Odin hovered, giving a tiny lift as it alighted atop the mesa. Powering off the ship, Makara unstrapped herself from her seat and immediately left the cockpit. Anna and Samuel slept on, oblivious to the fact that we had stopped. Samuel snored lightly, his head leaning back against the headrest. Anna’s head was still cocked to the side, a dribble of drool dripping from the corner of her mouth.
I touched her shoulder. “Hey. We’ve stopped.”
Her eyes fluttered open. She gave a nod, wiped her mouth, and unstrapped herself from the seat. She stood, and we left Samuel where he was, walking down the corridor toward the bunks in the back. I knew Anna would prefer sleeping in her own bunk, and would have been upset if I had left her in the copilot’s seat like that. Samuel, however, could probably sleep on a pile of rocks and not notice the difference.
When we got to the crew cabins, we were alone. Makara had appropriated the captain’s quarters off the galley to herself.
“Sleep tight,” I said, leaning in for a kiss.
She kissed me — not too enthusiastically, I must admit. She turned for her bunk, and I watched her lie down. Before she even covered herself with her blanket, her breathing became even with sleep. I’d always envied people with the ability to do that — fall asleep as if there weren’t a million things wrong with the world.
I sighed, turning for my own cabin, which I shared with Samuel. I lay down on my bunk, closing my eyes. The hum of the ship, on low power, lulled me to sleep, a sleep none too fitful.
The next day I awoke early, stepped out of bed, and got dressed. I ducked out the doorway, went through the galley, and headed to the kitchen. The air was cool in Odin’s metallic hull, automatic lights flashing on as I passed under them. I found the coffee pot and filled it with water, placing coffee grounds inside. Now back in civilization, I had the means to nurse my caffeine addiction with Skyhome’s own brew.
As the water heated and filtered through the grounds, I went to the fridge, grabbed some fresh grapefruit, and then opened the cabinet to get some granola, the latter sealed in a reusable, airtight bag. By the time I’d prepared my breakfast, the coffee was done. I’d made a whole pot, in case someone else wanted some later. The resources provided by Skyhome were almost as good as what I’d had back in Bunker 108.
I grabbed both my food and coffee, and walked to the table in the galley. I sat, the first steaming sip of coffee warming me up. The stuff was like an elixir. Though Makara and Anna liked to sleep until the last possible moment before we left (in fact, Makara usually just rolled out of bed and headed straight to the pilot seat), I liked to be up an hour earlier than everyone else to have some alone time. It was great to have the entire ship to myself, to be alone with my thoughts, my food, my coffee.
After downing the last of my coffee and finishing off my grapefruit and granola, I got up and headed for the blast door. I pressed the button. The door slid open, letting in a rush of frigid, dry wind. I stepped outside, ignoring the extreme cold. It was winter now, and it showed in every way imaginable. The darkness was near absolute, and though I could not see it, I knew the cliff’s edge was just a few feet away from the edge of the boarding ramp. Nevertheless, I stood on the ramp, weathering the harsh wind as it buffeted against me. I peered into the sky, trying to discern where the moon was. On the western sky, there was a milky glow of cloud. Such was the effect of the meteor fallout — we all might as well have been in a cave deep in the heart of the Earth.
I took out my digital watch, and lighted it up. I went to the temperature tab. It was minus nineteen Celsius. Two below zero Fahrenheit.
“Yeah,” I said. “Time to go back inside.”
I entered Odin, the door shutting behind me. The ship’s interior, once cool, now felt warm by comparison, tingling my skin. To my surprise, Samuel sat at the table, a cup of coffee in hand. His handgun was partially disassembled, its parts lying neatly at the table’s center. He was brushing the action of the handgun. I noticed several other guns sitting on the table corner.
“Put yours in line, if you like,” Samuel said.
After two months of heavy use, my Beretta was probably much in need of a cleaning. I set the gun down, removed the magazine, and checked the barrel to make sure it was empty.
“You can use an AR, right?” Samuel asked.
I nodded. “It’s been a while since I’ve used one, but yeah. Chan, the CSO of Bunker 108, had everyone trained on a variety of things.”
“Good. I’m thinking of having everyone diversify a bit. We’re seeing a lot of action, and there are points where it would be useful to have a rifle. We have an entire armory on Odin that is hardly getting any use, except when we need to restock on ammo.”
“If you give me some time to practice, I’m sure it’ll come back quickly.”
“You’ll have to show me a few things too, then,” Samuel said. “I’ve always wanted to fire one of those things.”
“Will do.”
Samuel moved on to Makara’s handgun. His movements were deft, methodical. Within moments he had the essential parts disassembled and was already brushing the interior with the cleaning solvent.
“What’s our next move?” I asked.
“We keep going, until we find the Exiles.”
“I mean, if we can’t find them. It’s been three days, after all.” I hesitated a moment. “You said it yourself, yesterday. If we can’t find them…”
“We’re all here because Makara believes the Wanderer told her to find the Exiles,” he said. “And until we do, I don’t think she’s going to want to move on.”
“I want to know what that guy’s exact wording was. Maybe she’s just interpreting it wrong.”
“I’ve interpreted nothing wrong.”
Makara glared at me from the doorway to the captain’s quarters. I hadn’t heard her come in.
“I know that’s what you believe,” I said. “But…”
“Alex…” Samuel said, low. “Careful.”
Makara was still staring daggers at me. She walked up to the table and placed a hand on its edge. She looked at me, her green eyes blazing.
“We will find them. And what the Wanderer said…it’s between me and him. Got it?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Makara walked off to the kitchen. I heard the sounds of her digging in the fridge, then filling a cup with coffee.
“What’s up with her?”
“She’s just stressed,” Samuel said. “Don’t take it personally.”
From the kitchen came the sound of Makara cursing about something. Apparently, she had burned herself.
“You’re up early,” Samuel called.
“A lot to do,” she called back. “Today’s the big day. We’re going to find them. I feel it.”
“I hope so,” I said, low enough so that Makara wouldn’t hear.
Makara returned to the table with two slices of cantaloupe, toast, and coffee. She sat down, her eyes red, dark underlines set deeper than ever.
Makara dug into her cantaloupe, as if her mission were to get it down as quickly as possible rather than enjoy it. While she ate, Samuel finished cleaning the last handgun, which happened to be Makara’s. Anna’s saw so little use that it probably didn’t even need a tune-up. After putting the brush and solvent away in the kit on the table, Samuel closed the kit, then slid the gun over to Makara.