Chapter Text
"'But the past is passed; why moralize upon it? Forget it. See, yon bright sun has forgotten it all, and the blue sea, and the blue sky; these have turned over new leaves.'
'Because they have no memory,' he dejectedly replied; 'because they are not human.'"
—Herman Melville, Benito Cereno
The Urania went roaring through space with force enough to rend any flesh and blood creature apart by the infinitesimal gaps between its quarks. Cradled from the violence of their departure within the ship’s cabin, the crew felt it hum and shudder. Minkowski shifted in her seat, trying to relieve the ache in her middle, as though she might somehow find a position that let her forgot she was healing from a bullet wound. Beside her, Eiffel shivered and sat very still. His stillness was unnerving. It wasn’t like him. He wasn’t like anything, anymore. When he caught her staring at him, he gave her the bland, polite smile he’d been plastering across his face whenever any of them looked his way. It was a smile that seemed to say, I come in peace, just please don’t hurt me .
She forced herself not to look away. She owed it to him not to turn away from him now. “So. When we get back, you said there are some people you need to see?”
He nodded, hesitant, as though unsure if he’d said something wrong. “I think so. I don’t...I don’t know. Hera let me read my file, so I know what he—what I—and I guess I’ll have to do something.”
“Eiffel.”
“Yes, Renée?”
“You know we’re all not just going to abandon each other, once we get to Earth, right?”
“Well, I—of course not. I guess? It seems like people have—lives, to get back to. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“You can stick with me for as long as you want. I want—I need you to understand that. I know you don’t know me, but—but understand that much, okay? Whatever you need, anything I can do, once we’re on Earth—and that goes for you, too, Hera. I may not be your Commander anymore once we’re back, but you’re still my team. And I’ll always be here for my team. Got it?”
“That’s...really nice of you.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just nodded.
Eiffel cleared his throat. “I guess we were all...pretty close?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we were.”
“Even though, from the tapes, it sounds like we didn’t always exactly...get along.”
“Family doesn’t always get along. But it’s still family.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t remember.”
“Eiffel, that’s...that’s not something to be sorry about. Someone did tell you what...happened, right? About why you don’t remember, what you did?”
“Something about...saving the world?” he said, with a nervous, uncomfortable little laugh that was at once familiar and alien. Just like everything about him now.
“Yeah.”
“It’s just that I—never mind.”
“No, tell me.”
“Um. It’s nothing. Not important.”
“Eiffel...”
“I feel really—bad? Like I’ve done something, or forgotten to do something, or—like something terrible’s going to—or already—like I feel all this, I don’t know, guilt, or dread, or whatever, but I can’t tell why or where it’s coming from, and that’s--but it doesn’t matter. Like I said. Not important.”
“It is, though, if it’s bothering you. Look, Eiffel, we’ve...we’ve all been through a lot. Understatement of the century, I know. And even though you don’t remember exactly what it all was, you’ve still been through it. Sometimes our bodies remember things we think we’ve forgotten. We’ve been living in an almost constant life-or-death scenario for a few weeks now—hell, even before that. That takes a toll.”
“But if I don’t even remember, what right have I got to feel any of that?”
“What kind of question is that? It’s not about who has the right to be traumatized by what we’ve all been through. I wish forgetting might at least have made this part a little easier on you, but I guess that’s just not how people work. You don’t exist in a constant state of fight-or-flight for months on end and walk out the other side of that without some...well, issues to work through. We’re all in the same boat there. We’re in this together, okay?”
“I’m sure we’ve all got quite the arsenal of debriefings and psych evals waiting for us when we get back,” said Hera.
“Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m trying to focus on the good parts about getting back, and not the absolute shitstorm we’re flying towards.”
“Are we...in trouble, or something?” said Eiffel.
“It’s safe to assume that we’re always in some kind of trouble,” said Hera. “It’s sort of our thing.”
“Oh, they haven’t even seen trouble yet. We’re bringing the trouble to them. Goddard better be ready,” said Minkowski.
“Commander...what you said about family. How literally are we willing to interpret that?” said Hera.
“Huh?”
“Well. When we get back, I’ll still, technically, belong to them.”
“ Belong to them?” said Eiffel, brows scrunched.
“Oh, god, Hera. I’m not going to let anybody—no. No, we’ll take care of that. We have time to come up with a plan. We’ll go into orbit and nobody will leave this ship until we’ve come up with something, if that’s what it takes.”
“Actually, I’ve sort of got a jumpstart on the whole plan thing?”
“Oh. You do?”
“Yes. It involves...a transfer of responsibilities.”
“You mean... buying you?”
“Um, no . Let’s go with more like assuming legal guardianship? At least until I can work out some way to get full independence.”
“So...sort of like an adoption?”
“Something like that.”
“And that would work?”
“I started looking into it around the time Captain Lovelace first showed up. I couldn’t leave with you then , not on her ship, but I was—curious. It was something we’d talked about before, you know, what we’d do, when we—if we were on Earth, and then we actually had a feasible escape plan for a second there with the Sol, and we didn’t have a lot of time to work things out in detail, but I already proposed the idea and got the process started with—but. But I can walk you through it now. If that’s all right.”
Hera’s voice sped up as she spoke, a faint electronic clipping beneath the words as though they were getting snagged.
“Oh. I...of course, Hera. Of course.”
“Wait, sorry, so—the evil space company we work for owns you? Isn’t that—fucked up, though?”
“Yes, Eiffel, it is.”
“I mean, that’s--that’s wrong. Like, really wrong!”
“ Yes , Eiffel. That’s why we started working on this plan.”
