Adrift
By Karen Hart
Disclaimer: The Xenosaga series is the property of Monolith Software Inc. and Namco Bandai. I write these fanfictions for love of the game(s) and make no profit off of them.
Pinpricks of light danced in the curve of Shion's water glass, mimicking the stars she could see through the Elsa diner's window. These days there were nothing but stars to be seen. Nothing had livened the view since they'd left the Dammerung . . . what, almost three years ago?
She traced her fingertip along the rim of the glass, failing to produce a tune. She'd assumed something would turn up to guide them to ancient Earth, the birthplace of humanity, but so far nothing had. No ethereal girl-child, no mysterious pendant had lit up to reveal the way. Shion was beginning to think that perhaps she had doomed them all on a fool's errand.
The Elsa was such a tiny ship, only ten people to search for something that had been lost for more than four millennia.
She took a sip of her water and grimaced. She shouldn't have filled her glass so high. The synthesizers could produce nearly anything they could imagine, air and water easiest, but they still couldn't produce something from nothing.
Their resources would eventually dwindle. No, Shion amended that, they already were. More than one person was forced to do without certain comforts. Captain Matthews had begun rationing his beer, Shelley had stopped synth-producing the expensive haircare products she preferred and Jr.'s sweet tooth had been drastically curtailed. Shion had reluctantly accepted the fact that there were more important things than curry spices and had stopped requesting them.
They'd assumed their resources would last the trip, and if not, they'd find some way to replenish them. They'd been wrong. There had been talk of installing an aeroponics system to supplement the synthesizers. Shion herself had argued against it, in favor of a more robust synth-producer.
More fool she.
At least they hadn't needed to give up 'fresh' fruit, at least not completely. But nutritional value trumped preference. Maybe one day Shion would grow to like blueberries.
The only one who seemed unaffected by their growing privation was Allen, who only shrugged and smiled and said there wasn't much more he needed these days. That scared Shion when she allowed herself to think of what he might mean by that.
She poured half the water back into the recycler. The door slid open behind her and she whirled, feeling oddly fragile and exposed in this moment. Hammer. It was only Hammer who walked in. Shion was relieved at first, then ashamed. The Elsa's navigator deserved better than to be thought of as "only." She smiled—tried to—and settled back down onto her seat. There were no others but the two of them there. He sat across from her.
Shion gulped her water faster than she'd meant while Hammer looked on. He hadn't changed much, still wearing the same headset he'd worn when they'd met, the same beat up leather jacket. Or maybe it was a different headset. It might have been a bit narrower than the original.
But she was pretty sure about the jacket.
She'd been distancing herself from the others. It was easy to fall back into old habits.
He said something. It took Shion a moment to realize he was addressing her directly and not making an offhand comment. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
"I said, I wonder what we'd be doing if we hadn't left."
Despite the water Shion's mouth went dry. "I've been thinking about that lately. It's almost all I've been thinking of."
Hammer's head tilted to one side. "That and how long the water will last?"
Shion nodded and sank a little into the booth's upholstery. She suddenly had a hard time looking at him. "I can't tell you how so—"
He held a hand up to cut her off. "Don't you dare apologize." When she opened her mouth he continued, "None of us were forced into coming along. We all volunteered for this."
This was turning into something she wasn't prepared for. At first it had been exciting. When they'd stopped the Eternal Recurrence, when the galaxy-wide Unus Mundus Network had collapsed, when they'd fled from the ruins of planet Michtam they'd been given a mission by the friends they had had to leave behind. Reaching Earth when they had no real knowledge where to look had seemed as simple in those days as taking a shuttle across the Dammerung. Shion had waxed poetic on their future, on its infinite potential. Even without KOS-MOS, chaos—Jin—she'd felt hopeful.
What a fool she'd been. They should have stayed on the supercolony. It was equipped for this sort of mission. The Elsa wasn't. She was forced to see that now. And it wasn't even her ship.
"But none of us knew what we were volunteering for! We could all die on this stupid, useless journey."
Hammer let her calm down a moment. "Voyage. We're on a ship. Could happen. But somehow I doubt it. Sure, we haven't gotten where we're going but we'll get there eventually. By the way, you still haven't answered my question. What would you be doing if you'd stayed behind?"
Shion rotated the glass between her fingertips. "You hadn't actually asked me that."
"Well, I'm asking you now."
"I guess—" she paused, giving the question a bit more consideration "—I guess I'd be helping MOMO with the UMN's redesign. Probably having to yell at Miyuki. She always relies too much on intuition. Other than that, who knows? It's something I don't think about too much."
"Wow, you're really down about all this, aren't you?"
She deflected the question. "So what would you be doing?"
Hammer's laugh was self-conscious. "I'd probably be bored out of my mind."
"The Dammerung is one of the most advanced colony vessels in existence. You expect me to believe you'd mind being surrounded by all that tech?" Everybody aboard knew about Hammer's affinity for anything mechanical.
"Well yeah, but . . . wanderlust, you know?"
That was a bit of a surprise. "You? Tony seems more likely." She was referring to the ship's pilot and would-be ladies' man.
"It's part of why I stay with this ship instead of holing up in some basement somewhere." That was more or less where he'd been before he'd joined the crew. But that was before Shion's time.
Shion fiddled with the empty glass a bit. "I never knew that."
The conversation had stalled. Small talk only lasted so long and large talk was near taboo. She gave it another try. "Somehow I don't think we're going to get through this."
Hammer leaned back. "This again? After everything we've been through?"
"But what if that was it? What if there is no more everything?" A dull panic was starting to take hold of her.
"Do you trust chaos?"
She was unprepared for the question. "I—well yes."
Hammer tapped his fingertips against the tabletop. "He doesn't send people on hopeless missions. If he said to go then we'll get wherever we're headed. Pointless quests aren't his style." It had been two years since any of them had seen their old friend but none of them spoke of him in the past tense.
The tension began to leave Shion's body. "You're right." She said it again with more conviction. "You're right. He opened this path for us. This isn't futile."
"Right." That got a wan smile out of Shion. "–Have you talked about any of this with Allen? You know he'd jump at the chance to help you through just about anything."
Shion glared. "I don't appreciate the change in subject. But no, I haven't. Allen is too—" in love with me, she didn't say. "—convenient. I can't help thinking of him that way. And it'd get his hopes up. I'm not ready for that." She was having enough trouble letting go of the fiancé she'd lost, then found, then irrevocably lost again. Even knowing how flawed Kevin had been, Shion was having a hard time letting him go. He'd been such a fixture in her life that it made establishing new relationships—romantic ones—difficult. Especially with Allen, who'd turned looking after her from a distance into an art form.
Allen had turned out to be a better man than she'd first realized. He deserved to be happy, but she wasn't certain her affections were something she was willing to give. Shion couldn't be sure her feelings were genuine.
Inwardly Shion admitted that this line of thinking was preferable to imagining all of them starving or dehydrating to death between the stars.
"Poor guy." Hammer broke through her thoughts.
"He's nice, but. . . ."
Hammer's lips pulled to one side. "Yes, 'but.' I say again: poor guy." He stood up. "Well, don't sweat the voyage, take some time to decompress, maybe have some blueberries. Things'll turn out okay." He synthesized a small packet of graham crackers and left.
Shion remained in her seat. He'd given her some good advice. If she were sensible she'd follow it.
But not about the blueberries.