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When Apollonia woke up in her small, but comfortable, room, sunlight was streaming in through the window.
She jumped out of bed, showering and pulling on a fresh outfit, she tapped the ‘summon’ button on her tablet a dozen times to bring the drone – which should have a nickname, she thought, and decided on Beauford before reaching the door. It sounded like a very Earthy name.
Beauford was waiting patiently, hovering just outside.
She paused. He looked different, she thought. The shape of the covers over his thrusters.
“Are you Beauford?” she asked. “I mean – the drone that’s been with me this whole time?”
“I have switched out the bodies I control three times since we met – when we reached the Orbital Ring, during the descent to Earth from orbit, and just this morning. I am, however, the same artificial intelligence that you first met on Korolev Station, and you may call me Beauford if you wish.”
She hesitated, taking that in.
“All right,” she said. “Come with me, I want to go outside.”
The storm had cleared, and the sky was nearly empty, only tiny whisps of clouds streaking across it far up.
As she looked up, her eyes watered, the light far brighter than she was accustomed to.
It took her some time to adjust, and as she did, she began to grasp the immensity of . . . sky.
It was absurd; she’d grown up in space, which was truly infinite. But she’d really only ever been in tunnels and rooms and at most a docking area with a high ceiling.
She’d never been out . . . in the open. Not truly.
Her knees buckled under her as she saw just how the horizon seemed to extend forever. Nothing above her head, and she felt sickeningly dwarfed by it.
The blueness of the sky was more vivid than she could ever have imagined, and through tears streaming down her face, she just stared up into it.
“Your eyes may be harmed if you look at the sun,” Beauford told her. “Please refrain.”
“I don’t want to look at the sun,” she said, squinting hard. “Just the sky.”
“Anablephobia, or fear of looking up at the sky, is a very real thing. If you are experiencing anxiety, then please look down at your feet and-“
“Shush,” she told the drone.
It fell silent, and she continued to stare up at the sky for a long time. Occasionally people went in or came out through the doors nearby, and some watched her curiously. But she didn’t care, because she was seeing the sky.
Someone came up next to her and stopped, triggering her to potential danger.
Looking down, she saw it was the same young man who had been on her trip down to the surface.
“My first time seeing the sky, too,” he said. Tears were coming out of his eyes, but from his squinting she thought it was from the brightness more than emotion. “How can you stand how bright it is?”
“It hurts,” she admitted.
He shifted uncomfortably, and she knew that he was having second thoughts about coming to talk to her, now that he was feeling that strange aspect of her presence.
“I, uh, wish you the best,” he said, stepping back.
Or maybe, a part of her wondered, he was just awkward and nervous.
“Hey,” she said. “What are you gonna go see?”
“The Grand Canyon,” he said, smiling. “It’s the biggest one on Earth!”
She nodded, though she wondered why he’d want to see more rock when . . . well, rock was the most nature they usually got to see in space. Though it was pretty much lifeless rock. Maybe on Earth the rocks were more . . . alive.
“Do you want to come?” he asked. “Would be nice to see it with somebody.”
She studied him for a long moment. He looked around her own age, so it wasn’t that weird. But he had a boyish naivete that seemed too genuine.
Still, she was not about to go off with a stranger on a strange world.
Though part of her was a bit flattered.
“I’m going somewhere else,” she finally said.
His face went crestfallen, but he accepted what she said with merely a nod. “Okay. Best of luck in the future . . . Oh, I didn’t get your name.”
“Apollonia Nor,” she said. “But . . . you could call me Apple.”
“Oh, that’s cute – Nor, that’s a real spacer name,” he said, perking up. “I’m Matyáš Svoboda of Ceres. My name is still pretty stock Earth, my people only left about a hundred years ago.”
“Why did they leave?” she asked.
“Just . . . wanted to see space, I guess. I can’t understand it – but they did it, and now it’s the first time I’ve been on-world.”
He shifted on his feet. “I’ve got to go. What, ah . . . what station or system do you live in? I can only send regular slow-wave messages that take a few weeks, but maybe I could write you?”
She felt her cheeks flush, and she must have stared at him like he was crazy, because he quickly began to back-track.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“
“It’s fine,” she said. “Matyáš? All right. But I don’t live on a station, I’m on a ship – the Craton.”
His eyes widened. “The Craton?”
“You’ve heard of it?” she asked.
“It’s one of the most famous ships. The first made in a Cratonic asteroid – oh stars, what’s it like?”
She considered. “It’s nice, I guess? But I don’t have much for comparison. I lived in a crappy colony out on the fringe before that, so everything about the Sapient Union seems pretty nice.”
The young man was looking at her with awe, and it made her look away, her cheeks feeling warm.
“You don’t mind if I message you?” he asked again.
“No,” she said. Her eyebrows crunched together in thought, and she then asked; “but honestly, aren’t you uncomfortable around me? Most people are.”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I thought it was just butterflies because you’re pretty.”
She laughed, too harshly perhaps, because he looked hurt. Part of her wanted to apologize, but she also felt a resistance inside because he was frankly being a little too sensitive.
The door opened, and someone called him, beckoning. “We’re getting ready to board!” they said.
“I need to get going,” Matyáš said to her. “I’ll message you later,” he promised, turning and running off.