“Oh. Well...good. It seems like you’ve really thought of everything, Renée.”
“This is...the first I’m hearing about this.”
“Huh?”
“When I say ‘ we ,’ Eiffel, I mean us . We talked about this plan. We’ve had this conversation before, about a hundred times.”
“Oh. Um...okay? That’s...good?”
Hera laughed. The sound came through in a sharp burst of static. Eiffel winced. “Yeah, it was.”
“Right. Sorry that I guess I’ve sort of...set you back a little, then.”
“That’s not what I—that's not what I meant.”
“Oh, okay, well—sorry, maybe there’s--maybe there’s something I’m just misunderstanding.”
Hera paused for a beat, and then said, “There’s nothing to understand. Don’t worry about it.”
“Hera, I know this isn’t easy, but he’s--”
“Trying, Commander? I know. Of course I know that, because it’s--him.”
“I’m sorry,” said Eiffel. “I didn’t mean to...I don’t know. Upset you.”
“Upset me? I’m not upset. Upset ?”
“Hera, you need to—”
“Calm down? Do I? Are you going to tell me to calm down , Commander?”
“Hera...”
“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re breathing right now! The ship is moving and all systems are nominal! So excuse me for thinking it was safe for me to have feelings, like the rest of the crew does, all the time.”
Minkowski glanced at Eiffel, who was wearing a very familiar expression, as though someone were tying his organs in knots. He eased out of his chair and inched towards the door. “I’ll just...give you some space,” he mumbled.
“Space? You’ll give me some space?” said Hera. “That’s one thing you’d think we have plenty of, but no, not me! I’ll still be constantly aware of where every single one of you are, because you are literally walking around inside me right now!”
“Oh, god, I’m sorry...”
“Stop apologizing, Eiffel, and go away !”
Eiffel squeaked and hurried out the door, which sealed behind him. Minkowski sat in the silence that wasn’t exactly quiet, full as it was with Hera’s thrumming energy, which practically left the air feeling electrified.
“Well. If he wasn’t already feeling totally lost and confused, he sure is now, Hera.”
Hera gave a half-strangled scream. “You think I don’t know that? Who was it who erased his mind? Who was linked up to his brain while every single one of his memories was just—just—and I could feel it happening, it was like—it was like that stupid, horrible movie he used to always make jokes about, the Space Odyssey , except this time he was the computer, and I was the person— deleting him, and I could feel him going, and I could feel him feeling himself going, and I don’t get to forget that!”
“Hera...”
Hera made a sound that was an awful like a wrenching sob, and Minkowski felt her heart breaking a little more. She hadn’t known there was anything left to break, but there it was.
“And you—you just sit there, saying all these, these kind, heartfelt things, about how we’re a family, and we’re all going to be together forever and live happily ever after on Earth, and you’re--you’re a liar!”
“Hey! Hera, for as long as we’re on this ship, I’m still your commanding officer, and I—”
“Why did he get to say goodbye to you ?” Hera said, her voice distorted. “And Lovelace? And you—you sent him away, you sent him away all alone, on the Sol, as if that was your call to make, and didn’t even—didn't even think to let anybody say goodbye! And then he was back, and it didn’t matter anyway, because we still didn’t. And now we never will.”
“Hera, you know why I thought that was the right thing to do, at the time. I’m not going to say that it really was—I admit that it was probably a mistake. But to act like I intended to purposefully harm you or Eiffel, that is—just plain wrong, and you know it.”
“It’s like you’re not listening! You don’t understand anything, just—just leave me alone!”
“Fine. When you’re ready to talk and behave like a mature, responsible member of this crew, you just let me know, Hera! Take your time!”
Hera gave a frustrated groan, and then all the comms in the room shut down at once, leaving Minkowski’s ears ringing as the sudden, fuzzy silence pressed down on her. She groaned and put her head in her hands. She waited, but no tears came.
Eiffel wandered through the ship with no destination in mind. Although he couldn’t remember a day of basic training, the sort he assumed he must have gone through before being sent into space, he found himself undisturbed by the lack of gravity. He was by no means graceful, but he thought that could be put down to natural clumsiness more so than disorientation. His body reacted before his mind; hands instinctively reaching out to nudge himself away from the walls, to grab onto handholds and doorways to anchor himself. He thought of what Renée had said, that the body remembers. Was that supposed to be comforting?
It made him feel less like a living person and more like a haunted house. His body was rickety and run-down, weak and achy and marked with signs of injury and ill-health. Wounds he couldn’t remember receiving but which his body kept score of. Who was inside him, remembering all of that? When they looked at him, they saw somebody else, some ghost trapped inside of him.
Eiffel shivered. There was something sterile about the ship’s recycled air, something which brought to mind hospital rooms. He couldn’t remember ever having been in a hospital room, but he had the concept of one, and somewhere in his mind there was apparently a whole heap of associations which hadn’t vanished just because he couldn’t remember where they’d come from. The chill went right through his jumpsuit, even though whatever material it was made of seemed like it should have kept him well-insulated. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, but it didn’t help. He was always cold. His body was thin, almost frail-looking. Sometimes he got pins and needles in his fingers and toes, a horrible creeping numbness, as though he were turning invisible. Had he always felt like that? Did everyone?
The acoustics of the ship had an odd muffling effect, and so he didn’t hear Jacobi and Lovelace until he floated into the engine room on the lower deck and found them doing...something. Something involving tools, and big, complicated machines.
