As she constructed a model of theDestitute, she asked Moss to explain nylarian culture. It had several educational pods—but they were nylarian-made, and Torian’s translator had never heard that language before.
Instead, she chatted with Moss about how the nylarian economy worked (an export-based society, where they offered terraforming services and received alien goods in return), how their society was structured (something of a meritocracy, but based on an individual’s contribution to society, rather than their skill set),and their values (community first, less individually focused, with emphasis placed on harmony with nature).
It made Torian even sadder to think of the remnants of Vaesa, after learning all that. If the nylarians placed emphasis on community, then left the galaxy with little word of their destination, Dutch must be very lonely, indeed.
Maybe even as lonely as Moss had been.
She kept that thought to herself, though. Eventually, Moss disconnected from the conversation, and Torian pivoted from her half-built model of theDestituteto repotting the plants in peaceful silence.
Well, peaceful for her, since she couldn’t hear them complaining. Moss, occasionally, would comment:
“That plant wants to be calledExalatar the Great, and it thinks this soil blend is beneath it. I told it that is correct—this soil blendisbeneath seventy percent of its plant matter. It did not like that.”
“You are squishing that plant’s leaves. It will not injure it, and that plant has submitted three times the complaints of the other one. Please, continue squishing.”
“Cleaning old soil offthatplant’s roots is opening uncomfortable doors. It likes it. Too much.”
(Torian stopped touching that one.)
Finally, Moss’s announcement about Rhymarra concluded her transplant session. She pushed to her feet, dusting off her trousers. “We’re almost at Rhymarra? We made good time! Are they clearing us to land?” She jogged up the stairs to the flight deck, desperate for a look at the planet below. For so long, she’d dreamed of this moment.
And it didn’t disappoint: Rhymarra was stunning. She’d seen pictures, of course: evocative images of a big planet with patches of green and large swaths of water. But here, she could see more detail. For one, there was an actual atmosphere—real clouds andrain—over parts of it. In some areas, she could see the clouds swirling with wind. Actual wind!
Verdaan had appeared greener, a lush forest with very fewoceans, but Rhymarra was an Old Earth replica: a human paradise. Its continents were all beaches and forests and lakes and big open land with huge solar windmills she could see from space.
It was a spacer’s dream.
“They are requesting a reason for your visit.” Moss flashed the flight deck’s holoscreen to grab her attention.
She tore her eyes from the planet and read the transcript, which was something along the lines ofYou aren’t a registered supply ship and we don’t appreciate unannounced visitors.
Amelia had warned her that Rhymarra had carefully controlled customs. Even so, Torian had extensively researched any loopholes. She hastily recorded a reply. “This is the starshipDestitute, landing on vital business with the Terra Nova University.”
Silence.
A channel of instant communication opened. A space traffic controller said, deadpan,“Our systems register your ship as theTraitor.We have your file, Captain Razner, and we don’t take kindly to smugglers on Rhymarra.”
All this time, she’d wondered if Amelia had been exaggerating about Rhymarra’s entry rules because she simply hadn’t wanted to make the trip. It was a small comfort to know her ex-captain had been telling the truth.
Asmallcomfort, followed by a shit-ton of panic.
Fuck.Fuck.
“I’m not a smuggler!” Torian said before she could stop herself. Then she cursed under her breath and plowed ahead. “I am a citizen of Colony 13. Under the Right of Planetary Visitation Act, space station citizens are allowed to visit Rhymarra for educational purposes.”
Hopefully that was still true, too. It was a little-known law, one rarely used as the colony colleges fell further and further behind in education.
“And what’s your educational purpose?”The space traffic controller sounded annoyed.
She’d spent a few hours thinking about options, and nowsettled on the most obvious one—the one easiest to prove through visual inspection of her ship. With her jaw clenched, Torian lied through her ass. “I’m a botanist. We’re exploring the melding of organic matter with a computerized intelligence, to see if it can substitute artificial life support in space.”
Moss stayed silent, thank the Heavens.
“Hmm. One moment.”
Torian clicked away from the communication, muting herself. “Is that okay, Moss? I can tell them we’re still in development stages—if you stay quiet, they never have to know you exist.”
“I am not offended. After a century in one of your space stations, I am aware that your species is embarrassingly far behind requisite technology. I am a superior template for such strides.” Moss sounded pleased.
