Date Point 10y4m6d AV
HMS Sharman (HMNB Folctha), Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Ayma
The human male that Regaari kept calling “Warhorse” was fretting like a particularly neurotic Mother. This was, apparently, his job and Regaari had assured Ayma that he was extremely good at it.
Still. On some level, seeing this much attentive concern from a creature who was strong enough to accidentally dismember her was doing little to fill Ayma with confidence. All devotion to Clan aside, now that the moment had come to actually go to Earth…
It was after all now well established that Earth wasn’t merely a Class Twelve, a full two points of habitability rating worse than the minimum threshold for deathworld status, but it was a high end Class Twelve, spared only from Class Thirteen status by a quirk of Corti bias more than anything else. Earth was, in fact, possibly the most relentlessly and reliably lethal planet in the galaxy.
When faced with stepping onto a world with that kind of reputation, the fact that she was trusting her life and health to a harness of forcefields and localized gravity manipulation fields was…Well, it made human paranoia suddenly seem rather less unreasonable.
Regaari, as ever, was the picture of composure and calm, but she knew him well enough to detect a slight… fidgety edge. Whatever had happened to him on Garden had clearly solidified in him an absolute trust in these “Spaceborne Operators”, but even that wasn’t quite enough to completely quiet pre-deathworld jitters.
Warhorse himself was an incredible specimen. He was actually slightly shorter than Ayma, but there couldn’t be a millisecond of doubt as to which of them was stronger, heavier and more durable. Ayma had seen flimsier walls, and he was casually holding in one hand a bag that she privately doubted that she and Regaari could have lifted between them.
Baseball was standing nearby, calmly reading off a checklist. None of the words he was reading translated.
“Epin ephrin.”
Warhorse tapped some ampules in a quick-access pocket on his chest. “Check.”
“Cetrizine.”
“Check.”
“Thiperamide.”
“Blue and green band, yeah?”
“That’s right.”
“Check.”
“Morphine.”
“ET dosage three, check.”
“Nitroglycerin.”
Regaari peered at him. “Wait, what?!“
“Relax, it’s a vasodilator.” Warhorse held up a calming hand. “ET intravenous dosage three. Check.”
“Intravenous? Nitroglycerin?!”
“Could save your life, man, God forbid. Trust us, and let us concentrate, yeah?”
“Sorry.”
Base smiled at him. “Last item anyway. Salbutamol?”
Horse nodded. “Check.”
He stood and slung the bag on with alarming ease. “Protectors ready.” he announced.
“Good.”
Major Powell had taken up the duty of delivering the Gaoians to Earth himself. The preparations had taken some days and no small amount of politicking, but the plan seemed to be perfectly solid and sound. Ayma and Regaari would constantly wear Akiyama’s custom-built excursion rigs, designed to counter the Earth’s oppressive gravity and filter out every wriggling bacterium and allergenic granule that poisoned its atmosphere.
The SOR’s “Defenders” had ingeniously packed on extra protection in the form of biofilter fields that charged from sunlight before sweeping their bodies clean of infection, and stasis field generators that would, in the event of a medical emergency, allow the wearer to be delivered safely to a class ten medical facility.
Finally, each Gaoian was to be shadowed by a medic. Friendly as they were, Warhorse and Baseball had stressed that the moment they jumped to Earth, both of them were going to be focusing intently and exclusively on their charges’ good health, and were not going to be much fun to hang out with.
All things considered, Ayma was almost getting… what was the term? Cold feet.
Almost.
Powell gestured with two pinched fingers to somebody outside of the marked jump array area – an ingenious idea that Ayma was going to be sharing with Yulna when she got back. Why should Mothers and cubs be exposed to the dangers of piracy, illegal research facilities and Hunters when they could just step from one planet, straight to another?
She felt her fur bristling. There was a whine, on the very edge of hearing, the feeling of building energy reached a peak and-
-She was on Earth.
