Chapter 18: Riebeck
No. No more tears. No more hiding away. No more huddling in a ball, rocking and hyperventilating into their clasped hands so the others won't hear them. Hysterics aren't going to help anyone. Riebeck slowly unfolds their bulk from the floor and stretches their limbs, stiff with lack of use and weighed down with grief. They take a few tottering steps across the cabin and double over with a groan as a deep ache courses through their belly. Stars, how many hours has it been since they ate? It's the last thing they want to do, but they fetch a meal pack anyway and force it down as they walk up and down the length of the cabin. They don't let themself think about all that is lost. It's too raw, an empty space where home should be, like a missing limb or the gap left behind after a pulled tooth.
Instead, they let the idea that has taken root in their mind grow, feeding it tentatively. Because maybe there's a tiny sliver of hope, at least for a future that isn't short, miserable, and trapped within the claustrophobic confines of the ship. Because there are three other souls aboard the Traveler. And because Riebeck would rather step out of an airlock than give up on the memory of Timber Hearth and everyone they've ever loved.
They cross the cabin to their control panel and fumble with the signalscope transmitter. "Crew?" They're startled by how rough their voice sounds, even to them. They must look a mess, too. They certainly feel like one.
It's time to call a crew meeting.
"Crew, come in," they try again. "All hands to Traveler-1. We need to talk."
·◊◊◊·
Gabbro and Chert shuffle aboard Traveler-1 mere minutes later. It's not as if the vessel is big; Riebeck could have stood in the docking hub and yelled for them. But they want - no, they need some semblance of normalcy, and calling a meeting via signalscope is familiar enough to cling to, even if it should have been Feldspar's job.
Speaking of Feldspar, they're about to give up on the pilot when they appear in the cabin's entrance, stony-faced. They make a beeline for Riebeck's pilot seat and flop down into it without so much as a muttered greeting.
"So?" says Chert cautiously, "We're here. What do you want to tell us?"
Now that the crew is gathered here, expectantly waiting, Riebeck feels less sure of themself. They forge ahead anyway. "Well, um. Our situation has changed. Pretty drastically. And it's- we have to- I mean, at some point we'll need to decide what we're going to do next."
Feldspar is facing away from the others, sitting in the pilots' chair, feet up on the control panel. "Why?"
Riebeck blinks at the back of their head, floundering somewhat. "Um, because… for one thing, we probably ought to find somewhere habitable. For when we… well, our food stores won't last forever, and the Traveler was designed for a sixty-cycle mission. We'll have to do maintenance sometime."
"Again, I ask; why?"
Chert lets out a little explosion of a sigh. "Honestly, Feldspar. Maybe because we're relying on this ship to keep us alive?"
"And that's a problem to you?" In a single jerky motion Feldspar rises, standing awkwardly on their injured ankles, the set of their shoulders hard as they bear down on Chert. "Are you so eager to live out the rest of your life in a barrel, breathing the same recycled air? Because let me tell you - I'm not." The smaller Hearthian flinches at the venom in their tone, and in the blink of an eye Gabbro has placed themself between them, standing chest-to-chest with Feldspar.
"Stop," they say in a low voice. "You're mad. I get it. We all are. And hurting, and tired, and lost. But how about you use that hard skull of yours for something useful, instead of taking it out on the rest of us?" The air in the cabin suddenly feels stifling. But slowly, like air escaping from a punctured oxygen line, the tension seeps out of Feldspar's stance and they sink back down into the pilot seat. They still don't look happy, but then, who among the four of them is?
"None of us want to be stuck here," Riebeck acknowledges softly. "But maybe we don't have to be. The people who lived on Gloam Heart left behind a trove of knowledge, and the more I think about it, the more I'm sure they did it for a reason. Maybe we can use that knowledge to save ourselves."
"That's it?" Feldspar groans. "That's your amazing plan? Get help from the dead aliens?"
"We don't know that they're dead. Clearly, they were clever, and industrious. We've barely scratched the surface of this solar system. For all we know, they could be living on another planet."
There's a long silence as the others process this.
"So what you're proposing," says Gabbro slowly, turning the idea over in their head, "is that we try to find out where they have gone, and… what? Make contact?"
It sounds so far-fetched when said aloud like that. Riebeck wilts. "...We'll never know unless we try… right?"
Chert, who has been silently listening to the conversation unfold around them, muses, "We have supplies to last us a little over two months. We have Gloam Heart, a planet where we can land and make repairs, if needed. And we have the spheres. It's not much, but it's something."
"A new mission, then," says Gabbro. "There could be worse things."
Chert nods. "A new mission. Oh, but we'll need someone to lead us."
"Someone decisive," agrees Gabbro.
"Someone determined," says Riebeck.
"Someone who is used to doing the impossible."
Three pairs of eyes turn to Feldspar.
"You've gotta be kidding me," Feldspar says, with feeling.
