Nova (6 page)

I expect us to head back to the door we came in, but instead Michael takes us down the fire escape on the side of the building. He halts midway down, climbing through an open window then reaching back to help me step over the sill behind him. I glance around what is obviously a kitchen, wondering where we are.

An older woman with thick stripes of white in her hair looks up from the stove. She doesn’t seem in the least surprised at our appearance through the window.

“Michael,” she greets.

“Gran, this is Lia,” he says with a nod in my direction. “Lia, this is my grandmother.”

She takes me in for a long moment, eyes scanning down my jumpsuit and back up, and for a split second I panic. Did Lia know her? Does she recognize that I’m not Lia?

“Welcome to our home, Lia,” Michael’s grandmother says with a quiet smile. “Michael’s told me a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

So we—or rather, Lia and his grandmother—haven’t met before. I breathe an inward sigh of relief. Michael seems to have accepted my identity as Lia with blithe unconcern, but this woman seems sharper, somehow, and I can’t help thinking that if anyone could see through me it would be her.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“Please, call me Taylor. ‘Ma’am’ made me feel old when I was thirty. Now that I’m twice that, it makes me feel positively ancient.”

“Aw, Gran! We all know you’re only twenty-seven,” Michael says, throwing an arm around her shoulders and smacking a kiss on her cheek.

She laughs and pats his hand. “My grandson, the charmer. You better be careful around this one, Lia,” she warns, but I can tell she’s only teasing. I feel a strange pang in my chest as I watch them. The affection between the two is almost tangible. Once again I feel like an intruder, a voyeur, spying on something everyone else takes for granted, but which I will never possess myself.

“Hey, when’s sup going to be, Gran?”

I turn as a teenage girl slouches into the room.

“Teal.”

“How do you know my name?” she asks, brow creasing in confusion. She glances at Michael, and her face abruptly clears. “Oh, you must be
her
.
”

“Not
her
, Space Face.
Lia
.
” Michael puts in. “From Aurora? Or are you too oxygen-deprived to remember?”

Teal makes a face. “If anyone here is a deficient, it’s
you
, Michael.” She gives me a sidelong glance, wariness clear in her gaze. “Sure, I remember Lia. Sort of.”

She reluctantly extends her hand for a low five, and I give it a light slap, the universal teen greeting coming without thought. I use the moment to study Teal.

She’s younger than Michael by a few years—she’s about thirteen, maybe—which means she would have been six the last time she saw Lia. I’m not surprised she hardly remembers me. A memory suddenly flashes in my head—a little girl with scabby knees and frizzy braids flying out in every direction, racing through the playground behind Michael and me.

Her hair is painstakingly straightened now, her legs long and smooth beneath her faux-denim skirt, but I still recognize her as Michael’s little sister from so long ago. Upon closer inspection, I realize she’s actually an inch taller than me, and I feel an unreasoning stab of jealousy. No, not my own jealousy. Lia’s jealousy. She always hated being short.

“No one in this room is a deficient,” Michael’s grandmother declares, “and Teal, supper will be in about ten minutes. Please set the table. Lia, you’re welcome to join us.”

“I’m just going to show Lia around first, ’kay?” Michael says before I can answer.

The apartment is small but comfortable, with two bedrooms, a living room, and bathroom in addition to the kitchen/dining room we initially entered. The décor is an eclectic mix of furnishings tending to blues and greens, and the whole place feels homey and bright. A far cry from the austere cargo bay and transport where I spent my last few weeks.

We end the tour in the back bedroom. Twin beds are set on opposite sides of the room and a sheet is strung up in the middle like a makeshift curtain. I sneak a peek at each side. It’s not hard to tell which side is which. Teal’s side is done in shades of purple, with makeup and hair accessories cluttered atop the dresser and clothes lying over the bed. Her walls are programmed with digitals of her and her friends. In comparison, Michael’s side is surprisingly tidy. The forest green spread has been pulled up more or less neatly over the bed, and except for a grav-ball vest hanging over a drawer, his clothes are put away. A starscape completely covers his walls.

Michael tosses himself down on his bed. “Teal and I have to share now. Not like on Aurora. It’s a serious dis-sat.”

“Try sharing a room with a hundred other refugees,” I throw out sardonically. “Then come tell me about it.”

He doesn’t reply, and I pull my head back from Teal’s side. He’s staring at me, a slow grin widening his face.

“What?” I ask, suddenly worried I said the wrong thing.

“Nothing. It’s just that you sounded more like you than you have since I met you. Here on the station, I mean.”

“I did?”

“Well, yeah. You’ve been so quiet, so withdrawn. Not like you were before.” He must sense my dismay, for he quickly adds, “It’s okay. I get it, you’ve been through a lot. It was just nice to see a little of the old Lia for a minute.”