She could tell it instantly. Even with her excursion harness protecting her from feeling the extra gravity herself, there was just an extra solidity to everything. Warhorse and Baseball both adjusted their loads slightly, Powell’s stance settled and widened. The humans to a man seemed immediately just a little more comfortable, a little more relaxed. Those high-gravity deathworlder muscles had been straining against gravity that wasn’t there, and now seemed to actually be grateful for the added burden.
Unexpectedly, they also sped up. While Ayma’s own movements felt ponderous and slow, and the suit just couldn’t disguise the way her foot dropped to the floor faster than was normal, the humans got…
She searched for an appropriate adjective and settled on “punchier.” They walked with a little more precision, their heads tracked faster as they looked around, and all of their little gestures and mannerisms just seemed to fit that tiny bit better, as if the mere fact that the planet they stood on was both larger and denser than the norm had been written into their body language.
Powell took a deep breath and smiled. “Like soup, innit lads?” he asked. Ayma imitated him and nearly reeled. The air was warm, humid, and rich, rich to the point of intoxication. Higher oxygen content, she recalled, and a memory stirred that in its primordial past Earth’s atmosphere had been richer, warmer and more oxygenated still, allowing for flying insects and land animals of incomprehensible bulk.
The filters must have been working, though. Aside from the tang of humidity, there was no discernable scent on what she was breathing.
The Protectors seemed satisfied that she and Regaari were well, at least, and indicated that the door could be opened.
Admiral Knight had gone on ahead the evening before, and was standing next to a shorter, rather sturdier man that Ayma didn’t know whose hair put her in mind of brushed steel, but who was smiling warmly.
Powell raised his voice enough to be firm: “Detail, ten-shut!”
Warhorse and Baseball all snapped fully upright, bringing their heels together and straightening their spines. it was an impressive gesture given that both Protectors were solidly layered in armour and equipment.
Powell offered a salute. “Sir. The special representatives from Gao, as ordered.”
The man he was addressing returned the salute. “Thank you Major. Your men may carry on.”
Powell nodded to the Protectors, and both of them promptly returned their full attention to Regaari and Ayma.
“Mother Ayma, Officer Regaari,” he announced “This is Lieutenant-General Martin Tremblay, Supreme Allied Commander for Extrasolar Defence.”
Tremblay offered a hand and shook their paws, rather more delicately than he needed to. “This day’s been too long in coming.” he smiled. “I’ve spent so long reading about the Gaoian people and what you personally did for one of ours that it’s a genuine pleasure and a privilege to finally meet you in person.”
Ayma felt her ears twist, feeling genuinely and awkwardly complimented. “Shoo always insisted there was nothing special about her.” she replied, diplomatically. “If that is true, then I must consider the pleasure and the privilege to be greater on my part.”
She caught the amused and impressed set of Regaari’s ears out of the corner of her eye, but Tremblay’s reaction was even more interesting. “Please, don’t waste a sound-bite like that on me!” he laughed. “Save it for the cameras. Sorry we couldn’t spare you those entirely, but the first official visit to the surface of Earth by nonhumans? That was never not going to be a media party.”
Had he been Gaoian, Ayma decided that she would already be contemplating a mating contract. Instead, she made a reassuring purr.
Admiral Knight nodded solemnly. “The sooner we get that particular ordeal out of the way the better, I say.” he suggested.
“Agreed.” Tremblay nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”
Date Point 10y4m6d AV
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, Earth
Wei Chang
Xiù had gone very small, and very quiet.
Wei wished he knew how to talk with her. But every conversation they’d tried to have ever since she came back just… tailed off. The elephant in the room between them – the confusion of their relative ages in terms of date of birth versus the number of years they had each lived – never got addressed.
It was so sad seeing Mom try and pretend like nothing had happened. Dad somehow seemed to be taking things in his stride, but he’d become… sad. After the initial joy and worry of Xiù’s return, their dad had been behaving like he was mourning something rather than anything else.
Wei just felt like there was a stranger living in their house who’d thrown out all of Xiù’s old stuff. A quiet, intense stranger who watched things a little too carefully, who flinched at benign sounds, and who occasionally spoke the wrong language without noticing.