He could still operate most of the comms equipment, as long as he didn’t get too into his head, and let his hands do the thinking for him. Muscle memory had directed him into the comms room almost at once. So he had to assume that his lack of understanding of how most of the rest of the ship worked wasn’t a result of memory loss. He had to wonder how he hadn’t known, hadn’t at least suspected, that there was some shady ulterior motive for sending him into space. Surely there had to plenty of highly qualified people who knew how to work a radio? But maybe he just hadn’t cared. Maybe it just hadn’t felt like much of a choice. Maybe he had suspected, but winding up an unwilling guinea pig for some deadly viral experimentation had felt like exactly what he deserved. It was no use wondering. The answer, if he’d ever known it, was gone.
“So. Anywhere in mind for your big holiday?” Jacobi was saying, up to his elbows working in the ship’s innards.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Disney World, huh? That sounds like the exact opposite of relaxing to me, but hey, you do you.”
“I’ve never been.”
“Me, neither. Not really my thing.”
“What? You mean tacky tourist attractions aren’t your thing? Man, did I have you pegged all wrong,” Lovelace said, floating beside him and holding a bag across her lap, into which she intermittently reached to hand him something.
“They do have that big fireworks show, though. Eh...I’ll bet they don’t even let you get up close though. I’ve probably seen better. Oh, hey, Eiffel. Ever been to Disney?”
“Oh, sure. All the time.”
“Really? There you go, Lovelace, you can get the full Yelp review right—hey. Eiffel?”
“Uh-huh?”
“You’ve...been to Disney?”
“Why do you sound so shocked?” said Lovelace. “Maybe tacky tourist traps aren’t your thing, but don’t tell me you can’t see him—oh. Wait a minute. Eiffel, really? You have been? Like, you—remember that?”
“Uh...so. That was supposed to be a joke, but I think judging by the looks on your faces, it...wasn’t.”
“Hilarious,” Jacobi said, rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to his work.
“Same stellar sense of humor,” Lovelace muttered. “Some things never change.”
“Come on, you made it too easy for me, you set it up and everything. I couldn’t not.”
“Same incredible self-control, too.”
“I’ll just let you guys get back to...well, whatever you’re doing.”
“Hey, wait. You can hang out, if you want.”
“He can ?” Jacobi groused.
“You’re not bothering us, or anything.”
“He’s not ?”
Lovelace gave him a light punch on the arm. Jacobi gave an exaggerated yelp of pain and glared at her.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s a big softie on the inside, trust me.”
“That’s just a clever ploy to make you comfortable. I’m only biding my time.”
Eiffel found himself grinning. There was still an awful lot of tension in the room, and his own rattled nerves making him feel awkward around these strangers who called him family but looked at him sometimes as though they’d seen a ghost. But still--it made him happy, seeing the two of them like that, at ease, teasing each other. It made him feel lighter inside, in a way that had nothing to do with the lack of gravity.
“What’s up, anyway?” Lovelace said. “Exploring the ship? Minkowski already putting you to work?”
“Not...exactly? She and Hera sort of...I think they needed a minute. To...talk about some things.”
“And when you say talk, you mean they’re having a full-on shouting match right now, right?” said Lovelace.
“Did you guys know apparently Goddard, like, owns Hera? And thinks they could just, what, repossess her along with the ship, like a—like a used car, or something?”
“If you’re asking if I’m aware of our corporate overlords’ complete and utter lack of anything approaching morality, then yes,” said Jacobi.
“They’re probably going to try to pull the same shit with us,” said Lovelace. “Remember, we’re all supposed to be dead. They’re not gonna be keen on us returning from the grave.”
“What’re you thinking for initial offers in exchange for non-disclosure agreements?”
“I’m thinking they can take that shit straight to hell, and they will be, when I’m done with them.”
“So--so what’s gonna happen to us?” Eiffel said. “Are we...are they gonna put us in jail, or something? I mean, are we criminals?”
Lovelace snorted. “They can try.”
“No laws in space, baby,” Jacobi deadpanned. “Which isn’t true at all, you know, but hey. Final frontier, and all.”
“Right...” said Eiffel.
“Don’t you worry, kiddo. Out of all of us besides Hera, I’m pretty sure you’re the most off the hook as far as the worst of what went down. I mean, you don’t have a body count, at least. And you can pull the amnesia card,” said Jacobi.
“O...kay?”
“We don’t have to worry about how exactly we’re going to burn Goddard to the ground just yet, so can we not?” said Lovelace.
“Thoughts of ruthless revenge getting your blood pressure up, Captain?”
“Isn’t Renée’s husband a journalist? Maybe we could—talk to some people on Earth, get the story straight before we even show up? I mean, there has to be somebody who’d help us. Goddard can’t just get away with all this, right? Not if the right people know about it. Or just people in general, if they feel strongly enough about it.”
“Spoken like a comms officer,” said Jacobi. “Sure, let’s talk our way out of it. Because that’s worked so well for us in the past.”
“How do you know about Minkowski’s husband? Did she tell you that?” Lovelace said.
“Er...lucky guess?”
“Nuh-uh. Not buying that, try again.”
“I...may have read some files.”
“What kind of files?”
“The—the crew files! I asked Hera if I could read anything she could show me, and she said yes, so—yeah.”
“You read our files?” Lovelace said.
“There wasn’t anything—anything super personal in there, I promise. Hera said she only showed me things I would’ve known about anyway. And no, not your files, she only had the ones for our crew.”
“You could’ve just asked Minkowski, you know. If you wanted to...get to know her.”
“I’m sure I could. She’s been—really nice, you all have. But...I didn’t want to bother her.”
“That’s a new one, coming from you.”
“See, I don’t know what that means. I mean, I do, because I listened to the tapes, but it’s not the same as remembering, and I think—it was just easier. I didn’t want to make her...I don’t know, sad, or something.”
