 'cause I spent half my kid-life out on the waters, you see the bottom as though it's a metre under. Terrifying as hell. I used to play in the pools nearby mainly; they were closer to the city, which was a couple miles from the shoreline. My hands used to shrivel to grapes."

He said nothing when I stopped talking. He rested his head back against the crate, as I had done. I closed my eyes.

"I wish I could see it," he said, eventually.

"Tell me about Montressor."

"Another time. Why'd you leave Erra?" I pouted, then picked at my toenails.

"My Mama died. I couldn't stay there. Everythin' reeked of her. And I always wanted to travel."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"I know," I said, laughing. "I never told you. It's alright." He smiled softly. "But I miss home. God, Jim, I miss that damned place."

"You're homesick," he said, simply. I started to cry again. I'd scarcely slept the last week, so I was wired as hell, wracked with emotion. Jim put his arm around my shoulders. He was half-right.