There was still the essential Xiù there, of course – when she could be induced to smile, she came alive again, and she never became more radiant than when she was talking to this “Julian” guy. Under the patina that years of being a terrified vagrant in space had painted on her, Xiù could still smile and laugh and play. But Wei had no idea how to get past that patina himself.
Their parents were bustling around making sure the house looked perfectly presentable for their VIP guests, and a couple of men in suits and dark glasses were patrolling the place. When Wei and Xiù had tried to help they’d just been ordered to stay out of the way and stay presentable.
So, they were sitting on the couch together, watching the visitors from Gao on TV while Wei trawled his favourite social media, following the trending topics and trying not to rumple his smart clothes. Mom had taken Xiù out shopping and together they’d found some designer tops that managed to cover all her scars without looking like she was wearing them because they would cover her scars. Xiù kept absent-mindedly trying to roll up the loose sleeves, not noticing that they just fell straight back down again.
The general consensus on the ‘net was:
-
That Gaoians were OMG SO CUUUUUUTE!!
-
Are you fucking kidding me they really do look like Rocket Raccoon WTF
-
Who are those guys in the armor behind the gaoins their HUGE?!
Some speed artist was already putting out hastily sketched comics of the two aliens with their beefslab bodyguards. They all revolved around the (exaggerated) size difference and grim expressions on the servicemen’s faces as they did things like delicately and intensely apply a band-aid to a grateful Gaoian’s minor boo-boo. Wei had a nose for these things, and he’d eat his sneakers if those two weren’t one of the memorable memes of the year.
Some of the military enthusiast circles and forums he’d found were tentatively identifying them as part of a unit based at HMNB Folctha. Their uniforms had been “sanitized”, meaning that they had been cleared of any identifiable unit markings or clues to their identities. The only thing any of the Internet enthusiasts could tell about them was that they were both medics. To a man, all of the veterans on those forums were commenting on how they seemed to be practically buoyant and bouncing despite an operating load that must have been pushing two hundred pounds. As if they were used to much more than that.
As they watched the camera focused on the male Gaoian – Regaari – behind whom stood the shorter of the two bodyguards who chose that exact moment to absent-mindedly conjure a Snickers bar out of one of his pockets and inhale it. The live chat promptly went crazy.
“That’s Sergeant Arés.” Xiù said, pointing to the screen. “He’s the one who treated me out of the escape pod.”
“Yeah?”
”…Saved my life.” Xiù nodded, gnawing on a lip.
“He’s hot.” Wei commented, and for the first time he succeeded in making Xiù laugh.
“What, you’re into boys now, little brother?” she asked.
“Please, I’m allowed to know these things, like, academically.” Wei told her.
Xiù smiled, and went back to watching the screen, quietly. Her smile faded again.
”…Xiù, are you okay?”
She shook her head. “No.”
”…Is there anything I can do?”
Xiù gave him a surprised look. Tears started welling up and she savagely got rid of them with a swipe of her hand, muttering something to herself in Gaori. “Wi-yo koo yin-shao pa, Xiù!“
“Hey…?”
She raised a splay-fingered hand to reassure him, and took a deep calming breath through her nose. “…I’m sorry, Wei,”
“What for?”
“I don’t know how to cope” She said. “I’m a wreck.”
Wei shuffled over and put a brotherly arm around her. “I missed you, you know.” he said, after a while. “We used to fight all the time. Didn’t we?”
She laughed weakly and nodded.
“You had your ballet and kung fu movies, I had my games. Not a lot in common except Mom and Dad and living in the same house. And now you’re back and we know each other even less.”
Again, she nodded.
”…I don’t know what I’m saying.” Wei confessed. “I just… What’s wrong? Why aren’t you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know at all?”
She sighed, and wiped her face again. “Ayma and Regaari were my family out there.” she said “And I ran away from them, to keep them safe. And they’ve come here to Earth. To see me!”
Not knowing what to say, Wei just gave her another squeeze round the shoulders. Xiù just watched the two Gaoians deliver brief and neutral speeches of thanks and respect, before the press conference broke up. “I guess they’re on their way here then.” he observed.