He smiles directly at me, and I almost take a step back. They’re a punch to the gut, his smiles. Lighting up his entire face, warming his eyes until they glow like embers on a cold night. Just like you could warm your hands by a fire, you could warm your soul by his smiles. Assuming you have a soul, that is.

I look down at Michael’s dresser and finger a hologlobe perched there. Do I have a soul?
Can
someone like me have a soul? Maybe if I knew what I was, I could answer that question. A genetically engineered bomb made out of some scientist’s DNA, I know that much, but beyond that. Everyone seems to believe I’m Lia—Michael, Teal, their grandmother. Although to be fair, Teal was only six the last time she saw Lia, so it’s doubtful she’d be able to tell either way, and Taylor never met Lia at all. Still, Michael believes I’m Lia, so I must bear some resemblance to her, though whether it’s through a surgeon’s tools, genetic manipulation, or some fluke of nature, I have no idea. Perhaps they chose my DNA from a scientist who resembled Lia in the basics, and then implanted characteristics to make me even more like her. I wish I could remember the scientist whose genes were used to create me. I wish I knew what my creator looked like. For that matter, I don’t even know what
Lia
looked like! Suddenly the desire to see her seems far more important than it should. An idea occurs to me.

“Michael, do you have any digitals of us?”

“Digis? Oh, sure. Let me see.” He goes to the wall control and types in a few commands. The starscape in the middle section blinks out and a series of images appear. Two kids—running across a lawn, riding bikes, seated at a table in front of a birthday cake. It’s the last image, though, that holds me spellbound.

Two kids sprawl across a porch swing caught in mid-motion. The swinging must have jarred the girl, for she looks like she’s going to fall off at any moment, her feet dangling and her arms flailing, her expression a mix of excitement and surprise. The boy is laughing as he clings to her waist, and I know without a doubt that she didn’t fall. He wouldn’t have let her.

A strange sensation wells up in my chest, and I find it hard to swallow. I shake it off and force myself to concentrate on the image. The boy is unquestionably Michael; even with the difference of seven years I can see that. So I shift my focus to the girl. Small, with long blonde hair and pale skin—in the basics, at least, we resemble each other. I can’t make out her eye color, but my gaze traces over the shape of her face, the length of her nose, the curve of her jaw. Our faces seem similar, but how similar I’m not sure. I wish I could look at myself in the mirror, make the same observations on my own face that I am on hers.

“This one was always my favorite, too.”

I glance over in surprise. There is a wistful look in Michael’s eyes, the like of which I haven’t seen on him before. Is he missing those days on Aurora? Or is he missing the girl in that image, instinctively knowing in his heart that she’s gone and will never come back?

“Would you have known me by looks alone?” I ask suddenly. “That first day on Seven, outside the bay. If you hadn’t seen my picture on the screen, I mean.”

Michael blinks. “I don’t know. I never thought about it.” He looks at me for a minute and shakes his head. “I’m used to the way you look now. I can’t imagine you looking any different. Why? Do you think you’ve changed that much?”

Outwardly I shrug, but inwardly all I can think is—

Oh, Michael, if only you knew.

10
WE GATHER IN THE DINING
room at Taylor’s call, sitting down at the table just as Teal finishes putting down the last of the silverware.

“I hope you like fettuccine,” Michael’s grandmother says as she sets a pot in the middle of the table between a bowl of salad and a basket of bread.

“I like everything,” I answer. Which isn’t exactly true, but isn’t exactly a lie either.

Michael snorts. “You don’t have to be so polite, Lia.”

“What?” I ask, confused.

“You like
everything?
” He raises an eyebrow at me and laughs. “Come on, Lia. I remember when you used to eat at our house on Aurora. You were the pickiest eater ever! My dad always used to say there were only two meals he could serve whenever you came over.”

I swallow hard, trying to think of an answer to cover my mistake. A gentle hand suddenly squeezes my shoulder.

“Sometimes people’s tastes change as they grow older,” Taylor remarks mildly. She squeezes my shoulder once more and lets go. We take our places, and Taylor asks Michael to say grace.

“Sure, Gran.” He holds out his hand to me, and surprised, I take it. Teal grabs my other hand and everyone bows their head as Michael begins. I keep my head down, but flick my eyes up to the circle around me as he speaks: Michael to Taylor to Teal to me to Michael. It feels strange to be a part of the circle, a link in the chain rather than a lone ring. Strange, but nice.

Michael finishes grace, and we begin passing food around the table.

“So, Lia,” Taylor asks. “How do you like New Sol Station so far?”

Aside from the fact that I failed to blow it up, just fine, thank you.
“It’s nice.”

“You’ll have to get Michael to show you around. I swear, he knows every nook and cranny in this place.”