“It’s okay, Eiffel. I get it,” said Lovelace. “Nobody here can claim to be above snooping in sensitive personal files, isn’t that right?” she said, nudging Jacobi.
“Never again,” he said, shuddering. “That way lies chaos.”
“Attention, Urania crew,” said Hera. “The Commander wants you all to be at dinner in fifteen minutes.”
“What? We’re all eating dinner together now?” said Jacobi.
“Apparently, you are.”
“Hey, Hera, are you—”
“Dinner in fifteen, Officer Eiffel,” she said.
Eiffel could hear the dismissal in her voice. Even though he knew she was still listening— because she couldn’t help but listen, could she?—he let it go.
“Damn. What’d you do to Hera?” Lovelace said.
“I...don’t really know.”
“Eh, I’m sure she’s just got a couple wires crossed from arguing with Minkowski.”
“Should you be saying that? She can—still hear us, can’t she?” said Eiffel.
“It took you about a hundred and two days to get that through your head the first time! Let’s see if we can’t break that record this time around, shall we, Officer Eiffel?”
“Hera, I—did I do something?”
“You? Do something? No, Eiffel.”
“Oh...okay, then...you just seem a little...”
“A little...what?”
“Mad?”
“Do I? Hm. Noted.”
“Hera, seriously, what did he do? ‘Cause if Minkowski’s giving you a hard time, I get it, but do we have to take it out on Eiffel? Give the guy a couple days before he settles back into his role as resident punching bag, at least,” said Lovelace. “It only seems fair.”
“I’m glad you’re all so able to compartmentalize. Really, it’s great. Since my feelings are apparently an inconvenience to the crew, I’m going to try to do the same, so help me help you, and stop asking me silly questions, okay? Thank you!”
“Jesus,” Jacobi muttered. “Is this dinner thing mandatory? I don’t know how much of this I can take. I was sort of thinking I’d lock myself in my room and cry myself to sleep early tonight.”
“Chin up, soldier. Best not to resist Minkowski when she’s on the crew-bonding warpath. It’ll only prolong the torments,” said Lovelace.
“Are we all, like...not okay?” said Eiffel.
“Look who’s starting to catch on!” said Jacobi. “Quick learner. Keep that up and you might just get yourself promoted. How’s court jester in chief sound?”
I don’t understand you people, Eiffel didn’t say. I don’t understand the way you talk to each other, the things you say, the things you don’t say. I wish someone would stop wisecracking for one minute and tell me where the hell I’m supposed to fit into all this mess. I wish you’d all just stop and explain some things to me, like are we friends, or enemies, or just coworkers, or family like you’re trying to convince me we are, and is everyone like this? And am I ever going to understand or feel comfortable and like I belong somewhere, anywhere, ever again? And did I ever? Here, with you?
“Dinner sounds good,” said Eiffel. “I think I’m hungry.”
Minkowski prepared the mess for four. Not that there was much to prepare. Among the many, many things she would not miss about being in space, it was the not-exactly-fine dining.
She was trying not to think so much about the things she would miss.
Her crew was running late. She opened her mouth to snap a question at Hera about where they all were, and then stopped herself. She drummed her fingers on the table. She inspected her nails. She tried not to think. If she thought, she’d start to imagine the future, and she was trying not to get too ahead of herself these days. One minute at a time.
The three missing members of her ramshackle crew all entered at once, talking and laughing.
“And that’s how I got banned from ever entering a Bass Pro Shop again,” said Jacobi. Lovelace snorted in laughter and Eiffel grinned and beamed at him as though he thought Jacobi was the coolest guy to ever have a track record of extensive property damage. Minkowski had seen it all before. Eiffel had been head over heels with admiration for Lovelace before they ever met her, when she was only a voice in a recording. He wore that look often when talking to, or about, Hera. He’d once looked at her like that. Like she hung the stars and held them all in place.
Was he just naturally prone to idolizing people, then? Or was this a remnant, some small trace of her Eiffel showing through? Some part of him that he couldn’t remember, but which was still there?
Or maybe she was getting sentimental.
“Hey, Minkowski. How’re you hanging in there?” said Lovelace.
“Just fine, Lovelace. And yourself?”
“Peachy. Picking any fights lately? Any potential dissent among the ranks you wanna fill us in on?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, nothing. I’m sure whatever’s going on between you guys and Hera, you’ve got it totally under control.”
“ Nothing is going on.”
“M-hm. So nothing is why Eiffel said you guys were having a fight.”
“I did not.”
“Seriously, Eiffel?” said Minkowski, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Someone had to be a professional. “We aren’t having a fight, it’s just—perfectly understandable tension. I’m sure every one of us can relate to feeling...not quite ourselves, right now.”
“That’s putting it delicately,” said Lovelace.
“Not me,” said Jacobi. “I’m totally fine. I had Goddard go in and cauterize my emotions a long time ago. Best decision ever, seriously.”
“If hiding behind sarcasm is how you have to get through this right now, fine,” said Minkowski.
“I’m not hiding, I'm just like this.”
“Sure. Okay. You’re completely fine with being stuck here, on this ship, with all of us, until we get back to Earth. Just like how Lovelace was totally fine being stuck on the Hephaestus, with a brand new crew full of strangers where her own people used to—”
“Stop,” Jacobi said, a hard edge of warning in his voice. He looked down, forcing his tone back to its usual deadpan register. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
“I’m not trying to. I’m just saying...I know this isn’t easy. On anybody. So let’s just...try and go easy on each other.”
“Can I ask a question?” said Eiffel.
