Chapter 15: Feldspar
"That's not our star."
Feldspar lowers the signalscope, frowning. The others stare back at them, wide-eyed and silent. Then Chert lets out a huff, breaking the spell, and plucks it from their unresisting hand.
"I assure you, it's-"
"Did we get the coordinates wrong?" Feldspar interrupts, cutting them off. "Did we wind up in the wrong solar system?"
"The coordinates were perfect," Riebeck mumbles, but no one is paying them much mind right now, their attention fixed on more pressing concerns.
"No, that can't be it!" Chert argues. "Apart from that one discrepancy, my star charts are spot on."
"That's a pretty stars-damned big discrepancy, seeing as how that's not our star." Feldspar is aware they're doing that Feldspar thing, squaring up as if they're bracing for a fight. But stars, they feel like fighting. But the only thing close enough to punch is the bulkhead, and they have enough bruises as it is.
Chert's speckles flush a deep, angry purple. Their knuckles whiten as their grip on their signalscope tightens. "Why don't you believe me?"
"Because, Chert," Feldspar snaps, "if you're correct then our sun just blew up!"
A terrible silence falls on the cabin. Then abrupt chaos as everybody starts talking at once.
"That's impossible!"
"No no no-"
"Well, do you have a better explanation?"
"Just hear them out-"
"Alright, alright! Everyone shut up for a second and let me think!" Feldspar lets out a growl and pushes away from the viewport, ignoring the sharp protests from their ankles. The others step aside, letting them hobble to the pilot seat and flop down into it, already breathless even from such a short distance.
"So what do we know for sure? We've lost contact with Timber Hearth, and we've lost direct visual on our star. Wait-" they hold up a hand to silence Chert, who visibly swallows an angry retort. "I'm not saying your charts are wrong. But we can't be sure there isn't some anomaly between it and us, causing a disturbance, throwing off our visuals. Bending the light, that kind of thing."
Gabbro scratches their cheek consideringly. "A black hole, you mean?"
"I mean, it's possible, right? We might be looking at a whole different star."
"Well..." Chert visibly swallows a retort, and drops their gaze. "Yes, I suppose we might."
"And if that's true, then whatever is out there could also be disrupting our comms." Feldspar leans back in their seat, feeling mildly pleased with themself. This is what Hornfels, Slate and Gossan trained them for. There's no crisis a good dose of sheer obstinacy can't solve. "So let's quit panicking and get this ship somewhere where we can get a better view, alright?
·◊◊◊·
It isn't long before the doubts set in.
It's these stars-damned injuries. Being confined to their cot, that's the real problem. It gives them too much time to think. About the hushed voices they'd followed to the cabin of Traveler-1. About the way their crewmates have been pretending everything is fine, when clearly it's the opposite. About what they saw through the signalscope.
"You know you're not actually invincible, right?" Hornfels says it lightly, playing it off like a joke, but even Feldspar can't miss the crease between their eyes.
"Sure I am." They grin and pull Hornfels closer, bringing their foreheads together. "I'm Feldspar."
Argh, there they go again. As if it's not bad enough that they've started second-guessing themself, their brain apparently thinks now is a great time to remind them of the one thing they really don't want to be reminded of. The thing they've probably screwed up forever, to be honest-
Gah, okay, that's enough of that. It's too bad they can't distract themself with their harmonica or skimming bits of Riebeck's treatise. Taking anything other than shallow breaths makes them feel as if their chest is being squeezed in a vise, and the way their brain keeps flitting from subject to subject makes concentrating on anything next to impossible. Even their appetite has abandoned them; their sense of smell is shot after breathing in that poisoned air, making the already uninspiring pockets of pikeberry mush taste like mud.
Resigning themself to the boredom, Feldspar lies on their back and stares up at the ceiling of their cabin. The only sound is the low hum of the engines propelling the Traveler away from Gloam Heart, to an empty stretch of space where they should be able to get a clearer glimpse of whatever is lurking in between them and their home.
Except…
They couldn't help but notice the look on Chert's face earlier, when the smaller Hearthian had refused to meet their gaze. It's such a tiny, stupid thing, but once Feldspar thinks it, they can't unthink it. And, well… as much as they hate to admit it, there is one other problem with their theory.
Chert doesn't make mistakes.