I nod, buttering a piece of bread and trying not to let my apprehension show. Taylor asks a few more questions, trivial things, taking care not to touch on my family or my time in the internment camp. Her curiosity seems genuine, and her smile, like Michael’s, reaches all the way up through her face and beams out from her eyes. I find myself relaxing a bit, my answers becoming less studied the more I answer.

“Do you know how much time you have left here?”

I drop my fork midway to my mouth, face freezing in shock.
How did she know?
“What?”

“With Aurora still under Tellurian control, I was just wondering if they were planning to keep you all—or the Auroran refugees, at least—on the station or relocate you to one of the colonies,” Taylor says gently. “I know Michael would be disappointed to have you leave so soon after seeing you again.”

“No slag,” Teal interjects. “Ever since you arrived, all it’s been is Lia this and Lia that.”

“Seal your airlock, Teal!” Michael exclaims, looking a bit embarrassed.

“
You
seal it!”

I breathe a sigh of relief. So Taylor wasn’t referring to my clock, stopped inside my head, but to the government’s plans for the Auroran refugees. For the first time, I realize I have no idea what they intend for me. I’d never expected to be around long enough for it to matter. I shrug awkwardly in answer to the question.

Michael comes to my rescue. “They’re planning to repatriate everyone except the Aurorans back to their home planets or colonies so that the local governments can resettle them. They haven’t figured out what’s going to happen to the Aurorans yet—maybe divided up and parceled out among the various colonies, or sent to friends and family, if they have any left on other worlds. At least, that’s what one of the officers told me,” he says when everyone looks at him.

I blink. Michael asked one of the officers about me? He’s been talking about me at home with his family? I’m not sure what to think about that.

No, I do know what to think about that. Whoever Lia was to Michael, I’m still a bomb. The last thing I need is someone poking his nose into my business. I should be upset by his attention. I
should
be, but somehow upset is the last feeling I can muster for his presumption.

With the mention of the released prisoners, the conversation drifts to the war. It’s impossible to miss talk of the war, not on the transport and not on the station. Even without everything I heard on the journey here, I would still know what they’re talking about. I may not know anything about myself, but at least I seem to have a working knowledge of the world around me.

Everyone had always assumed that when we finally went to the stars, we would put all our petty quarrels behind us. That the coldness of space would kindle the warmth of brotherhood among all humankind. And who knows? Maybe if we’d found other life out there, unfriendly life, that’s exactly what would have happened. Only we didn’t. We were still alone as far as we knew—at least in our own little corner of the universe—and so we brought all of our baggage with us. Intercountry disputes became interplanetary disputes while world wars became galactic wars. No matter how vast space was, we could still find things to fight over—who would settle this planet, who would get the mining rights to that asteroid, who would dictate space lanes and trade agreements.

Out of the initial skirmishes, two superpowers eventually emerged: the Tellurian Alliance, a group of planetary commonwealths allied under the leadership of the original Earth, and the Celestial Expanse, a vast empire of space stations and colonies ruled over by a tight-knit oligarchy known as the Board of Directors. For decades they’ve slid in and out of war, battling over this dispute or that until finally coming to a truce, only to start right up again the next time some new disagreement comes along.

The current dispute is over a planet, unsurprisingly. However, this planet isn’t like any of the previous ones we’ve discovered. Those were all real fixer-uppers, hard balls of rock with decades of terraforming and generations of tough living standing between them and true habitability. Even Aurora took a good seventy years to become the paradise Michael and I remember. No, this is a planet rich in clean water, fertile soil. A planet with a genuine oxygen-mix atmosphere and, surprisingly, no prior claim by sentient life. I’ve heard that some people have nicknamed it New Earth, it’s so close to the original Earth. The problem is that no one can agree on who has the rightful claim to it.

As usual, both sides took the credit. The Celestians were the first to locate it on the prospecting scans, but the Tellurians managed to arrive at the planet first, slipping a small survey party onto New Earth shortly after its discovery three years ago. By the time the Celestians caught up, Telluria already had a warship in range, ready to blow them out of space if they even attempted to go planetside. Back-up quickly massed for both sides, and the stand-off began. Of course, a battle over the planet itself is out of the question. Can’t risk hurting the very merchandise they’re fighting over. So both sides kept ships stationed around the planet to keep their rival from sending anyone else down, and took their territorial war back into the inhabited universe, each side trying to inflict enough damage to make the other cry uncle. Just business as usual.

Or perhaps not, I realize as I listen to the conversation around me.

“All I’m saying is, maybe the Tellurians are really serious about peace this time. I mean, if they’re willing to free prisoners and open the negotiations over New Earth—”

“Seriously, Michael?” Teal snorts. “That’s what you think is going on? Everyone has decided to play nice?”