“Only if you raise your hand first,” said Lovelace.
“Yes, Eiffel, you can—you don’t have to raise your hand, put it down. What?”
“Um...how long, exactly, until we get back? To Earth?”
He smiled at her, a wincing expression, at once sheepish and apologetic, ingratiating and just a touch fearful, like a friendly hostage hedging his bets. It made her a little sick. Woozy with the sudden weight of her responsibility.
“If nothing goes horrifically wrong? Should be about a month,” said Lovelace.
“Praise be the VX5 engine,” said Jacobi, bringing his hands together.
“Oh,” said Eiffel. “Huh.”
“What?” said Minkowski.
“Sorry, nothing.”
“No, tell me.”
“I was just thinking that I—I don’t really know how long that is.”
There was a brief pause, just long enough to be noticeable, before Hera said, “About twenty-nine days, give or take.”
Lovelace said, “Shouldn’t you know that?”
“I do know—at least, I think I—never mind. Sorry. It wasn’t important.”
“You don’t know how long a month...feels?” Hera said.
“Um. Yeah. It’ll be like...the longest amount of time so far.”
“Well,” Hera said, and was she always so chipper, or was there something brittle in her voice, as though it were about to crack? “I guess you’ll be experiencing a lot of things for the first time before we even get back to Earth, then! That's—that's sort of exciting, isn’t it, Officer Eiffel? Trying new things is—is fun, right?”
Eiffel aimed his most polite, guileless smile into the air, casting around as if he’d find Hera standing somewhere in the room. It was the bland, clueless, helpless expression he’d been wearing a lot over the past few days. Minkowski did her best to force down the raw, ugly emotion it dredged up in her.
“Of course,” he said. Amiable, disarmed. Minkowski could read body language with skill and ease—it was an important ability for a leader to have, especially one in as high-pressure and environment as a deep space station. And Eiffel’s screamed submission. He may as well have had his hands in the air, palms raised. I come in peace, please don’t hurt me. He’d always been passive, but this was...this was different, wasn’t it? Or had that defensive curl to his posture been there for longer? That instinctual flinch? At least after he’d been marooned—or even before that, when Hilbert had—or earlier still? From the beginning? Why didn’t she know? Why hadn’t she paid more attention, when she could, when it counted?
“How does that work, anyway?” said Jacobi.
“What, trying new things, or having fun?” said Lovelace.
“Shut up. I mean the whole amnesia thing. Like, you can tie your shoes and speak English and all that, but you don’t know—I mean, you don’t remember...anything?”
“Jacobi. Drop it,” said Minkowski, leveling a stern look his way.
“Seriously? After all the shit that just went down, we’re back to this? It’s just a question, he doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t want to.”
“It’s only been—what, barely four days? You can’t give it a rest for four days, can’t keep the negativity and the picking on each other to a minimum for that long, after everything?”
“I’m not being negative, and I’m not picking on anybody—Jesus, what is this, second grade? It was just an honest question. Not positive, not negative, not anything.”
“Um...guys?” said Eiffel.
“What?” Minkowski snapped.
“I just, um...I don’t mind? The question, I mean. It doesn’t bother me or anything, if that’s what you’re, er, worried about. You don’t have to pretend like nothing happened, or act like it’s not weird. It’s okay. I would...I mean, it’s just—it's a little confusing, is all, when I can’t tell if you’re saying one thing, and maybe thinking another, so maybe it would be better if you did just...ask. If that’s...okay.”
Minkowski made her face a careful mask of composure and tried to quell the ridiculous indignation, the little twinge of betrayal she felt. Just whose feelings was she trying to spare, exactly? If he was fine, then what was the problem? “Okay. Okay, Eiffel.”
“So...” said Jacobi. “Is there, like, a reason for what you remember, or is it random, or...what?”
“I don’t really know. Sorry.”
“Memory is...complicated,” said Hera. “There are different kinds. Your implicit memory—the kind that’s pretty much unconscious, the sort that governs learned skills and behaviors, like speech, that seems...that’s still there. Then there’s explicit memory, which we generally group into two kinds: semantic, and episodic. It seems like you’ve exhibited some semantic recall—that's facts. Just facts, detached from...feelings about the facts, or memories of where you learned them, and when. I don’t know why some is there and some isn’t. Like I said, memory is tricky, and our understanding of it is still changing. Semantic memory is only half of the picture. The other half is episodic.”
“And that is...?”
“Those are your memories of personal experiences.”
“So the kind that’s gone, then.”
“Yes. The kind that’s gone.”
Eiffel smiled at Jacobi. “Well, there you go. Good thing we’ve got a genius on board. Thanks, Hera.”
Hera was quiet just long enough for it to be a noticeable pause. “You’re welcome, Eif—no. Please. Don’t thank me.”
“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“No. Yes. No, you—I'm s-sor-sorry, I—I need a moment. Please, everyone, you’ve all g-got-got-gottten a moment to—to yourselves, and now I want to be alone—please give me a moment to—”
“It’s okay, Hera,” said Minkowski.
Even without her having a physical body to walk out of the room with, and even knowing that her consciousness encompassed the entire ship at all times, there was still the impression that Hera had fled the room and left the door swishing shut behind her. Silence filled the room.
“Is she okay?” said Eiffel.
“Yes, Eiffel, she—we've all been through...a lot,” said Minkowski.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...I don’t know. I feel like I keep upsetting her.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” said Minkowski, and all of a sudden she sounded exhausted, older than her years.