Apollonia watched after him for a few moments, before turning to Beauford, who she thought was watching her a little judgmentally.
Shaking that off, she put her mind back on the matter at hand.
“I want to go see that forest,” she told it.
“God, this is so much smaller than I remember,” Alexander said as the light came on in his bedroom.
Pirra looked around curiously. Something about his room had always fascinated her. He always said that it wasn’t much different from when he’d lived here – his parents had cleaned it, but not changed a thing.
Almost every part of the far wall was covered in posters, all carefully tiled to maximize the space used.
On one side of the room they were mostly reference charts for genetics and plants, with no pictures and just lots of tiny, neat text listing information.
But the other side was a riot of color. She recognized the style of art – it was all Dessei, all replicas of famous pieces of cultural value.
She noticed that Alex caught her gaze, and she focused more intently on the art.
“Do you have to critique my pics every time we come here?” he asked, rolling his eyes and not really upset.
“Yes,” she teased. “I still don’t know why you have Teippe’s ‘Into the Garden of the Sky’ and Ullo’s ‘Riot against the Reason of the Collective’ next to each other.”
“It’s the juxtaposition of their views that I find interesting,” Alexander said.
“Uh-huh,” she replied, still scrutinizing them.
“What kind of art did you have on your wall?”
“Human art,” she replied. “I loved the constructivist works – I had a huge rendition of El Lissitzky’s ‘Proun Vrashchenia’ as a centerpiece.”
“Constructivist? Wow, you like the old stuff . . .”
She smiled, and took in the rest of his art. He actually had impeccable tastes; he truly was fascinated with her people’s culture and history – sometimes he even corrected her. History had never been her strong suit.
She recalled when they’d first met; he’d given her a practice greeting in her own language. He didn’t sound good – but he tried so hard, and for the sounds a human could make it was a good shot. To say she’d been amused was an understatement.
It helped that she’d always found humans interesting. She’d read up on their history, though admittedly she was not really as educated in his people’s history as he was in hers. Dessei really did not generally like to look back at their own past, let alone that of others.
Too much blood and anger for it to be advisable, she thought.
“So . . .” Alexander asked. “How is my dad’s work going?”
Pirra blinked, her mind elsewhere. “Oh? It seemed . . . to be going well. But you could just ask him?”
“I might,” he said. “But did you think he was doing things safely?”
She hesitated. Her first reaction was to say that yes, of course he was. But it . . . was more wishful thinking on her part.
She felt a creeping guilt; she’d encouraged some rather reckless behaviour. The plasma shell that had misfired could have potentially gone off in the launcher and killed or maimed someone.
“He’s somewhat loose on the safety standards,” she finally said. Pride compelled her to say more. “But I don’t think he’s being irresponsible.”
It was just excitement about her arrival that caused him to make the error he made, she justified, squirming a bit inside.
But tomorrow she’d definitely ask him about his safety equipment and operations . . . Perhaps give him some pointers.
Alexander did not look convinced. “That’s good,” he muttered.
It always struck her as odd that Alex was so bothered by his father’s research, but he never seemed bothered when she had a sidearm.
“Hey,” Alexander suddenly said. He’d sat down at his desk. “Here’s my notes from when I was learning Fusshe.”
She came over and peered over his shoulder. Fusshe was the dominant writing system of Dessei, a standardized syllabary that every child learned in school.
“Oh, that’s so cute!” she said, looking at the digital sheet. “It looks just like any kid’s writing in school!”
He laughed. “I had such a hard time remembering that squiggle in the corner of Kru.”
She chuckled. “Everyone does, it’s a stupid one that we barely use anymore because it sounds like we’re swallowing pebbles.”
She noticed a hint of an image showing through from the next page. “What’s that?” Reaching over his shoulder, she swiped the page, bringing up the next page.
Alexander turned pink. It was a sketch – not even a very good one – of a Dessei.
“I started drawing, and, well . . .”
Pirra saw there were more, and flipped on. This wasn’t just sketches, these were . . . a character. The same character! They were all a specific female, he’d really emphasized the crest differences. And for some reason he’d made the bony points on the chest where the vestigial wingbones pressed out much more rounded. Like a human female’s breasts.
Suddenly she stopped. Alexander tensed.
“Oh my god, you were a nerd,” she said, tousling his hair and laughing. “You were drawing a girlfriend!”
“I was not!” he said.
“What was her name?” she asked.
“She didn’t have a name!”
“Yes she did. You came up with a story for her, I bet. Did you write stories, too?”
Alexander’s face was entirely red, and she stood back, still amused. She’d always known that his interest in her people bordered on . . . what people might consider weird.
But then, they’d said the same thing about her interest in humans.
“I imagined I’d meet a human with a big beard,” she said. “Crazy long, down to his knees.”
“What? You never told me this!” Alexander stroked his chin. “Why a beard?”
“Because they’re really exotic,” she said, sitting down on his bed.
“I could grow a beard,” he muttered.
“Ah,” she said dismissively. “That doesn’t matter now. It was just a childish thought I once had . . . just like your pretend girl there.”
“Her name was Lumii,” Alexander muttered.
“I knew it,” Pirra chirped, putting her hands behind her head.
Other Terrestrial 