Nova (13 page)

Afternoon finds me hanging out at the counter of a bar frequented by traders and other assorted spacers. Technically, I’m not old enough to be there, but the proprietor is a friend of Captain Kerr’s, and he lets me hang out there so long as I don’t try to drink anything I’m not supposed to. It’s as good a place as the docking rings to suss out potential odd jobs, with the bonus that I don’t have to spend so much time walking around.

I sit at the bar and listen to the patrons as I sip a bubbler. Everyone is keyed up after this morning’s drill, their talk focusing less on their usual runs and more on the political situation between the Tellurians and the Celestians. Some think the morning’s drill is indicative of a breakdown in negotiations between the two governments, though so far all reports indicate the negotiations—still via viewscreen only—are going well. Others disagree, believing, like Michael, that the drill was nothing more than that—a drill. After all, just because a ceasefire is on doesn’t mean the war is over.

A burly spacer with a moustache and stained shipsuit plunks down on the stool next to me. He hails the bartender.

“You just get in?” the barkeep asks as he delivers a beer and scans the man’s chit.

The spacer nods. “This morning.”

“How long are you here for?”

“A few hours. Just long enough to refuel and get on my way again.”

“Heading out or in?” After hearing enough trader talk over the past couple weeks, I know the bartender is asking if the trader intends to head out of the Celestial Expanse or deeper in. With New Sol being the main portal into and out of the expanse, most traders stop to refuel here when crossing the border.

“Out,” the spacer replies taking a pull of his beer.

“That’s daring.”

“That’s suicidal,” another voice interjects. Looking over, I see another man pull up to the bar, an empty glass in his hand as he signals for a refill. He’s the physical opposite of the spacer, tall and thin and clean shaven, his two-piece uniform spotless. “Take my advice, friend, and stay out of alliance space.”

The trader gives the other man a scornful once-over, easily determining from his natty appearance that the man is no spacer. “What would you know about it?” he says with a snort.

“Only that what the Tellurians claim is going on over on their side of the border isn’t so.”

“How would you know that?”

“Because I was over there.” The tall man points to a patch on his sleeve. “Lionel Merrins, holorecorder for GNS Reporting.”

The credential is enough to catch the spacer’s attention. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s
really
going on over there?”

“I’m not sure—”

“Ha!”

“—but I do know it’s not what they’re saying. For instance, that little blow-up at Tiersten a couple weeks ago? It was no accident.”

Tiersten?
What was a casual interest in the conversation ratchets up ten degrees at the mention of the colony. I inch across my stool, trying to get closer to the discussion without being noticed.

“Go on,” the spacer says.

“The Tellurians are trying to claim it was a malfunction in the power relay, but my ship was right overhead in orbit when it happened, and let me tell you, that blast was not a malfunction. It was sabotage.”

“Sabotage?”

“Oh, the Tellurians fed us this slagheap about a breakdown in the power grid, but we had the readings. That was a bomb, plain and simple. Of course, we couldn’t report it, not with a Tellurian war cruiser breathing down our necks, but anyone could see that spaceport was blown to kingdom come. Like a little power relay could do that.”

“You think the prisoners sabotaged the spaceport? That’s completely glitchy. The Tellurians already released one group of them. With negotiations proceeding, there was no reason to think they wouldn’t be next.”

Merrins leans in, lowering his voice slightly. “It wasn’t the prisoners. It was the Tellurians.”

The spacer lets out a laugh, his rapt attention dissolved. “The Tellurians? Now why would they blow their own spaceport?”

“Because these aren’t your typical Tellurians, but a splinter faction. Word is the alliance is in the middle of a civil war.”

“They’re not happy about the situation with New Earth,” the bartender speculates.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” the newsman confirms. “After three years of stubbornly defending their half-assed claim, the alliance government has suddenly decided to turn it over to us? It makes no sense, not with all the resources down on New Earth ripe for the plucking. All it would take is for a few of the alliance’s major commonwealths to band together, and they’d have a faction to be reckoned with.”

“Do you really think they’d start a civil war over it, though?” the spacer asks doubtfully. “A war no one in the expanse has even heard of?”