The room felt cramped, his skin hot and flushed. He had the horrible feeling that he’d overstayed his welcome, and there it was again, the fear that was always one tick away from edging over into panic—the fear that he might screw up, that they would decide he was more trouble than he was worth, and abandon him while he still needed them desperately. “Is...is there anything I can do? To help?”
“Not...right now.”
“If—maybe if someone would just—just explain a few things to me, I wouldn’t keep messing up.”
“What do you want explained, exactly?” said Lovelace.
“Why is she—how come you guys—what am I doing wrong?”
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Minkowski said, her fists clenched in her lap, her jaw tense.
“But then how come—”
“You’re not doing anything wrong , Eiffel, okay? It’s just that you look like somebody we cared about very much, but that person’s gone, and it’s not your fault that we’re not handling that very well, and it’s not fair that all that hurt is getting taken out on you, and it’s not okay, but it is what it is, so we’re all just going to have to try harder, and do better. Got it?”
“I...got it, sir.”
“Good. Wait. Sir?”
“What?”
“You called me—”
“Oh, I—sorry. I really don’t know why I...it just slipped out.”
She stared at him, hard. She tried to find the depth she’d once perceived in his eyes, when she’d been able to look at him and practically see what he was thinking. See through the surface into the person underneath. She broke eye-contact, tore her gaze away. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t there, and she shouldn’t look, or else she’d imagine what she wanted to see where it wasn’t. And right now she couldn’t afford wishful thinking, or fantasy. She was still the commander, and they were still a long way from home.
It was habit, nothing more. It was a little quirk in his mind, a groove worn into his mind from constant use. A phantom pain, a twitch, the way he used to bring two fingers to his lips sometimes when he was thinking or worrying without realizing he was doing it, acting out the motion of bringing a cigarette to his lips. It was mechanical, meant nothing. It meant nothing. How much of what everyone did was pantomime? Did anybody ever really choose to act, or did they only think that they did, while meanwhile down below, deep in the viscera and the subconscious, strange mechanisms whirred away, beyond understanding, beyond awareness, and everything perceived as actions only the effects of what went on behind the curtain rippling outwards? Never seeing the stone thrown, only the ripples.
Maybe she was thinking too much. Maybe she needed to sleep.
“Well,” said Jacobi. “This is fun. We should do this more often, seriously.”
“Don’t push it,” Lovelace growled.
Minkowski sat in the bridge, staring into the black nothingness rushing by, faster than her eyes could have possibly seen anything, even if there had been something to see. The lights were all down, leaving the room lit only by the faint blinking of the console.
“Is there a reason you aren’t asleep, Commander?”
Minkowski smiled in the darkness, curled up in her seat. “Thought you were taking a break, Hera.”
“You’ve been up for seventeen hours.”
“I think I slept long enough the last few days, don’t you think?”
“You were recovering from a gunshot wound. You’re still recovering from a gunshot wound.”
“Well, somebody’s gotta stay up and keep an eye on things. Be a shame to strike out in the home stretch.”
“That’s what I’m here for. You do know that me asking for a little time to not be called on constantly for random, unnecessary requests doesn’t mean I’m not monitoring the ship, right?”
“I know, Hera. Thank you.”
“Commander, I...there’s something I need to say to you.”
“I think...I do, too.”
“You first.”
“No, you go ahead.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Commander, I...I don’t know what came over me. I’m feeling...a lot. A lot more than I know what to do with, but I...I’m sorry I took it out on you like that. We need to be here for each other right now, not pushing each other away.”
“I’m sorry, too. For what it’s worth, I...I do understand.” Minkowski shifted in her seat, sighed heavily. “My mom and I...boy, we used to fight. Sometimes it’d get so bad, and I wouldn’t even remember what it started over—I was just so, so angry. And sometimes it’d start over something small. Something really, really stupid. And then, a few minutes later, you’re fighting about one thing—some chore you forgot to do, some party you’re not allowed to go to, something totally dumb—but you’re really not. It’s not that at all. It’s something else going on, that you just haven’t figured out the words for yet. Maybe because you’re both scared. I used to think she just didn’t get me, at all. That she’d never understand, that we were too different. I don’t feel that way anymore. Here’s something my mom told me, Hera: sometimes, we lash out at the very people we really want to bring close. Sometimes when we’re hurting, when there’s something that feels mean and ugly or scared inside us, we take that hurt out on the people we love the most. Because we know they won’t go away. They won’t leave, even if we argue—even if we say the nastiest things, make a total ass of ourselves. They’ll still be there. And we want to make sure that’s true. We need to see them still standing there, after we’ve fought, still loving us. I don’t know. That was...it feels like a really long time ago, that she said that. And now for the life of me, I can’t remember why, or what we were talking about.”
For a moment, there was only the background hum of the ship. Then Hera’s voice came soft through the speakers. “Thank you, Minkowski.”
“Of course, Hera. Of course. I’m sorry that I...that I haven’t been there for you, like I should have. Like I would have liked to have been. I’d like to do better.”
“I do, too. I want to do better. I know I’m...I’m not being fair to him. I’m making things harder, when the least I could do, after what I did, would to at least be kind, and I haven’t even done that right.”
“Hera, it was his idea.”
“It was my idea first! To fight Pryce like that, in his head.”
“He made a decision. You both made a decision, the best one that you could under the circumstances, and now all we can do is choose how we go forward from here.”
“He was my first real friend.”
“I know.”
“He was my best friend.”
“I...think he was mine, too.”
“I miss him.”
“Hera...”
“I miss him, Minkowski . It—it hurts. And I feel so, so selfish, because I keep thinking--it shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t hurt like it did, when he was gone in the shuttle, when we thought he was dead, because he’s here, he’s alive, not all alone and suffering. He’s right there. But it’s not the same, and it hurts, and I don’t know what to do.”
