Good Luck With Shooting The Moon

It’s a piece of junk. And everything’s in Russian.

Unfortunately, I don’t speak Russian.

Fortunately, I can handle junk.

Abby told me that she couldn’t come in to check on my progress for three days. If she did, Kane would probably get suspicious and kill us both.

It seems like there’s some history between those two. Still, it’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who hates Marcus Kane. Prick.

I also heard his girlfriend broke up with him, which seems justifiable considering all of the shit Abby told me about that asshole.

Like the fact that he’d rather murder three hundred people than try to get back down to the ground.

Or the fact that he tried to float Abby for saving chancellor Jaha.

Sure, I’m not a fan of Jaha, but I’m also not a fan of murder. Fucking men.

OR that he’s basically a fascist who wants to seize power in any way he can. That sadist.

But Abby isn’t coming in here for three days, and she’s apparently spread the word that I have typhoid or something. She said that she needed to let the council know that I had some horribly contagious disease so that they wouldn’t come looking for me. Still, rumors spread fast on a tiny ship, and I have a sneaking suspicion that soon people will be saying that Raven Reyes has somehow contracted syphilis.

Unfortunately, that also means that I can’t leave the restricted level for at least three days, until Abby medically “clears” me.

Fortunately, that means that I don’t have to encounter engineers for the next three days.

Still, I hope I don’t go insane.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been trapped in a tiny room. I can’t help but remember being little and crouching on my bed for hours on end, squeezing my eyes shut until I could forget everything else around me.

I’d stare out of the window in my mother’s room and look at the stars. My stars. They were the only things I had then. They’re probably the only things I have now. It’s funny how history likes to repeat itself.

I’d sit on my bed with my legs tucked under me, counting the minutes until my mother got home. I never really knew when she would. I sometimes hoped that she wouldn’t. I couldn’t bear to see her return late at night, a hollow shell of a person. I couldn’t bear to feel her pain, radiating from her tired bones.

When I was little, I’d play in the room when she was gone. I’d read, I’d dance around, I’d play pretend. One morning, when I was feeling more imaginative than usual, I knocked over an old photograph of my dad. My mother cried that night.

Mymysterious father. It was so long ago that I can’t even remember what he looked like. In my brain, in my one memory of him, there’s just a hazy blotch where his face should be. Like a void sucked all of his features away, leaving me with this world of gray.

My only memory of my father was when I was four or five, being dragged through the canteen by my mother. We waited in lines for rations, inching forward until we came face to face with Nygel.

Well, if it isn’t my little bird. She said, a cocky grin on her face.

I tried to keep my head down and avoid any eye contact, but my mom nudged me, and eventually lifted my head so that I was forced to meet her gaze.

Say hello to mommy’s friend, my mother chided.

But I didn’t say anything until she dug her knuckles into my back. Then, the greeting slid out of my gritted teeth, whether I wanted them to or not. My mother needed those words. We both did. I just didn’t understand.

Nygel passed us our rations and my mother handed one to me, pocketing the other three. When I was little, I didn’t know what she did with them. Now, I do.

She did what she had to, even if it meant sacrificing a little bit of me.

As we were turning back around, he passed by. My father. He knocked his shoulder against my mother so hard that she almost crumbled. And when she yelped from the pain, he finally noticed her.

Is this it? He asked, gesturing down at me.

He knew what he had done. He knew who I was.

My mother nodded.

She’s a cute little thing. Like her mother.

My mom’s face grew pale, but she caught herself.

She’s smart too, like her father.

The man, my father, shook his head.

Such a shame that she’ll turn out a whore like you.

Maybe I broke the picture frame on purpose.

My mother would return late at night, half dressed and half dead. When I heard her keycard on the door, I would lay down in bed and pretend to be fast asleep. I’m not sure if I ever fooled her, but maybe it was nice for her to pretend that I didn’t understand what she was doing. Maybe it was better for her to pretend that I only saw her the way she wanted me to, instead of seeing her as she really was.