“Why not? People have gone to war for a hell of a lot less. And of course they wouldn’t want us to know about it, would they? One sign of weakness, and we’d be all over them. The alliance government would do anything to cover it up.” Merrins shakes his head. “I doubted it at first too, but the things I’ve seen and heard over there . . . Tellurian ships firing on other Tellurian ships, strange acts of sabotage, the Tellurians inviting in Celestian traders only to turn around and fire on them when they try to land or leave. Whether it’s civil war or not, something is going on over there, no doubt about it.” He takes a pull of his drink. “Be smart. Stay home and do a local run. The milicreds aren’t worth getting mixed up in whatever’s going on over there.”

The spacer shakes his head. “I appreciate the warning, but a man’s got to make a living.”

“It’s your funeral.” Merrins raises his glass to the spacer, and the other man returns the gesture. The newsman leaves then and the spacer goes shortly after. I stay at my seat and ponder everything I just heard.

The explosion at Tiersten a deliberate act of sabotage? The Tellurian Alliance embroiled in some secret civil war? It all seems too farfetched to believe. The newsman was probably just putting the spacer on, having a laugh at his expense while he killed time in a bar between assignments. It certainly seems more likely than all the crazy stuff he spewed! Still, I can’t help thinking about the attack on Kerr’s ship and those images I saw of Tiersten. Now that I think about it, it
did
seem like an awful lot of damage for a relay malfunction.

Reluctantly, I consider Merrins’ assertions. Assuming the Tellurians really are involved in a civil war, my presence here raises even more questions, top of the list being: was I sent here by the Tellurian government or this Tellurian splinter faction? I can’t imagine what this supposed faction would gain from sending me. Surely their hands would be full just fighting their own people without worrying about the Celestians. Unless their purpose was to destroy the ceasefire? If they could disrupt negotiations with the Celestians, maybe it would allow them more time to get their hands on New Earth. That doesn’t explain how Tiersten ties into all this though. It seems like more than simple coincidence that the site of such large sabotage happens to be the colony I—or at least the real Lia—spent time in.

I shake my head, unable to even begin to answer all the questions this new information inspires. Once again, I curse my faulty memory. I’m sick of being in the dark, of not knowing who I am or what my purpose is.
Why
can’t I just remember what happened?

I pause. Maybe I can’t remember what’s going on, but perhaps there’s another way I can find out.

17
THE MAIN RESEARCH CENTER
is located in the Lower Habitat Ring. I’ve never been there before, my explorations so far confined to the hub and Michael’s ring. Now as I stride into the center, it occurs to me that Rowan’s dispensation to visit Michael only extends to the Upper Habitat Ring. I pause briefly at the door, and shrug. They didn’t nab me the first time I walked into the upper ring without permission. Hopefully, they won’t worry too much if I spend an afternoon in the lower ring. Still, I hurry to take a seat at the first open carrel.

The NSol, or station net, can be linked into from anywhere on the station. I access it from my chit all the time. However, to link into the Celestial Interplanetary Net, one needs equipment a little stronger than the cheap device in my hand. I queue up the viewer in front of me, frowning at the password prompt until I catch sight of a login card at the side of the screen. Username: last name, date of birth. Password: chit number.

I key in the information and watch as the CIpN slowly loads. From here, I can access information from across the expanse, even as far out as Icarus or Nementh. Of course, a search that far out would take considerable time to yield results. The signal would have to go through any number of trans-galactic satellites to retrieve the information and then come back again. Luckily, I don’t need information from backward colonies on the fringes of space.

The first thing I do once the page loads is try to pull up the TAIN—the Tellurian Alliance Informational Network. In peace time, the TAIN and the CIpN can be accessed through each other. Unsurprisingly, I get an error message when I try to access it. I’m disappointed, but only mildly so. As everyone on the station is keenly aware, a ceasefire is a far cry from peace. I’ll just have to find what I’m looking for elsewhere.

I go to the Celestian newsfeeds next, focusing on the ones streaming from the planets and colonies closest to the Tellurian border. I’m not sure what I’m looking for exactly. Something to back up Merrins’ claims. Strange happenings that might indicate an alliance at war with itself. For three hours I look through articles from all the top feeds, searching for anything suspicious. Nothing. Not that jumps out at me anyway.

I lean back in my chair and rub my shoulders. Either Telluria is doing a really good job of covering up its internal issues or Merrins’ story was just smoke. If not for my encounter with Kerr, I would have given up long ago.

Kerr.

