Omycron (first day of the week)

  Elul (sixth month)

  Menaheim (planet #1), Frostwynd Galaxy

  Epoch 5, year 3822

  I wake up to the glaring light of Astar– the second, smaller sun– shining directly into my face. A groan escapes my lips as I roll onto my side, and a dull ache pounds in my head– courtesy of last night’s tears. I groan again as I realize that I have to head into town today. Some supplies just will not wait. Swinging my legs over the side of my bed, I keep my head bowed; my skull feels heavy, still laden with the weight of sleep and grief.

  Two years.

  I still cannot let go.

  I stumble into the bathroom and take a quick shower. Not many people have hot running water here on the outskirts of the city, but I’m one of the lucky ones. The steaming streams of water feel good on my back and neck. A cold rinse right afterward makes me feel more awake.

  Back in my bedroom, I look mournfully at the basket full of dirty laundry. One more thing I have to do today. My gaze sweeps the room, and I sigh. I really should clean this place. Sand has congregated in the corners of the room; my threadbare throw rug is no doubt laden with it. Dust coats every little-used flat surface, and some slanted ones, including the orderly rows of medals and trophies lining the shelves on the walls.

  All those trophies and medals are mine. Won in too many races now to count. Mama and Pa were so proud of my talent. Pa most of all, probably because he’s the one who taught me how to fly like I do.

  They worried some, when I would sit inside that cockpit and fly with those aggressive opponents. But that never stopped them from letting me chase my dreams. Not many believe that a girl can race, and fewer still would bet on her and support her. But Pa and Mama always believed in me. I did my best, tried my hardest, pushed myself far past the limits of where I thought I could go, brought home trophies– all just to see my parents smile. They were so proud of me, of what I was becoming.

  I stopped racing after Mama died. It was Pa who got me going again. I wanted to stop after he died too.

  But now, I race just for him, in his memory, imagining as I fly that I will see him cheering proudly for me as I cross the finish line.

  But he’s never there, and it always hurts, and the trophies and medals mean nothing anymore.

  I’m racing again tomorrow.

  I spin on my heel and leave the bedroom. I’ll grab my jacket and boots later, when I leave for town.

  The kitchen and sitting room are the only other two places I actually keep tidy, besides the bathroom. Today they’re bright and cheery, with the light of the larger sun, Thestar, shining through the windows as it rises. I resist the urge to draw the curtains and shut out the brightness. Bellan says that sunshine is good for me, and I respect her well enough to follow her advice. She’s one of the few people whose help and concern I actually appreciate. She’s the one who held me together after Pa died. She also gives me cookies.

  So I bask in the sunlight as I prepare breakfast and eat. The warmth does feel good on my skin, on my face. I savor it as I wash up the dishes and tidy the room. I am grateful for it as I slip on my jacket and boots. And I revel in it as I sling my backpack over my shoulder and stride out to the Birdwing 600-R.

  My airship looks especially pretty and sleek in the morning sunlight. As I walk past, I run my hand over the black, painted letters on her hull. Sorrow67, it reads. I renamed her after Pa died. The name fits though. It fits us both.

  I walk around to the back of the airship, pound the button, and watch the rear hatch drop open. The cockpit hatch opens too, but I don’t want to drag the tall step-ladder all the way out here. I only use the cockpit hatch during races.

  The rear hatch hisses as it opens, thuds hollowly as it makes contact with the ground. My boots clang with the same empty sound as I stride up, gangplank-style, into the cabin hold. The air in here is cool, stale. I’m grateful for my leather flight jacket after the heat outside. I toss my backpack on one of the seats lining the walls and stride into the cockpit.

  From in here, the airship looks a lot bigger than it does from the outside. That’s all thanks to physio-magnetic quantum mechanics. All airships now have them. They’ve had them for epochs. It makes for larger space inside a container than the mass of the container should physically allow. I’ve been extremely grateful for the mechanic when I’ve gone on longer trips. Which I do frequently with my races.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  I slide into the pilot’s chair, studiously keeping my gaze from the empty co-pilot’s seat next to me. Pa’s seat.

  My fingers fly over the dashboard, flicking switches and pushing buttons with the speed and ease born of long years of practice. The rear hatch hisses closed. The engines of my Birdwing start up; I can feel the vibrations thrumming through the steel bones of my airship, hear the dull roar through the glass of the cockpit. I shift my weight into a more comfortable position in my chair, grab the handles of the flight controls, and pull back. Sorrow67 rises easily into the air, her movements like liquid within the crash-preventive eletro-magnetic containment shield surrounding her. The shield engages automatically, as soon as we’re in the air. Another feature I’m extremely grateful for. The shield does get depleted after a while though, if one takes enough hits from weaponry or something else, which is not so great. Oh well, nothing’s perfect.