“Why not? They’ve made plenty of peace treaties in the past.”

“Yeah, and how long have those ever lasted? Besides, those slippery Tellurians wouldn’t give up their claim so easily, not after the dirty tactics they used to get ahead of our survey party and cheat us out of our New Earth landing. I heard they deliberately jammed up half a dozen jump paths just to keep us from arriving first. People like that are capable of anything
but
peace. No, the Tellurians are up to something. They have to be.”

“Why do you always have to be so neg, Teal? Maybe they’re just tired of fighting and figure it’s easier to share.”

“What are you in, kindergarten? You’re just hoping this peace sticks so you don’t get drafted next year.”

Michael looks over at her sharply, his eyes widening in shock at her rejoinder before darkening in annoyance. He shakes his head, mouth set, and doesn’t answer. I glance between the two of them, sensing more to the exchange than meets the eye, but unable to figure out what.

It is Taylor who ends the argument with a decisive, “Only time will tell either way, but I, for one, hope this peace sticks, too. Now, Teal, can you help me clear the table, please? Michael, you can start cutting the cake.”

Innocuous as they are, Taylor’s words defuse the tension almost instantly. Teal rolls her eyes once at Michael, and he shoots her an irritated look back, then the two go about their assigned tasks as though nothing happened.

I watch this family in bemusement. I barely know them, have only met them for the first time today with the exception of Michael, and yet even I can see that they . . . work. I can’t think of any other way to describe it. They work, though they’re not the most traditional of families. Everyone has a place, a niche within the framework that makes up their little unit; each is a piece, and together they make up a whole. I wonder if I was ever part of a family like that.

Common sense comes rushing back, and I shake my head. As far as I know, I’m nothing more than some lab experiment, fabricated in a research facility for one purpose alone. As though someone like me ever had parents. As though someone like me ever had a family. What was I thinking?

Yet somehow the idea doesn’t feel quite as ridiculous as it should.

After dinner, Michael walks me home. He has to, to help me carry all the stuff his grandmother sent with me.

I peek over at Michael, struggling to peer around the big box in his arms, and grin. Taylor only meant to send an extra piece of cake with me. “For later,” she’d said with a wink. Only somehow the cake made her think of the extra pillow in the hall closet, and the pillow made her recall the blanket no one was using, and just like that, a small food container morphed into a good-sized packing box. I tried to refuse the items—didn’t I have a perfectly good sleeping roll down in the bay?—but Taylor insisted, and I didn’t know how to refuse.

We enter the SlipStream station and take a spot on the platform to wait. Michael sets the box on the bench and drums on the top, seemingly content to wait in silence, but all I can think about is the ride here, the way my clock lost seconds, and nervousness tightens my stomach. I cast about for something to say to distract myself from the edginess.

“Your gran’s really nice.”

Michael’s fingers still for a moment. “Yeah, yeah she is. She’s been really great to Teal and me.”

“Has she always lived on New Sol?”

“Just about. Her family emigrated here when she was only a kid.”

“So how long have you been staying with her?”

Michael tenses, a guarded look on his face. Then he takes a breath and releases it with a whoosh. “It’s okay, Lia, you can ask. I know you must be wondering what I’m doing here. On New Sol, I mean,” he clarifies at my confused look.

I’m not, but I nod anyway.

“It’s not what you’re probably thinking.”

As if he would know what I was thinking any more than I would know what he
thinks
I’m thinking. Which is to say, I have no idea.

“Okay,” I answer, not having anything better to say.

“My parents aren’t dead. I know you probably didn’t want to ask because—” He jerks his head at me, and I realize he’s thinking of my parents.

No, not my parents.
Lia’s
parents.

“Oh.” I duck my head, not sure how to answer, which he takes for a yes.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” Michael continues. “At least, I don’t think so. When Mom got promoted to first officer on Stella Station and we left Aurora, it was still supposed to be the four of us, just like always. Dad’s request for reassignment had been accepted, and we were all going to live on the station together.”

“What happened?”

Michael shrugs. “Well, we were all together for a while. Then the war happened. They discovered New Earth, and the fighting started up all over again. They needed experienced officers in the field, so they reassigned Mom to a ship of the line. For a while we lived with Dad, going with him whenever he got reassigned. We moved three times in two years, until finally they assigned Dad to the
Victor’s Prize
as communications officer. Warship—no civilians allowed. You know what the last thing he said was, before he left? He said his place,
his duty
,” Michael spits out the words, “was with the fleet. And off he went.”

His fingers toy with something in his pocket. “Of course they wouldn’t let Teal and me stay by ourselves, so we were shipped off here to live with Gran. That was a year ago, and we’ve been here ever since. Not that I mind. It’s a lot nicer here than it was on the last station where we lived. More like Aurora. Like home.”