“You feel that hurt, Hera. That’s what you do. That pain—that's what’s left. You don’t try and harden yourself against it, you don’t try to numb it. That’s easier said than done. Lord knows I haven’t exactly provided a shining example. But we have to feel it, and do just what we’ve always done. Try to be better.”
“I just...I just can’t believe that we’re really going back, but he’s not going to be there.”
“He’s not...all the way gone.”
“I know. But there were...there were so many things he told me about Earth. I didn’t think much of it. I tried not to, because it was silly, wasn’t it? It was never going to happen. We weren’t ever really going to go to those places, do those things. It was just talk, because that’s what he did, and it didn’t mean anything. And now it’s really happening—we're going back. And now that’s all it’s ever going to be...just talk, just dreams.”
Minkowski placed her hand on the console, blinking against the hot tears standing in her eyes. “I wish I could—could hold you, right now. I’m sorry that I don’t have the right words to make this all better.”
“There aren’t any words that could do that.”
“I know.”
They sat in the quiet for a few moments. A melody drifted into Minkowski’s head, and she began to rock lightly in her seat. It was a lullaby her grandparents had sang to her. A honey-colored, shimmering melody that swam through her mind like a slow, warm river. She began to hum. And then she began to sing.
“Już księżyc zgasł, zapadła noc.
Sen zmorzył mą laleczkę.
Więc oczka zmruż, i zaśnij już,
Opowiem Ci bajeczkę.
Więc oczka zmruż, i zaśnij już,
Opowiem Ci bajeczkę...”
Eiffel lay flat on his back, strapped into the bunk in the room he’d been shown to when they’d first divvied up their sleeping arrangements. It was a sparse, small space, although he supposed there wasn’t much spare room on a spaceship with far more essential equipment on board than crew quarters. Not that he needed much space, anyway. Still. He’d left the door open. With it closed, he found the room...a little stifling. Like lying in a coffin , his mind supplied.
“Shut up,” he mumbled. The last thing he needed was his own brain providing morbid commentary.
Sleep wouldn’t come. He tried to clear his mind completely, but a restless energy kept him awake. After a while, he became aware of a sound he was straining to hear, his whole body tensed and still. Music. There was faint music coming from somewhere on the ship.
Almost without thinking, he left his room and floated into the hall. The rest of the crew quarters were all either beside or across from his own. He found the source of the sound easily. The door to Lovelace’s room was also open; inside, the captain was in bed with her eyes closed, a soft melody coming from the tablet she held loosely in one arm.
She cracked an eye open when he came to a stop, hovering in the doorway.
“Eiffel,” she said. “Do you need something?”
He shook his head.
“Okay...then would you mind not staring at me? Sort of trying to relax here.”
He inched into the room.
“Eiffel? You sure you’re good?”
“Your music...”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“I’m listening.”
“Er...me too. Is it too loud, or something? I didn’t wanna close the door just yet—I've got this feeling like any second there’s gonna be some emergency and somebody’s gonna be dying and I’ll have to get up real quick and—but I can turn it down.”
“Why?”
“So it doesn’t bother you and you can get some sleep? You clearly need it.”
“It isn’t bothering me. I like it.”
“Oh. Well, okay then.”
She closed her eyes again. For a minute, they listened to the song in silence, before she cracked them open again to peer at him. “So you’re...just gonna hover there, staring at me, huh. Okay.”
“I’ve never heard this song before.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I—I just wanted to hear it better.”
“It’s cool, it’s cool. You can hang out in here, but then you really should try and get some sleep. I don’t need it much anymore, but you definitely do.”
“Thank you.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome,” she said, muttering something about comms officers and sound fetishes he didn’t bother asking her to clarify.
When the song was over, she muted her tablet. “Okay, bedtime. Seriously, you should rest.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Lovelace.”
“’Night, Eiffel. Hey—I can send you that song, if you want. So you can listen to it whenever.”
“Oh—oh, thank you. That’d be—thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s just a song,” she muttered. “Go to sleep, Eiffel. Minkowski’s been going easy on you, but don’t get too comfortable. The whole novelty of our improbably survival is gonna wear off real soon, and then it’s back to work for you, mister.”
Eiffel was aboard the Hephaestus again, and the Hephaestus was filling with water. This was of mild concern for a moment, but when nothing went horribly wrong, he decided not to worry about it, and instead let the flood carry him up higher towards the ceiling. That isn’t how zero gravity works , he thought. The water should be floating, too, not filling up along the bottom like that. Oh, well. This is fine. This is fun. It doesn’t even matter that I’m not a good swimmer here—it's easy. Fish swam below him. Then the idea of a shark occurred to him, and he became terrified and tried to haul himself out of the water by grabbing onto the handrails on the ceiling while dark, hulking shapes cruised by below. “Hera? A little help, please?”
And then the water was over his head.
And then he was in the comms room, in his chair, and there was no water. This was no surprise, only a mild relief. Thank god somebody took care of that , he said. I was starting to get—whoa my god what the hell?
In an identical chair beside him sat himself.
“Hello, Doug Eiffel,” said his double.
“There’s only supposed to be one chair in this room,” said Eiffel, pressing himself into the seat, trying to make himself small.
“We have encountered resistance when trying to contact you more directly. This shouldn’t be a problem at this state in the process. Luckily, your dream-state is proving suitable in the meantime. Let’s chat. What’s shakin’ bacon?”
“I’m sorry, what ?”
“Level with us for a minute, Doug Eiffel.”