Xiù stood up. “Yeah.” she agreed. “Yaaay.”
“Hey… Xiù?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe just… try being glad to see them?” Wei suggested.
She just sighed, shook her head, and vanished upstairs.
Date Point 10y4m6d AV
North Clearwater County, Minnesota, USA, Earth
Kevin Jenkins
Radio wasn’t really Kevin’s thing, and that went double for country stations. There was only so much Kacey Musgraves a man could listen to, after all.
Not that this mattered for a modern man. So long as he had his phone, he could listen to whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.
♪♫It was obvious you’d end this way to everyone except for you / the signs were there but living in denial is just something you do / I walk amongst the ruins and what’s left is a silent testament / to ignorance violent tendencies and stupid rhetoric…♫♪
“In a quarter of a mile, your destination is on the right.”
He slowed down, frowning, and triple-tapped the middle of his phone’s screen to pause the music. Quarter of a mile looked like a sizeable oblong stand of deciduous forest, alone surrounded by open fields of ploughed farmland.
The road was straight, but the verge wasn’t, not perfectly. As he got closer, he saw that the trees had been hiding a grey steel mailbox with a name on the side: “Etsicitty”.
It stood at the end of a dirt road, which he spun onto and bounced along, cursing the fact that he was driving a sedan rather than a four-wheel-drive.
It was a dramatic change. In an instant he’d gone from open Minnesotan sky to a dungeon of trees, trees and, for novelty, some more trees. Bright and clear as it was out, here on this track the light was much more subdued, cool and green as it filtered through new spring foliage.
He was just starting to wonder how long the trail was when it opened up into a cleared area that had been surfaced in packed-down rubble that was almost as good as blacktop. There was a single-storey house with brown panel siding tucked up under the trees, attended by three elderly trucks and a rust sculpture of a tractor that had probably, once, actually been a tractor long ago.
He pulled up somewhere he wouldn’t be in the way and heaved himself up out of the car. It wasn’t cold out, but Minnesota in April was never going to match a Texan’s standards for warmth at any hour, so Kevin was glad for his jacket.
The front door opened as he approached and he recognised Julian Etsicitty from his file. He was of only average height but in excellent shape, with a broad chest and wary eyes under unruly obsidian hair that clearly only earned his attention when it got in his eyes, being otherwise left to do whatever it liked. He didn’t look too great, Kevin decided. Like he hadn’t slept properly in a day or two. Certainly his jeans and T-shirt were rumpled and stained and he was barefoot, exposing the odd composite construction of his prosthetic.
Still, fatigue and stress or not, Kevin had seen the way his hand moved before. The nonchalant way it drifted down and aside slightly so that if he had to go for the survival tomahawk on his belt, he could do so immediately.
“What happened to your nose?” he asked.
“Said the wrong thing to somebody” Kevin replied. “Julian Etsicitty, I presume?”
Etsicitty didn’t relax. “Yeah?”
“I’m an old friend of Kirk’s. Kevin Jenkins.”
Julian relaxed. “No shit? Come on in.” He unlocked the screen door and shouldered it open. It produced a horrible scratching shriek as he did so. “Sorry. Still fixing the place up.”
“Reminds me.” Kevin popped the trunk on his car and grabbed the cooler he’d stashed in there. “My condolences.”
Julian accepted it with a kind of sad-grateful smile. “That’s kind of you. Thank you.”
“Just a few things. Fill the fridge out, y’know? I know what it’s like.”
Kevin scolded himself the second he said that. That exact same angle was what had got his nose busted in Vancouver. Fortunately, for all his wariness Julian Etsicitty took the comment for genuine sympathy.
He led them both inside. “‘Scuse the mess.”
‘Mess’ was both an understatement, and uncharitable. There was more mail than Kevin would have believed, and it was all over everything. The kitchen worksurfaces, the island, the coffee table and three barstools had all been given over to it. Still, there was organization involved. The papers were neatly stacked and arranged and there was clearly some kind of filing system involved, an attempt to bring order to chaos.
