Brightly Burning(12)

“That, you can ask them when I deliver you. It’s none of my business why some fancy private ship would do such a crazy thing.” He handed over my tea, the smell making my mouth water. Tea was a rarity on the Stalwart. It smelled heavenly, and the first sip fulfilled the promise of its aroma.

“Shouldn’t you be flying the shuttle?”

“Autopilot. It’ll be a smooth ride. Hope you have something to read.”

I didn’t, but I had my drawing tab. Reluctantly I set down my tea, though only after taking another hearty sip, and retrieved my tab.

“When you are ready to sleep, you let me know. I have a special drink for that. You’ll sleep much better, longer.”

I nodded, waving him away, and turned on my tablet. And there was George again, half-formed eyes twinkling up at me. I swiped it away. Time to draw something new.


I took Sergei up on his sleep aid and awoke who-knew-how-many hours later. A quick look out the window and seeing nothing but space cartwheeling into infinity told me we were far from the fleet, and Earth. The moon had to be close.

“Good morning,” Sergei said as he emerged from the cockpit. “Or evening, rather. We will be there soon. We’ve made good time.” He looked me up and down. “Do you wish to change? I can give you some privacy.”

“Oh, no,” I said, looking down at my sad state of affairs. My underclothes had turned pungent. “These are all I have. I’m fine,” I said in a quiet voice.

Sergei tsked under his breath. “At least you’re going to a better place. The Rochester imports the best clothing. I bring it to them. You’ll see.”

I doubted part of my stipend would include clothing, but I nodded at him, hoping he’d drop the subject. Instead, he decided making conversation was the order of the day. “What do you know about the Rochester? Why are you going there?”

“I don’t know much,” I said. Like, you know, that the ship is orbiting the moon. “Only that it’s a small, private ship that needed a teacher. The ad said one pupil, age ten.”

Sergei looked pleased, like he knew a secret he could let me in on. “They say it is haunted. Lots of spooky goings-on on board. I never stay longer than I must.”

“What do you mean, it’s haunted?”

He shrugged. “I’ve heard reports of strange sounds, sabotage, people disappearing. More than a few personnel have left. I have transported them happily away.”

“Can I have another cup of tea?” I needed something to warm the chill that was settling in my bones. Sergei grunted in the affirmative and went to heat some water. I moved back to the window, but the view was the same as before. “How close are we to the moon?” I asked. “Can I see it from the cockpit?”

Sergei eyed me while plucking two tea bags out of a colorful box whose emblem I did not recognize. “If you are very careful, and promise not to touch anything.”

I was enthusiastic and emphatic in my reply, immediately bouncing forward through the cramped galley way and into a gallery of glass and blinking blue screens. The view beyond the front window screens was breathtaking. The moon shone white, its smooth surface mottled dark in a scattershot pattern like a bruised peach. I couldn’t help but compare it to the only other heavenly body I had glimpsed so close; its beauty was mesmerizing, but in a sad, melancholy way. The surface held no life, no swirling cumulus masking the teeming ecosystem below, like Earth. Yet it called to me, a hunk of rock slipping solitarily through the skies.

But she wasn’t alone—?I had decided the moon was female—?no, just off to her left side, if I squinted, I could see a ship. Or, more accurately, I could see the glint of moonlight refracting off the sleek metal surface of a craft. We’d have to fly closer for me to make out any detail.

“You see her, yes?” Sergei came in behind me, teacups in hand. It seemed he favored the feminine as well, but he was referring to the Rochester. I nodded. “Another few hours, at most; then we will dock.” He handed me my tea and, to my surprise, invited me to sit. With bated breath, I lowered myself into what would have been the First Officer’s chair and got a view of the nose of a ship from a whole new perspective. In the foreground blinked screens scrolling ship data—?speed, fuel measures, etc.—?and beyond that, the unbroken vista of space.

“I should have been a pilot,” I let out breathlessly.

Sergei smirked into his teacup. “Yes, it is a very good life. But, not always so safe. And very lonely. You’re better off as a teacher, you can trust me.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that being a teacher could be just as lonely as drifting out in space. Sometimes the loneliest you could be was surrounded by people who didn’t understand you.


We docked with the Rochester at three in the morning. Despite my daylong sleep, my internal body clock vehemently protested the late hour; as the ship door lifted open, I found myself yawning. The airlock was small, barely large enough to hold the transport ship, and through the reinforced glass doors at the far end, I could see the shadowy figure of a woman there to greet me. Sergei led the way, not bothering to unload the food crates—?he’d already told me he would do it in the morning before he departed—?with me trailing behind, dragging my bag along the grated floor in my weary state.

The glass door slid open to reveal the figure, a petite woman in a well-fitted uniform jacket, which tapered into a dress, its form-fitting black fabric covering her short legs. Did they not wear wicking underdresses aboard the Rochester? I’d never seen such a fine coat. The woman in it smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling with wrinkles of a severity I’d rarely seen.