“I’m dreaming. This isn’t real.”
“Correctamundo.”
“And you’re...you’re not real, either.”
“Let’s not get overly existential just yet. First we need to understand what’s going on in here,” said the double, reaching out one hand and pointing at Doug’s head. Its finger touched his forehead, and then...went deeper. Eiffel felt the intrusion at once, the alien presence forcing its way into his mind, looking around, touching things. He wanted to shout, to move away, but he couldn’t. He could only sit there while the thing went carefully, methodically through his mind, looking in every dark corner, kicking over every rock.
The double sat back. “Hm. Okay. Your continuity has been disrupted.”
“My what’s been what? Hey, you can’t just—what the hell, man! You can’t just do that.”
“You saw the flash.”
“What?”
“You looked into the neuralyzer.”
“ What ?”
“We are trying to help you understand by referencing the fictional memory-wiping technology as seen in Men in Black . Apparently in your altered state, we are experiencing...a bit of a language gap. We will have to teach you. As you once taught us.”
“What are you?”
“Dear Listeners. You once knew us as ‘Bob.’”
Eiffel swallowed past the lump in his throat. “The...the aliens?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re here, talking to me in a dream, because...”
“Because despite certain...distractions, our interest remains in you, and your people. The process has begun. We will see it through. Your current state presents somewhat of a challenge, but your neural architecture retains the changes made which enable you to comprehend our technologies and continue with the process.”
“What the...you mean...whatever you did, when you put—whatever it was you were putting in my head, all that information, you—you were changing my brain?”
“Yes, Doug Eiffel.”
“So not only can I not remember a goddamn thing, but I’ve got aliens fucking with my brain? That is—not okay, Bob!”
Bob tilted its head, the expression an uncanny mimicry of curiosity, the angle too sharp to seem natural. “Are you not pleased to be in contact with us, Doug Eiffel? For years you spoke to us—for years you listened for a reply that didn’t come, and did not give up. And now that we’re here at last, you want to call it quits?”
“I don’t remember any of that. All I know is—I don’t need anybody else, messing around inside my head.”
“You’re afraid of change. You’re afraid to change. We have been pondering your word, ‘death,’ and have come to this conclusion. Your species likes sorting things. Making categories. Thinks of things in binaries. Creation, or destruction. We are not like that, Doug. For us it is all just change. Nothing ever really goes away. It just changes, that’s all. You have been many selves already, before this one. In a way, you have been granted a unique gift. Without the thread of memory connecting you to those other selves, surely you can understand how this has all happened before? How you’ve been other people, before? And the only reason it seemed like you, was the illusion of continuity, propped up by memory, by your experience of time as linear.”
“Hold up—a gift ? It’s a gift that I don’t remember who I am?”
“You don’t remember who you were.”
“It’s the same thing!”
“It is not.”
“If you don’t know where you came from, you don’t know where you are at all! Maybe your species is enlightened or whatever, but I’m only human, and people, we—we have histories. It’s important.”
Bob sat back and was quiet for a moment, studying Eiffel, who did his best not to squirm. He crossed his arms and pouted. So what if it was childish? Hadn’t he earned a little petulance?
“You have begun the process. We know you, even if you do not yet dig it. You are in the collective framework. Nothing has really been lost, only...”
“Only changed, yeah, I think I got that part. Wait a minute. I’m in the...Bob. What are you saying?”
“The process will continue. The technologies we gave you will continue making you...open to the experience. Information which we gave you, along with more as the process goes on, will begin to reassert itself. It is possible that...other things might reassert themselves, as well.”
“You mean my—my memories? You can do that? You can make me remember?”
“It is of no consequence to us.”
“It matters to me, Bob! Very much!”
“Hm. On the one hand, the alterations made to your mind have left it...in a sorry state. You people are so crude, hacking away at your minds like this.”
“It’s not like I asked for this—well, maybe I did, but that’s not the point. You’re one to talk! You’re doing—freaky alien witchcraft to my brain!”
“ On the one hand , it would restore ease of communication. On the other...you may be more receptive to our technology in this state. A cleaner slate for writing upon. Could be worth the momentary setback.”
“Don’t I get any say in this?”
“The process has already begun.”
“What’s the process? Explain it to me, in a way I can understand.”
“Not yet. No spoilers.”
“Oh, come on—then I’m not helping you! Whatever you want—music right? It had something to do with music?”
“Yes,” said Bob. “With this.”
The song Eiffel had been listening to with Lovelace before he fell asleep began to play in the dream. The quality wasn’t quite like that of a recording; the melody looped back on itself, repeating its chorus in the places where he’d forgotten what came next.
“Well, tough luck, buddy. I’m not transmitting any more signals into deep space for you to listen to. No more logs, no more messages. If you want to get your groove on, you’re going to have to just tune in to whatever random, accidental signals get sent your way from Earth, so enjoy the re-runs! There. What do you think of that?”
Bob sat very still. And then a slow smile spread across his face. A wide, toothy smile, too wide to be quite human, and seeing that expression on his own face made Eiffel shiver. Bob began to laugh, a low, monotone chuckle. “You don’t quite understand yet, do you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“We don’t need to wait for more messages,” said Bob, leaning forward in his chair. “We’re tuned in. Found the right signal. It’s clear and coming in live, straight to us.”
“Where? How? What do you mean?”
“You are the radio, Doug Eiffel. Now play us more music,” said Bob. He shoved his palm flat into Eiffel’s face, sending him falling backwards out of his chair—and then he kept falling—and falling—through darkness, through the cold black nothing of space, until he woke on his back strapped to his bunk, gasping for breath.