22:07

Steam flows sideways in zero gravity. The first time she saw it, Robin couldn’t think of anything besides the fact that command hadn’t thought to tell her to expect that, that they hadn’t thought it was important enough. Perhaps it wasn’t, in the grand scheme of things. Yet as she filters her coffee into the specially-built Harlandic Innovations branded flask – an obelisk-shaped container with a narrow filter one had to precariously lure liquid into before it floats into the atmosphere – it feels important. Robin’s not a fool – she knew life amongst the stars would be unlike anything she’d ever experienced, yet somehow, it’s the small differences from the drudgery of the day-to-day that she finds most uncanny. Having to support her navigational expert, Lo, through an unexpected meteorite storm that threatened to knock the hull off the front of the craft was mundane compared to the slick stickiness of waterless shampoo. 

“Commander?” 

The voice that breaks through Robin’s comms system is tinny, another example of the imprecise, ever-failing tech aboard the USS Behemia. Funding, as Robin had it explained to her by the higher-ups in Harlandic Innovations, was filtered through to some of the ‘sexier’ space exploration programmes. By comparison, the USS Behemia’s flyby mission through the Ilioneus Cloud was hardly worth the change between Harlandic Innovations’s sofa cushions. 

“I’m here, Kerin,” Robin replies, eyebrows furrowing into a pinch in the middle of her forehead as she tries to persuade her coffee into the flask, “what’s going on? Did you find the lag in the guidance system?” 

“Yes. Sort of. Lo was right – the meteorite storm caused a shift in the magnetic field. I think there’s a hole in the terrarium layer, but I won’t be able to reach it until we dock.” 

Robin groans, fiddling with the lid of her flask to trap as much coffee inside as possible – though she can already see droplets of espresso floating tauntingly around her face. 

“That’s no good, Ker. Without the terrarium layer intact, we won’t be able to dock.”

Silence. The kind of silence that only comes when a member of Robin’s crew is debating whether going against her orders is worth the risk of her wrath. Robin’s a fair Commanding Officer – she knows when to bend to Kerin’s engineering expertise, or when she really should let Lo take them three days out of schedule to avoid a hurdle. But they’ve been travelling for a week straight, and with another week yet to come, Robin can’t risk something slipping through a hole in their defences. She’s had to learn the hard way that sometimes the smallest breaches can cause the most chaos; that’s the main reason why the USS Behemia no longer has a resident cat. Poor Archibald. 

“Captain-.” That isn’t good. The crew usually defaults to ‘commander’, or even ‘Robin’ – though the latter usually follows no small number of tequila shots taken precariously over the sink, eyes squeezed shut so no stray liquid could make its way into them.
“We won’t make it to Rayama. But I was talking to Lo, and -,” Kerin pauses, the sound of paper shuffling too-loud against Robin’s ears, “if we shift our direction slightly to the right and bypass the Lumina Colony, we can stop there for fuel, and then reach the Ender Base in less than a week. So if we dock there-.” 

“No.” 

“… Captain?” 

“No. We’re not docking at the Ender Base. I’m not bringing any more Harlandic Innovations lackies onto my ship if I can help it. No way.” 

“… Captain.” The words are a sigh this time and Robin cringes, imagining Kerin’s soft features crumpling in pity, “I get it. They’ve fucked us over. But we can’t make it to Rayama like this, and the Lumina Colony’s protective shields won’t cover our whole craft for long enough for me to fix the terrarium layer. At best I’d be able to patch it up, but if we get hit with another storm or-,” she breathes a bitter, humourless laugh, “even a bad wind, we’d be screwed. This is the only way to make it, Captain. We won’t do it without your say-so, but…” 

Robin feels the start of a headache pulsing between her ears, her hand fluttering instinctively to rub at her temples. 

“How long have you and Lo been talking about this?” she mumbles, cradling her coffee protectively against her chest as she floats towards the kitchen door. She’s suddenly exhausted, her weary bones aching for the warm embrace of her bed. At first, the thought of sleeping strapped-down was abhorrent, but she’s become fond of the secure embrace of being contained. 

“How long would be… bad?” Kerin asks softly. Robin can imagine her shuffling her feet, her cheeks blooming with a pinkish blush at being caught out. It’s a good thing Robin isn’t there to see that, she thinks, or her leadership would fold immediately. 

“Anything longer than like, an hour,” Robin sighs, though the smile is clear in her voice. 

“Then uh. An hour. Maybe… give or take a few… days?” 

