Page 89 of The Brightness Between Us

And that’s before I see the life-forms.

There are hilltops in this iron sea, like knees emerging from pond water, but a good two meters in diameter. They roll listlessly in the currents, their frondlike tendrils fanningout of the sea, squirming and flapping before disappearing back into the water. Maybe they’re picking something out of the air; I see blurry movements over the surface, like there might be swarms of some tiny creature flying over this sea.

Life. Life consuming life. An ecosystem.

Owl was right. We’re not alone here.

Eyes streaming tears in the dry heat of the incoming comet, I watch the rolling forms for I don’t know how long. Maybe they’re animal or maybe they’re plant, or maybe they’re something else entirely. The bodies are a dull gray brown, but the fronds are more colorful. A brownish crimson, strangely familiar. Where could I know that from?

Then I realize—they’re the same fronds that grow out of the rust jungle. The same color as the alien organism from the asteroid the dads’ clones harvested.

What I’m seeing is probably a new form of that extraterrestrial creature. When those mossy leaves hit open water, they took on this aquatic form. Even in its exhausted state, my brain starts proposing hypotheses for why they’d do this. Perhaps their home world was ever-changing, and as its environment rapidly altered, life evolved adaptive strategies to cope, modifying itself quickly to survive a mercurial world.

Which means these organisms could be more likely to survive this comet strike than we are.

As I watch, one of the floating balls stills and cracks. It unrolls before my eyes, then dives. The only thing I can see from this cliff above is a fin, quivering with energy before the creature rapidly drops out of view. The strength of it is enough to send a nearby sphere rolling, and to crash waves into the shore. The sound rises up to me, a sound I knew only from reels. Surf. This is my first time hearing surf.

Who knows what this life is capable of.

I thought I was done. But now I have an impossible thought. I try to dismiss it. Surely not, not with my agonized body, so near failure already, quivering with the simple exertion of staying seated. But it’s there, insisting.

I can’t, my body screams.

You must, my mind says.

Owl. Owl must know about this.

I have to go home.

Chapter 3

Owl

“It is time, Owl.”

I’m already at the entrance to the reinforced shaft that extends from theAurora’s hatch up to the surface of Minerva. While I’ve been waiting for OS to give me the word, I’ve scanned for mechanical imperfections, using the ship’s portaprinter to solder over each seam. I holster the portaprinter, crack my neck, and stretch my legs. “All right. I’m ready, OS.”

“Remember. Even suited, you will have only twenty minutes out there before the damage to your body becomes irrevocable,” OS says.

Yep. Comet radiation is no joke.

I clamber up the tunnel, using polycarb rungs Rover hastily installed into the passage. They’ll melt during the comet strike, but we couldn’t afford to use any metal on them. We’ll just have to print some more to get out if—when—we survive the strike. As I climb, Rover lights my way from behind me. “Do not panic when you emerge. The surface will be far hotter and brighter than you remember,” OS reminds me. “You will not have time to adjust tothe conditions before you need to start moving. Just keep your space suit closed tight and the shading visor down and move promptly toward the gestation unit.”

“Yep, got it.”

I reach the hatch at the top of the shaft. Opening it is awkward, especially in the suit. I wrap one arm through the top ladder rung, pin it in my elbow while I use my free hand to turn the access wheel. It shudders and unseals. I push open the hatch.

The shaft fills with white light, baking and dry. I’m wearing one of Dad’s old space suits, repaired and fortified and tailored to fit my smaller body, but even through the sunshade of the antique helmet I can sense how intensely bright the Minervan sky has become.

Rover beeps, then OS’s voice comes out loud. “Wait, Owl. My calculations are off. Based on visual analysis, the comet is producing 1.08 times the radiation I expected. And its crash site is 1,100 kilometers nearer. Our window for extraction has shrunk.”

“Thanks, OS,” I say quickly, springing into motion. I sense OS might be about to abort my mission, and I won’t let that happen. I want that gestating embryo to be in theAurorawith us, safe alongside all the rest of the dormant zygotes. Once I’m clear of the hatchway, I stand and catch my balance. “Owl, wait!” OS says.

“How much time? Until we need to seal off theAurora?”

“Between fifteen and twenty minutes. Fifteen is better. At twenty I must seal the hatch for any of us to survive. Owl, I need Rover to prepare the final sequence. You’ll be alone out there. You need to come down, too.”

I blink into the blinding comet, eyes tearing. Even through the dense brown filter of the helmet, it’s a bluish-white orb, a giant daughter to the two Sisters, reflecting their light down at me. “And sacrifice the embryo?” I say. “No chance.”

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