  A joystick on my control handle serves as my accelerator, and I push it forward with my thumb. The landscape blurs as I speed towards the city proper. I have to slow down right quickly as I reach the crowded city streets. I watch the traffic– airships above the buildings, and personal hovercraft and pedestrians down on the stone streets– trying to maneuver my way safely to the public hangar in the Flight Hub near the center of the city. It’s busy here today, courtesy of the race tomorrow. It’s been a while since I’ve raced in my home city, but I more than qualify for entry to this race, and they couldn’t very well deny me.

  Somehow I make it to the hangar without incident, and the heat strikes me in the face as I exit Sorrow67; the noise assaults my ears. I breathe deep of the spice-and-dust-scented air. This is Tenja. This is safety and this is grief. This is home. Despite my procrastinations, it’s good to be back.

  Even with my shorter legs, my stride still takes me swiftly from the hangar to the mercantile on the main street. After nearly getting run over by three different hovercrafts and trampled by the many people rushing around, I finally step inside the mercantile. The sudden quiet is blessed and still, and I take a minute to relax in the sunlight and hovering dust motes.

  “Good morning, Genesis.” Ioran, the mercantile’s proprietor, greets me from behind the counter, his voice friendly as usual. He peers at me over his half-moon glasses, his furry tail twitching in that quirky, happy way he has. “Just the usual today?”

  Ioran’s a Rū. A light-boned, sharp-angled humanoid creature who stands about a human’s height, has a light covering of skin-toned fur, and a tail. They’re usually pretty mild-mannered, and Ioran is no exception.

  “Good morning, Ioran.” I reply, a reluctant smile curving my lips. “Yes, just the usual today.”

  “Ah, she smiles.” Ioran’s white, pointed teeth flash in a delighted reply as he turns to put my order together. As he works, I wander the aisles of the mercantile, looking to see if there’s anything new on Ioran’s shelves. I see a bracelet made of dark-sapphires and silver. Mama would have loved it. Pa would have bought it for her. I leave it where it lies.

  “Gen, everything’s ready for you.” Ioran calls.

  “Thanks.” I reply, returning to the front counter. Ioran’s made a neat paper-wrapped bundle of the supplies I need. I place my backpack on the counter and the Rū slides the bundle into it as I count out the proper amount of copper marks. I drop the coins into Ioran’s hand; he secrets them away, and then shakes my hand.

  “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Gen Murray.” He says, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles at me. “Good luck on your next race. I’m betting on you.” He winks.

  I cannot help but give him a wide smile. “Thanks, Ioran. That means a lot.”

  “Don’t be a stranger, Gen!” He calls after me as I head out the door back into the heat and bustle of the city.

  I go next into the Domestic Sector of Tenja, making use of the opportunity to use my legs as I head to the home of Bellan.

  She greets me with a hug at the door, slipping a cookie into my hand.

  “How are you, hon?” She asks, pulling me into the house.

  “I’ve been better.” I reply, dropping my backpack on the floor by the door and taking a bite of the cookie. Bellan smiles at me, flipping her unruly honey-blond hair out of her face. A hint of grief is in her eyes, but her merriness is all for me.

  “I hear you have another race tomorrow, love.” She says, offering me another cookie.

  “I do.” I take the second round bit of chocolatey goodness. “Are you going to be there?” I ask with a bit of excitement.

  Bellan winks. “I wouldn’t miss it for all the worlds, sugar.” She says, smiling. A warm feeling fills my chest. Bellan isn’t my mother, but she’s the closest thing I’ve had to one since Mama died. Bellan watching my races is something I wouldn’t pass up for anything.

  We sit in her bright, spotless sitting room for a while, chatting and just visiting. I love Bellan’s sitting room. The windows are huge and the walls are lined with all sorts of green plants, which is rare on this planet. And, despite the huge windows, the heat outside doesn’t fill the house. It’s cool and peaceful. I wish I came here more.

  All too soon the afternoon comes and goes and the evening shadows grow long.

  “I gotta go, Bellan.” I say, rising and moving toward the door. “I gotta race tomorrow, and I still have some chores to do.”

  “Well, come back soon, love.” She tells me, embracing me at the door. I pick up my backpack and sling it over my shoulder.

  “I will. See you tomorrow?”

  She smiles. “Sure thing, hon.”

  I give her one more hug, then step out the door and make my way back to Sorrow67. The city is calmer, more quiet, in the evening. The day’s heat lingers as Thestar sets. Astar has just completed its third revolution and slipped over the horizon for the night.

  I breathe deep of the dusty air again. I love this place, even through the grief I’ve borne here.

  This is home.

  Bellan makes it home for me.

  And tomorrow, I will race to make Bellan proud.