“Jeez. That’s a lot of paper.”
“Legal letters. The courts, lawyers for the Red Lake reservation, lawyers for the county, for the State, the federal attorney handling my grampa’s will… all in conflict.” Julian tapped one of the stacks, pulling a slightly panicked face.
“Damn.”
“Yeah. But, you didn’t come here for my legal problems. Kirk had a lot to say about you. Coffee?”
“Yes please. How much of what he had to say was good?”
Julian reached over and clicked the kettle to life. “I think you managed to disappoint him, but… you know Kirk. If you’re human, he likes you automatically.”
“D’you know what happened to him?”
“He should have survived.” Julian declared. “Him and Vedreg, they were the first to head for the escape pods. We didn’t hear from them after we launched, but… you know, we slept for a couple hours there before starting for home.”
“Slept?”
“Believe me, after what happened to us, falling asleep just seemed like the best idea. Ah!”
The exclamation was in response to finally finding the coffee. “How d’you take it?”
“Plain black. So you reckon he’s alive?”
“Probably.” Julian said, spooning out the granules. “But we spent five years in that pod. If he was in one of the faster ones, or if he set a different course… or both…” The kettle clicked off and he grabbed it to start pouring. “I mean he could be anywhere. And escape pods are pretty vulnerable to getting picked off by Hunters…”
“Lucky for him that the Hunters didn’t do a dang thing in those five years.” Kevin commented.
Julian handed him a coffee, quirking his head slightly. “They didn’t?”
“Nope. Nobody saw or heard from them for about that long right up until the Capitol Station attack.”
“Jesus.” Julian handed over the coffee. “What even happened there?”
“All I could tell you is I guess the Hunters wanted to prove that they’re the biggest fish in the pond.”
“I heard rumors that human starships got involved in the fight.” Julian said.
Kevin had to wonder if the man knew more than he was letting on and fishing for information. Either way, he was in danger of straying into information that at least one of Kevin’s employers didn’t think he needed to know.
He settled for a shrug and a lie of omission. “Well, we’ve got those ships, sure. Me, I’m a mushroom.” Julian frowned at him, bewildered, so he elaborated. “Kept in the dark and fed on shit.”
Julian chuckled, and cleared off a barstool for him. “Wish I had more to tell you.” he said. “The last I saw of Kirk, he said he was gonna load Vedreg into a pod and we should get ready to eject as well. I think he’s probably alive – I hope he is – but where and what he’s doing…”
They drank their coffees.
“So, hey!” Julian perked up, changing the subject. “You’re doing well for yourself. Nice car, nice suit, you can afford to drop some groceries on a stranger…”
“I work for the Byron Group nowadays.” Kevin told him, deciding not to mention his other employers. “Biggest name in space, though Hephaestus might disagree. They’ve got the Allied shipbuilding contracts after all.”
“What’s your guys’ game? How are you profiting off space?”
“Mr. Byron’s big plan is pharmaceuticals and organic materials from other deathworlds.” Kevin told him. “It’s a smart idea, too. Antibiotic resistance has really turned into a big health scare these last couple of years. The Corti want to sell us their disinfectant fields and frontline treatments, but Byron reckons we should be looking for human solutions to the problem.”
“If it works though…” Julian suggested.
“Sure. Still, he’s right. We don’t wanna become another client species of the Dominion, do we?”
“I guess not.”
“That was the other half of the reason I came down here.” Kevin confessed. “We need people who know how to survive out there, and from what I hear of you, surviving is kinda your thing.”
“What, as like an office job?” Julian asked. He gestured to the paperwork .”Really not my thing.”
“Far from it. Mister Byron told me he wants you on the crew for Byron Group Exploration Vessel eleven. A ship.”
“Number eleven?”
“Well… it’s the twelfth ship the Group’s built really, but one of them was a special case. We’re learning as we go, and the more people we can get on board with real experience the better-”
He stopped at a harsh metallic squeal from the screen door and a knock. Frowning, Julian stood up and opened it.
There was a blonde woman standing on the step with her arms folded and a severely pissed-off expression. She looked to be about the same age as Julian, and about the same height too. And, frankly, in similarly excellent physical condition.