And sure, she was a drunk. And sure, she’d do things for booze. But she never hurt me.

It was Finn who saved me, when I was thirteen. His mom had died years ago and his dad was too busy to bother, so it was just the two of us. He’d share his rations when my mother skimped out on mine. He gave me a warm bed to sleep in, and a hand to hold on the darker nights. He was with me when she died.

Finn Collins saved me, and if I can just fix this battered escape pod, I can save him.

—————————-

On the third day, I get an e-message from Sinclair.

Abby left a tablet in here with me for some schematics I needed. I think it’s her personal device, but I didn’t ask questions. It’s nice to not be completely isolated.

J Sinclair: How’s my favorite mechanic?

A Griffin: You flatter me.

A Griffin: Wait. How did you know to write me on here?

Did Abby tell Sinclair? I mean, I would probably trust him, but she told me to trust no one. I’m not even sure if Jackson knows. Is Sinclair on our side?

J Sinclair: Dr. Griffin said you were in quarantine. She said I could reach you through her messaging portal.

A Griffin: Oh.

A Griffin: What’s up?

J Sinclair: Nothing really. Just wanted to make sure that my best mechanic wasn’t going insane. I can’t have anything messing up your brain, now can I?

A Griffin: Raven Reyes on a bad day still beats any of those chumps in Engineering on a good day.

J Sinclair: Hey! I’m an engineer.

A Griffin: You’re half of an engineer. You’re only chief of engineering and mechanics because Abby’s husband was floated.

J Sinclair: I thought you were getting chummy with the doctor…. Where’s your compassion?

A Griffin: I have compassion. It just doesn’t translate well over e-message.

J Sinclair: Excuses, excuses.

There’s a lapse in the conversation as three dots appear at the bottom of the screen. Sinclair is typing something, but I watch as he hesitates. Finally, the message comes through.

J Sinclair: I’m going to miss you.

My heart skips a beat. Does he know? Did I say something that gave our little top secret project away?

Jesus Christ, Abby is going to murder me when she finds out. That is, if Kane doesn’t manage to murder us first.

We’re so totally screwed.

But Sinclair can’t know how freaked out I am. He needs to think that I am so totally chill, so I start typing.

A Griffin: What?

J Sinclair: When you blast off. I’m going to miss you.

Shit. So he does know.

A Griffin: I have to do it.

A Griffin: If I don’t, innocent people will die.

I can only hope that’s an adequate response.

J Sinclair: Relax, kid. I’m not going to turn you in.

My heart beat begins to decline once again. I’m no longer having a stroke.

J Sinclair: I just want you to know that we’ll miss you up here in this tin can.

Something pangs deep inside of me.

A Griffin: Oh?

J Sinclair: Yeah, kid.

J Sinclair: But I know that you’re tough. You’re a fighter. You’re young. You’ve still got some life left in you.

A Griffin: Oh, you’re not such an old man yourself.

J Sinclair: I mean it.

J Sinclair: They’ll be lucky to have you down there. Both of you.

I don’t know what to do, so I say the only thing that I can.

A Griffin: Thank you.

J Sinclair: I always knew that you’d be the one to save the world.

J Sinclair: I’ll see you on the flip side… okay?

A Griffin: This isn’t goodbye. Not yet.

J Sinclair: But it might be.

J Sinclair: In peace may you leave this shore

A Griffin: Sinclair. Stop.

J Sinclair: In love may you find the next

A Griffin: Please, Sinclair.

J Sinclair: Safe passage on your travels

A Griffin: I swear to God, Sinclair.

J Sinclair: Until our final journey to the ground

J Sinclair: May we meet again

A lump forms in my throat. I must surrender.

A Griffin: May we meet again.

I pause for a moment, reading our messages once again. Abby is going to have a field day when she finds these.

A Griffin: We will meet again.