A thought suddenly occurs to me. I sign out of the newsfeeds and start hunting through the freighter boards. The searches take longer, the servers running the freighter pages not nearly as powerful as those running the main newsfeeds, but my persistence pays off. A pattern is emerging from the boards, from the posts put up by the hundreds of small freighters who made runs—licit or not—over the border at some time or other: a feed about a dogfight spotted between two alliance ships on the edge of Tellurian space, a warning posted on another board about strange pirate activity in a certain quadrant, a black market request for a very illegal, very dangerous type of deton-cannon from a hauler heading into alliance space.

“Merrins was right,” I breathe aloud. “It’s all here. You just have to know what to look for.”

I start compiling a list of all the places with suspicious activity, carefully going through entry after entry and marking the coordinates in a simple quadsheet. I finish and hit the “display” button. A wave of dots spread across a holomap of alliance space. I stare at them, trying to pick out anything useful from the mass. Nothing catches my eye. At least not until I think to have the computer catalog them in gradating shades of gray, with the oldest encounters being nearly black and the most recent a bright white.

There it is—a collection of dots slowly shrinking inward over the passage of time until the lightest dots cluster around just one place.

Tiersten Internment Colony.

There’s no doubt about it: if there really is a civil war being waged inside the alliance, Tiersten is at its center. Only why Tiersten? I wonder. Why a prison colony on the fringes of the alliance? It has no population but for the prisoners and the camp garrison. Not to mention its position, which, being located about as far from New Earth as possible, seems the
least
strategic position to mount a fight for colonization rights.

I bite my lip, unable to take my eyes off all those bright white dots. It can’t be a coincidence that I—that
Lia
—came from Tiersten. All this time, I assumed the alliance government sent me to New Sol as some sort of sneak attack on one of their enemy’s stations. Just another blow in their war for New Earth. Which made sense my first week here, but it’s been five weeks now. If they wanted to take down New Sol, they would have done it by now, with or without me. However, this Tellurian splinter faction is a different story altogether. I stare at those white dots again. It seems very possible now that whoever sent me in, it
wasn’t
the alliance government.

Looking at the map again, I click one of the black dots. The date is from a year and half ago. So long! The ceasefire has only been in place for eight weeks. Could the Tellurian government really have been talking about sharing New Earth so long ago? I find that hard to believe. The question is: if this faction isn’t fighting for New Earth, then what are they fighting for? How was it Kerr described the people who attacked her?

A desperate people fighting a war they already knew was lost.

Every hair on my arms raise as I recall her words and a shudder runs through my body. My stomach churns and for a moment I think I’ll be sick. It knows. My body
knows
why I’m here. Too bad my mind doesn’t.

I stew over the information from the research center during the ensuing week, but I don’t come to any further conclusions. Although I do seem to have been sent here by a splinter faction within the Tellurian Alliance, I still don’t know why. However, if they’re in as dire straits as Kerr seemed to think, it would certainly explain why nobody came for me. Maybe it wasn’t that they
didn’t
come, but they
couldn’t.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. After all, the alternative is that they abandoned me here on purpose.

Still, I continue to watch the newsfeeds in the Blue Lounge every day, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Kaeti comes and watches with me sometimes. Well, perhaps
comes with me
is not so accurate as
mercilessly follows me.

She pops up at the strangest times. In the cafeteria when I’m eating lunch, on the end of my cot when I awake, at the hygiene unit when I emerge from brushing my teeth before bed. Once I even come back from my morning jog to find her at the mouth of the SlipStream tunnel waiting for me.

“How did you get in here?” I ask, leaning against the wall to catch my breath.

“I followed you.”

“Yes, but
why?
”

Kaeti shrugs and doesn’t answer. I stare at her in exasperation, but her big-eyed gaze never wavers. Finally, I sigh. “I suppose it
is
nicer out here. Certainly the air is fresher.” I take a deep breath, appreciating the scentless cool of the tunnel.

She cocks her head at me curiously, but doesn’t say anything. Relenting, I take her hand. “Come on, we better find Lela before she notices you’re gone and goes galactic.”

I take Kaeti back to her caretaker, but she just shows up again a day later in the lounge, slipping into the seat beside me while I watch the feeds. I sigh and immediately link Lela. The older woman shakes her head when I tell her who’s with me.

“She was supposed to be in a playgroup arranged by the officers. I didn’t even realize she was gone.” Lela wipes her forehead. “Do you mind? She’s running me ragged.”

Do I mind?
I start to say yes and then stop. Kaeti’s shadowing is foreign, alien to me, who’s so used to spending time alone, but it’s not necessarily unwelcome. In fact, there’s something companionable about her quiet presence beside me. With a shake of my head, I link off and leave Lela to some well-deserved peace. I can entertain Kaeti for a couple hours.