Julian took a surprised step back. “Allison?”
“Phone not switched on, Etsicitty?”
“Uh…” Julian plunged into a pocket and tapped at his phone. Judging from the way its screen remained stubbornly black, it had a flat battery. “But… it’s Tuesday, isn’t it? Your plane wasn’t supposed to land until tomor-”
“Wednesday. It’s Wednesday, Julian. Today is Wednesday. I landed in Minneapolis five hours ago.”
”…Uhm… Fuck.”
Allison Buehler just nodded. “Uh-huh. Who’s this?”
“Uh… this is, um, this is Kevin. K-kevin Jenkins.”
“Oh. Kirk’s big disappointment.” Allison thrust her carry-on bag into Julian’s arms and stepped into the house properly. “What happened to your nose?”
Kevin tried to ignore the ‘big disappointment’ jab, stinging though it was. “Look, if you two need some privacy…”
“If Julian screwed up that big, something important must have happened.” Allison shook her head. Behind her, Julian relaxed a bit. “Do you have something to do with it? Is this your paperwork?”
“Not mine, and I’m gonna give you some room anyway. ‘Scuse me.”
He navigated past her, gave Julian a sympathetic raise of the eyebrows that said ‘good luck’, and discreetly fled to the safety of the car.
He checked his nose and decided that he couldn’t blame people for commenting. Xiù Chang had done a masterful job of breaking it.
He grabbed his phone.
“Mister Moses Byron’s office, Rachael speaking!”
“Hey Rachael, it’s Kevin.”
“Ah, yes Mister Jenkins. Putting you through now.”
“Thanks Rachael.”
There was a burst of gentle hold music and then-
“Kevin! How was Vancouver?”
“Xiù Chang broke my nose.”
”…That’s not encouraging, Kevin.”
“My own dumbass fault. She’s got it in her head that she’s home and that’s where she’s staying, and I pushed a bit too hard.” Kevin shrugged, even though Byron couldn’t see him. “But we’ll see. I’ve tracked down Etsicitty and Buehler and I think we might have a hook there.”
“Whaddya mean a ‘hook’?” Byron demanded.
Grinning to himself, Kevin explained his idea.
Allison Buehler
Once the screen door had howled shut behind Jenkins, Allison granted herself the luxury of a deep breath.
At first, she’d been irritated to discover an absence of Julian at the airport. This had swiftly grown into frustration and three or four outright angry messages left after the tone.
In hindsight, she must have looked like a goddess of rage when she was renting the car, and she’d spent the first two of the three hours she’d been driving from Minneapolis outright furious.
Then she had cooled down a bit, mostly from simple tiredness, and the rest from reasoning that it was unlike Julian to screw up so completely, which meant something serious had happened.
The last fifty minutes had been spent worrying that he was alright.
While it was a relief to find him present, upright and profusely apologetic, ‘alright’ would have been a stretch. She’d never seen him so distressed, nor so dishevelled. He’d plainly neglected to sleep or eat properly, his hair was unwashed and his chin was rough with short hairs.
One of the reasons she found Julian so sexy was that usually, he projected an air of never being out of his depth. Usually, the only thing that could disrupt his composure was Allison herself.
There was a heady feeling of power involved in being able to fluster a man like that: Finding him so badly unsettled when she hadn’t been around to cause it was so alarming that she completely gave up on being angry at him.
“God, Al, I’m so sorry I don’t know how the fuck that happ-”
She silenced him with a sweet, short kiss. “Hey. It’s okay. What is all this, anyway?”
Julian cleared his throat and scratched at his eyebrow. “Um…Legal letters.”
Allison picked one up and read it. Its content was so arcane and vague as to induce an immediate headache, but the words ‘inheritance’, ‘property’ and ‘dispute’ stood out.
“Oh. Oh no. They’re disputing your grampa’s will?”
“Everyone is.” Julian nodded miserably, sliding up onto one of the bar stools and running his fingers through his hair.
“Why?”
