“And maybe some pain meds. If you do find some.”
“Thought you might take me up on that.”
I seal the orange door, to take advantage of whatever lower levels of nitrogen might be in theAurorafor now. The nextthree nights, Kodiak and I don’t leave the ship. We live by flashlight. Kodiak limps through the engineering bay, gritting his teeth against the pain as he tries to restore power to the ship. I stare through the windows, observing our environment. This is the kind of gradual exposure to the exoplanet’s atmosphere we would have done if our ship hadn’t crashed.
Judging by the primary sun’s progress, the days on the exoplanet will be approximately thirty-one Earth hours long. The sky is blue, but with tints of green.
There doesn’t appear to be much weather at all, no matter the time of day. My guess is that OS intentionally crashed us onto one of the poles of the planet to avoid weather extremes, which would also help explain the wetness of the ground. Of course, seasons could last many Earth years each. We might be in the equivalent of ten years’ worth of winter.
At least I’m hoping this is winter. I’ve been walking around bundled in blankets. This had better not be what summer looks like.
We get rudimentary power to theAurora’s systems, enough that I can get a piece of the ship’s wall under a scope and enlarge the minuscule writing that repeats on it like wallpaper. It’s the missive my voice promised it left for me, back on theEndeavor. The one that would explain what happened to the previous copies of myself.
I transfer it to a bracelet so I can read it throughout the day. To discover the truth of what’s come before.
I read highlights aloud to Kodiak while we eat dinner. He doesn’t comment, just stares back at me while I read, his eyes glittering.
Judging from the text, apparently my old selves initially resisted the news that they were clones, that Minerva was dead, all of it. Here in this darkened Dimokratía ship, taking care of a wounded stranger on a foreign planet, I find it all surprisingly easy to accept. I have the proof I need right in front of me, after all. There must be an exoplanet, because I’m on it. We can be the last humans, because that’s also what my eyes are telling me. To land here is a wilder thing than to be a clone.
Kodiak keeps his movements to a minimum, elbow-crawling to one spot of the ship to work on, then finishing whatever he can there before risking jostling his leg again. He doesn’t betray much pain on his face, but all the same I know the agony he must be feeling. We’ve constructed the best splint for him that we can, banding a thin mattress tohis leg, but it’s clearly not enough.
Everything that Cusk mission control placed on the ship for our landing is behind a gray portal, on the outside of theEndeavor. I’ve apparently spent lifetimes wondering what’s behind it. But for now we’re trapped on theAurora. There’s no way we’re making that hike back to theEndeavoranytime soon, not with Kodiak in his condition.
Kodiak and I give each other long looks as we work near each other. These same eyes have traveled all of his body, these same hands have held his, have parted that jumpsuit and explored what’s beneath. Will do that, judging by the messages we left. I study the line of his neck, and I wonder. I study his dusky eyelashes, and I wonder. I study the power of his legs, and I wonder.
He looks back at me, and I know he is wondering, too.
On the third day, I wake up and head to my now-usual spot at the largest window on theAurora, with its view over the bioluminescent plains. My clock has reset to these longer days—but then again, I guess I never was alive during any other circadian clock. This planet isn’t my new home; it’s the only home I’ve ever had.
Each time I take in the vista, I expect to find some lumbering horror wandering up over the horizon, or skyscrapers of strange storm bearing down upon us. But it’s always the same calm landscape. A primordial world, withonly the simplest forms of life.
OS did well to steer us here.
Kodiak eases over to sit beside me, splinted leg out long in front of him. “How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Good enough,” he responds. “Tomorrow we go to theEndeavor.”
We’re drunk by the time we get there. Not a fun kind of drunk, not making-out-with-Sri-in-a-field drunk, but the queasy we’re-in-trouble kind of drunk. We’re jittery and rattled as the ship looms into view.
TheEndeavorisn’t sealed like theAurora, so there’s no decompressing the nitrogen out of our bloodstream. Higher nitrogen content is our new reality; we’ll just have to live with it until our bodies adjust. We make our way to the dining chamber, now rent open on the side, the glowing single-celled life-forms of this planet spreading along its jagged edges. “We have company for dinner,” Kodiak says, squinting at the mats of organisms.
We sit and hold our heads in our hands. “I feel really shitty,” I say.
Kodiak nods. “Yeah. That’s a word for it.”
He closes his eyes heavily, lips trembling.
I try to close my own eyes, but the world spins too much. I open them again and manage to make the world right itself just enough to stop me from vomiting. “I’m also overwhelmed,” I say. “Totally overwhelmed.”
He does nothing at first, and loneliness swells in me. Then there’s a hand on my neck. I can’t help myself; I press my cheek against it. Kodiak kneads my shoulder. It feels like the kindest thing anyone has ever done. When he opens his arms, I fall in deep.
We stand before the gray portal.
I couldn’t say we’re sober now, not exactly, but after a few hours of clutching each other and wincing, we’re able to stay on our feet. We even kept some water down, raided from the ruins of 04.
“Go ahead,” Kodiak says brusquely, pointing to the doorway.
“Maybe together?” I say.
