Page 68 of The Brightness Between Us

I start to cry. Quietly, so my brother won’t hear me and come kill us.

We’re all alone on this patch of soil, on this planet, solar system, galaxy. The universe is so enormous, all aroundme, that I keep shrinking the more that I think about the scale of it. I don’t know how to express that, so I focus on something smaller. “I want to go help Dad. That’s all I want to do.”

“I know you do,” Father says. He wipes my tears as they fall. I’m still his daughter. “Maybe these tears will help flush your eyes out more,” he says.

It might be barely a joke, but I know it is one. A Kodiak joke is a rare, rare thing. I can’t quite work up a laugh, but I’m still grateful to Father for trying.

The night draws its dark around us. Father keeps his focus trained in the direction of the settlement, not that he can possibly see much in the scant starlight. I peer up into the sky. Let Yarrow come with his gun, if that’s what’s happening. I’m living in the beyond now, where brothers murder dads.

The stars are blurry in my vision. I can just barely make out the shape of Sky Cat. I silently greet it, then trace the rim of the horizon.

A flash.

The comet?

It flashes again. Not a comet. The flash was red.

I don’t breathe. There it is again. Red.

A tiny blinking red light.

“Dad, look east,” I say. “Do you see what I see? At the horizon?”

“See what?” he asks, his low voice rumbling in his broad chest. “Oh. I do see it. Just.”

I count between blinks. Seven seconds or so. They’re coming regularly. It can only really be one thing. We’ve found the beacon, the one that asked my fathers to come.

Chapter 2

Even in our desperate situation, we’d be fools to go wandering Minerva at night, so Father and I plant ourselves where we are, wrapped in each other’s arms. Technically against the cold, but we’re also desperate for comfort. Even with the fear of Yarrow and the wonder about the blinking red light, we doze a little. Well, I doze. Father probably doesn’t.

Little Sister is the first sun up today, casting her dim rays over the muckland, the phosphorescent soil glimmering its return greeting. I roll out from under Father’s arm and fall into a crouch, warming my legs by easing my weight from side to side. All my attention is focused in the direction of the settlement.

Dad.One gunshot, then two, red splashing his tunic from the inside. I try to shove the sounds of the bullets striking his flesh to the edges of my mind. Mostly, I succeed.

There’s something out there. Off on the plains. I can hear it, but not see it. A short barking sound.

A baby malevor.

I leave Father resting, and head toward it.

Over a rise, and then I see the creature. Huddled as small as she can be, gray-black hair matted where she’s been licking it. She looks up at me, eyes wide and ears back. Submissive.

I kneel. “What’s happened to you, little one?”

There are traces of blood along the back of her head and neck, the places where she can’t lick. As I creep closer, I can’t see any open wounds.

“Look at that,” comes Father’s deep voice behind me.

“She followed us,” I say. At least I think this is a she. I can’t see too much of the malevor’s anatomy with her body curled so tightly against the cold.

“She did. They were domesticated animals on Earth. Maybe this one has more of that genetic memory living inside it. That reliance on humans, even here on the other side of the galaxy.”

“But her parents?” I say.

Father kneads my shoulders. “There was a lot of gunfire from the fence, farther out than the perimeter guns usually go. I guess it was in all directions, including south.”

“Oh,” I say, looking down at this little creature, probably an orphan. All the seething emotions from the day before slam into center focus. I drop into a deep squat, head in my hands. Ready to act, but helpless to know what to do.

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