“Oh boy…” He cast helplessly around at all the paperwork and heaved a huge breath out. “Where do I start? Okay, so…So it turns out Grampa never really got along with the tribal elders at Red Lake.”
“Why? ‘Cause he was Navajo?”
“I don’t think that’s it, no. Might be. I dunno, I never met them.” Julian shrugged. “So that’s problem one. Problem two is there’s a question mark over where, exactly, the reservation’s boundaries even are, and whether this patch falls inside or outside them.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because Grampa filed his will with the Federal Government as if this was reservation land, but if it’s not then it’s not clear if the will’s even valid. So, the State’s got involved there, and the feds, and…oh yeah, let’s not forget my mom.”
“What about her?”
“Well, okay, say the will’s not valid but the house is on Reservation land. In that case, the property is divided equally among all Grampa’s descendents. That’d be me, but also Mom and my half-sisters. And they’re all over in the Netherlands.”
Allison leaned against the fridge. “Wait, what?”
“Don’t even start, it’s all to do with the Dawes Act and fractionation and…” Julian trailed off, scowled and gave up. “Look, I’ve not even read half of it yet. I think the AIM’s probably involved too…plus of course there’s Grampa’s criminal record.”
“Criminal-? Oh. Right. Draft-dodging.”
Julian nodded. He studied a letter then set it neatly on top of one of the piles. “Claims, and counter-claims, and challenges and all of this shit’s been bubbling away for three years.” he said. “Nobody’s been arguing my side. It’s a mess, and I don’t know how to even begin navigating it.”
“Almost sounds like it’s not worth it.” Allison commented. Julian straightened and looked at her, questioningly. “I mean…we’re going into space again, aren’t we? I know this place means a lot to you, but if you’re not here to look after it…”
Julian gave a long, thoughtful breath out through his nose and scratched at his stubble. “What are we fighting for?” he asked. “I mean, if we’re gonna head back out there…why? What are we trying to do?”
“Get the hell away from Earth. You know that.” Allison insisted.
“Yeah, I know. You feel valuable out there. I do too, I want to achieve something with my life too. And I couldn’t just sit idle, not when I know what’s out there.”
“But…?” Allison prompted.
“But…I mean, come on Al, you’ve got to have something you care about on Earth or you wouldn’t care about trying to protect it.”
Allison folded her arms at her waist. “Do I?”
“Yeah. You do.” Julian stood up and rubbed her shoulders. “You’re not doing it for the fame, are you?”
She made a scoffing noise. “What fame?”
“Exactly.” Julian agreed. “But what do we mean by ‘achieving something’ if it doesn’t have to do with…with Earth? Or at least with some of the people living on it?”
Feeling annoyed at herself for doing so even as she did it, Allison curled into herself a little more and looked away from him. “Sure. Whatever. Maybe I do have…something. Does that change anything? Sometimes you have to let go, Julian.”
He frowned. “You okay?”
“Just…Yeah.” she sighed, looked him in the eye and almost lied to him. “Yeah, I’m fine. And you’re right, I guess. I just…” she gestured to Mount Paperwork. “For what fighting this is gonna cost you could just buy a new place. I know it wouldn’t be your grampa’s, but…I mean, even if you spent all that money fighting to keep this place you might not win.”
“True.” Julian conceded, reluctantly.
“And you said yourself, you want to go back into space.”
“Also true.”
“And if you do you won’t be able to look after this place even if you hold onto it…”
Julian put a palm to his forehead and rubbed it firmly down his face. “Allison, for fuck sake…”
She paused and took a good look at him, then at all the accumulated keepsakes and history around them. “…This place really means that much to you, huh?”
“Yeah. Yeah it does.”
She chewed a lip thoughtfully, then found some resolve and nodded. “Okay.”
Julian’s head bobbed uncertainly. “…Okay?”
“If it means that much to you, fight it. I’ve got your back, I promise.”
Julian sagged, relieved, then smiled a grateful nod before kissing her. “Thank you.”
She nodded, and managed a tight smile. “Maybe we should see what that Jenkins guy wants.”