Excerpt
Primus wore its atmosphere like a sheen of condensation dewing upon a spun-sugar confection. Its star Suriya was a blazing disk, off to the east, and its moon Ibnis was a crescent-shaped sliver hovering over a smudge of marshmallow clouds, against a bruising pink sky.
The shuttle portscreen displayed a tumble of radiant purple sheaf-grass, emerald green spindle-trees and turquoise waters racing past in a blur of candied colour. The planet rushed up to greet me, inviting me in from the cold, dark silence of space into the warm embrace of its gravity.
I was a long way from home. And I was happy.
I was raised to dream big, to fulfil magnificent purpose. I was going to do exactly that, even if they were going to hate me for doing it my way. Ever since I was capable of imagination, I'd nursed the near impossible and entirely top secret, wholly-disapproved-of-if-they'd-ever-caught-a-whiff-of-it ambition to escape the planet Earth and win Interstellar MegaChef.
I'd never had the courage—or the desperation—to leave until a few māsas ago. Until…
I pushed the ugly memory from my mind.
The shuttle docked and I slipped sideways, grabbing the harness that strapped me into my jumpseat. The muscles in my calves cramped and my neck throbbed gently as I felt the tension from this last leg of the journey slip away. It had taken an entire nava getting from space station Allegro to Primus, the last hop in three māsas of interstellar travel. I chose the long-haul route through freight jumpgates instead of flying first class on a warpship to throw them off my trail, and my Refugee Rehabilitation Vehicle was exactly as promised in those stacks of holoscrolls bleeding fine print they made me sign when I applied for amnesty: a no-bells-and-whistles, zero-creature-comforts escape route, shitty hot chocolate by the cup chargeable extra. It got me off my home world, though. Highly recommended for anyone with interstellar ambition on a tight budget, fleeing from their past!
The shuttle's flight systems began to disengage with a succession of beeps and alerts on my portscreen. The planet I'd longed for all my life lay beneath me. My heart pounded in great big dollops of anticipation with a dash of paranoia. They might yet be waiting for me at the Refugee Centre in Ursridge.
Oh, wait.
No-one I knew on Earth, or anywhere else in the universe, would expect me to be insane enough to emigrate on a refugee visa. Nobody would ever imagine I'd make a beeline for the heart of the United Human Cooperative, because they couldn't imagine doing it themselves.
I could.
If hundreds of Ur-dramas where immigrants wound up in Uru, Primus's megacity, flat broke but chasing their hearts' desires against all odds, surviving in shackpods and hex-housing until they built a community of friends, caught a big break and skyrocketed to stardom—all illegal lack of scrollwork forgiven—said it was possible, then I could do it, too.
The vacuum seals around the ports depressurised. The strap-in sign blinked off, and I got to my feet shakily to gather my belongings. I wanted to get a move on to avoid the inevitable crush of Immigration.
Don't get me wrong. I wasn't born yesterday. Ur-dramas are not reality and that's a well-documented fact if you've watched a newscast even once in your entire lifetime. And at thirty years of age, I'd done my fair share of news-gazing, like any vaguely law-abiding citizen of a Fringe planet devoted to war, the destruction of its own climate, and profiteering in the face of serving the greater good. A Fringe planet like the Earth, say.
So I was all set with my very legal scrollwork, for a start. And an unshakable belief in the capacity of the universe to be a beautiful place, and in my ability to make the most of every chance I got. Any work of art peddling pipe dreams has the power to change the galaxy, because if someone's imagined it, it can be done.
The tech-tamper switched off with a deep, echoing woof-woof-woof, and I was assaulted by a small, bright green sphere flecked with red and chrome. It whirred into me, pummelling from all sides and I began to laugh.
'Kili! Kili, stop! That tickles!'
_Saras! Kanno! Anbe!_
_Switch language to Vox, please. Or Ur-speak. We're off-world, need to get used to it._
_Kadavule!_
_Kili. Speak Vox. Or Ur-speak. Thank you._
I said this sternly, but the sound of Daxina, my South-Earth language, filled me with the warmth of familiarity. Despite my excitement that I was no longer on a planet doomed to self-destruction, I felt a twinge of guilt at having to distance myself from all sense of belonging so rapidly. Kili tended to nativise when excited, but planetary vernaculars were looked down upon on Primus. Or so I'd heard on my way here.
Kili emitted a string of whoops and dove into me, stilling his motorised wings in an instant and nuzzling against my cheek. It was like being kissed by warm sand on a beach. His comms channel slid snugly into an empty space in my mind, a place on my Loop I hadn't realised was super quiet until just this moment, when Kili's chip synced with my implant.
_How long was I out? Where are me? I mean I. Where am I?_
I rubbed the little machine along a curve.
_We're on the planet of Primus. Shuttle docking station. Somewhere in the Arc, I think._
_You're kidding me. We made it off Earth alive? We're not in heaven?_
_I thought we agreed that heaven was an Earth-myth._ I sighed.
_No time for theological debate!_ Kili whirred into the air and spun and shimmered. _News. Big news!_
_Have you been scanning my comms? Again?_
_Yes, and sorry, and you'll forgive me. You'll see._
He holorayed an ornate scroll in the air. It unfurled and revealed a gold-embellished script against a backdrop of fireworks.