“Christ,” Robin mumbles, pressing her face against the doorframe. “Fine. Take us through the Ender Base. But if goddamn Alanis Yang says a word to me-,” 

“I’ll politely look away while you swing, and I’ll testify that I didn’t see a thing. You got it, Captain York.” 

Robin snorts, pressing her head against the wall as she finally slides into her bedroom. She sinks down onto the bed, wrapping a leg-strap around her thigh to stop her from floating upwards. 

“You’re a good one, Lancaster. But don’t tell Lo I said that.” 

“You said it over public comms,” Lo interjects, their voice cutting through Kerin’s soft, conspiratorial giggle. Robin grins, strapping down her other thigh as she pulls her book from under her pillow. 

“Then you heard my orders. Take us to the Lumina Colony for fuel, and then to the Ender Base for extended docking. Can someone reach out to Leon? She can send a transmission to Alanis’ guys to let them know we’re coming.” 

“I’m here, I’m here,” comes Leon’s sleepy voice, a faint haughtiness to her tone, “if you let me go back to sleep, I promise to send a transmission to her highness Captain Yang and the rest of the Ender Base goons first thing.” 

“Good enough for me. Get some rest, guys. We’re going on an adventure.” 

Robin clicks her comms off, setting the earpiece back in its case for good measure. Leaning her head back against her bedroom wall, she stares out at the stars as they whirl past, the ship’s arms cutting through the night sky like butter. 

This is what it was all for, she thinks: the sky, and the silence, and the knowledge that anything could happen. 

*

The fuel run takes longer than expected. Soaring through this part of the galaxy is like navigating a graveyard, the seamless sky strewn with abandoned ships from past missions failed and forgotten. The USS Arcadia took over the comms system for a time, a gasping voice rough with exhaustion and thirst blasting through Robin’s earpiece, begging for mercy, for salvation, for a quick death. She clenched her jaw, shaking her head at Leon who, left to her own devices, might be foolish enough to extend a helping hand to these lost explorers. Robin can’t blame her – she would have been the same, once; but the Ilioneus Cloud mission is Captain York’s third, and she’s seen far too many corpses with burnt-out eyes, flesh dishevelled and limbs broken from the scorching freeze of deep space air. Some, she recalls, had wounds akin to those that would be found if, for example, a wild animal had been gnawing on the corpses left behind. Whether those marks were left from desperate crewmates before they, inevitably, befell a similar fate, or something else entirely – it was barely worth thinking about. Such ruminations could drive a woman mad. Robin had seen it. 

By the time the USS Behemia reaches the port in the Ender Base, Robin finds herself in a mood so foul, she knows it’s palpable to her crewmates. Lo withholds her usual chirpy “welcome to-,” message over the comms system, instead just silently steering the USS Behemia into the dock, reluctantly murmuring

“We’ve arrived at the Ender Base,” before shutting off her comms entirely. Robin swears sharply under her breath, fumbling with the clasp on her suit. It’s been a while since she’s been here, but she knows the drill: Alanis will get word that the USS Behemia has docked, and will intentionally send her most snivelling, unhelpful crew member to assist Robin and her team in alighting. Then, thoroughly frustrated and overstimulated, Robin’s crew will be given a tour of the Ender Base and served a warm dinner. Meanwhile, Robin herself will be brought to Alanis’ quarters, where she’ll be served a ‘tea’ that’s more vodka than it is leaf, and have her once-co-captain goad her about her lack of promotion and, inevitably, the inevitable failure of the mission; all while looking so heart wrenchingly beautiful, Robin will barely be able to keep the flush from her cheeks. At the very least, if she manages to survive Kerin fixing the ship without ending up in Alanis’ bed, she’ll have reached a never-before-seen milestone. The concept of rejecting her almost soothes the anxiety of seeing Alanis. Almost. 

“Uh, Captain?” 

Leon’s voice sounds even further away than usual through the comms, an uncanny sensation that makes Robin viscerally remember how large the USS Behemia is. How utterly alone they are. 

“Better be good news, Alpin, I can’t handle a fault right now.” 

“It’s not news at all. That’s the thing. We’ve been here for -,” she pauses, the sound of beeping cuts through the comms and sets Robin’s teeth on edge, “two hours. It hasn’t felt like two hours, right?” 

“What?” Robin snaps, “that’s impossible. We just-.” She twists her arm to reveal the analogue clock built into the arm of her suit, face falling as something ice-cold sears through her veins. It’s right there, in blazing red – 22:07. Two hours almost to the minute since they docked. 