I take her around the hub with me, showing her all the places Michael showed me, telling her the fascinating bits of trivia he told me. She even meets Michael later that week when he comes to hang out with me. He leans down and shakes her hand, his smile in full charm mode, and then proceeds to buy us both sundaes in one of the ring restaurants. By the time Kaeti has to report back to the cargo bay, she’s besotted.

I completely understand the feeling.

Ever since hearing Teal’s dad refer to me as Michael’s girlfriend, I haven’t been able to think of anything else when I’m around him. It’s strange. I only just started thinking of myself as Michael’s friend, but already my thoughts are toying with the idea of being more. I find myself analyzing his every movement—his gestures, his smiles, his looks—trying to figure out where his feelings really lie. And whether I actually return them.

Two weeks ago I wouldn’t have thought myself capable of anything more than friendship. Six weeks ago, I wouldn’t have even thought myself capable of that. Finding out I’m Lia’s clone has freed something inside of me, loosed the guilt of pretending to be someone I’m not and replaced it with the confidence of knowing what I am. No longer do I worry about keeping myself separate from Lia, about segregating her memories from my own lest I forget who I am. Instead I embrace her as myself; as the person I should have been,
would
have been, if only I’d lived another life. Lia’s gone, after all, and I’m here. What’s wrong with stepping into her shoes and living the life she can’t?

It’s just that easy, being Lia. That frighteningly easy.

Maybe it’s my newfound confidence, but even my relationship with Teal has become easier. Ever since the night Michael walked out, Teal and I have been getting along surprisingly well. Instead of disapproving silence whenever I walk into the room, she actually seems glad to see me, saying hi or just giving me a friendly wave. Sometimes when Michael’s busy with his schoolwork we hang out, taking quizzes from her fashion zines or just watching a teen holo together. I don’t even try to question Teal’s change of heart. Better not to overthink things than risk screwing them up.

Returning to the cargo bay after a quick lunch, I’m surprised to find the bay abuzz with chatter. Everyone’s been on edge since the emergency drill eight days ago, but this time the talk is different. There’s excitement in the voices around me. Excitement, relief, and even a tinge of apprehension. I pass close to one particularly loud group, pricking my ears to catch the edges of their discussion.

“. . . heard they’ll be here in two days.”

“I heard three weeks.”

“I’m just glad we’re finally going to get out of here!”

“Is everyone going?”

“I think so. A whole convoy of ships, coming to take us home. It’s about time!”

By the time I make it to my cot, I’ve caught the whole story, or at least as much as the refugees seem to know. A convoy of ships is coming to the station, and within days, a few weeks at most, we’ll all be piled on various ships and sent home en masse. Even the Aurorans, though no one seems to know exactly where we’re going.

I sink down onto my cot, a shiver going through me as I remember my meeting with Rowan. That the fate of the Aurorans still remains a tightly-lidded secret despite all of the other information that’s leaked out does not bode well. Even more upsetting is the realization that in a matter of days I might lose Michael forever. Michael, Teal, Taylor. A pang goes through me at the thought of leaving them all. I already lost family once; I can’t do it again!

My head jerks up.
I had family?

Even as I try to tell myself no, a spasm of grief rockets through me. Maybe my mind can’t remember, but my heart does. Is it a curse I don’t remember them or a mercy?

I get up and start pacing beside my cot. I always knew my time here was limited. They couldn’t keep us all on the station indefinitely. I just never realized how hard it would be to leave. Again, my thoughts go to Michael’s family, and I remember Rowan’s words to me. I can’t ask them, I can’t!

Or can I?

I shiver again, and this time realize it’s not just a sense of foreboding but actual cold that’s making me shake. I redirect my pacing between a couple crates and toward the wall with my locker. There’s a fuzzy sweater of Teal’s in there. The idea of nestling up in that blue softness suddenly seems very appealing.

Emerging on the other side of a wall of crates, I hunt along the wall for my locker. There it is, fifth from the end. I reach out my palm to scan my chit.

Hands hit my back with a vicious shove. I fly into the wall, my face whamming into the metal hard enough to make it clang, and my legs start to fold. I scrabble at the locker, my hands seeking purchase before my knees completely collapse. Something hard and metal solidifies under my fingers—the handle of the locker—and I struggle to turn and identify my attacker.

“You glitch!” a crazy voice screams. “
What
have you done?!”