“And uh. I mean this might sound obvious but-,” the hesitance in Leon’s tone is more terrifying to Robin than anything else. She’s always so sure of herself, greets problem with a bite, an unshakeable confidence that errs on irritating – but right now, Robin would give anything for even a glimpse of it.
“Alanis hasn’t sent anyone. Not to greet, not to gloat. We’ve not even had a passive-aggressive transmission about how we’re wasting our time out here. It’s almost like-,”

“Don’t.” Robin’s sharp tone is dulled only by the terror coursing through it, the word trembling on her lips. She can hear Leon’s sharp intake of breath, the rustle as her hand courses through her cropped, sandy hair.

No. Leon’s hair isn’t cropped. It’s long, to her chin, falling in tight, black curls. 

Wait. No, hold on. That’s not Leon. That’s Lo. Lo has dark hair, deep skin, big, brown eyes. She has a scar through her lip-

No she doesn’t. That’s Kerin. Kerin has a scar through her lip from when she got hit with debris trying to tinker in the engine. 

When was the last time Robin saw her crew? Heard their voices outside of the comms? 

“Leon, I need you to come to my quarters immediately. Bring Kerin and Lo, if you find them on the way. It’s urgent.”

“I…,” Leon’s voice flickers, like she’s going through a tunnel, “I can’t do that, Captain.” 

“It’s an order, Leon. You can’t refuse. Get your ass here now, or I swear-,” 

“Captain…,” Leon’s voice is soft, brimming with regret that sounds as if it’s threatening to spill over in shaky tears down her cheeks, “I can’t do that. You know I can’t.” 

“Robin.” It’s Kerin, now. Her voice, usually so comforting, makes Robin’s knees buckle with terror. Her hand finds the edge of her dresser as she tries to battle the pulse of fear coursing through every inch of her, the thrumming of her heart feeling as if it’s going to break her ribs. “Robin, it’s okay. Just go outside. You shouldn’t have come back.” 

Robin’s head spins, a gut-punch of anxiety forcing her to fold inwards, arms clutching at herself as if trying to hold her entire being together. The ship suddenly feels too small, the air dwindling before it can reach her lungs. This isn’t right. Gasping for air, Robin half-crawls out of her quarters, vision swimming with flashing images of decay – rotting food lines the countertops, the walls rusted, the floor patched with duct tape, slick with spilled oil. This isn’t right. 

She’s usually smarter than to leave the craft without a helmet, but Robin’s throat is already dry with lack of air; she’ll take her chances against the harsh atmosphere of the Ender Base. It’s better than dying here, rotting, becoming victim to – 

The door of the USS Behemia is already open, giving explanation to why the oxygen isn’t flowing properly. The large panel is dented, hanging off the hydraulic hinge on its side, as if something forced it open. Whether from the inside or the outside, Robin doesn’t stop to consider. Such ruminations could drive a woman mad. 

Gulping down the air in the Ender Base feels like swallowing glass, but it removes the tightness in her lungs, allows her chest to move again. Offhandedly, she wonders if she should go back for her crew, to warn them about the failing oxygen – but something deep in the back of her mind urges her not to. She can’t go back in there. She can’t even turn to look back at it, intuitively knowing to avoid the image of her abandoned, decrepit ship.  

“Robin! Robin, honey-,” Alanis’ voice reaches her, and Robin feels like she might collapse into hysterics. It’s the first real voice she can remember hearing in months. She thinks. It’s hard to be sure with this haze of delirium casting shadows over her eyes.
“Robin, I’m so sorry. You were hungry, and I just – it took a little longer to do it myself. To myself. I didn’t think you’d come here-.” 

Robin blinks up as Alanis meets her, crouching down to cradle her weak, trembling form. Her old co-captain is thinner, paler, her dark hair falling in limp curtains around her face. One of her arms is cut off at the elbow, a fresh bandage seeping with crimson wrapped tightly, albeit haphazardly, against her flesh. 

“I… where’s the crew? Kerin, and Leon, and Lo… where…?” Even to her own ears, Robin’s voice sounds vague, seeped in confusion. Alana sniffs, wrapping her arms around Robin’s shoulders, binding her tightly to her chest. She kisses her forehead, swallowing down soft mewls of pain as her new wound presses against Robin’s back. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Just come inside, baby. Let’s get you fed.”