Early the next morning, we find ourselves down at the docks again. This time Good Fortune is pulled right up at the wharf, ready to accept its people and cargo. Gale’s up above, happily riding a thermal as she waits for the humans to be ready. We don’t have much to stow, just our bags and a trunk of impressive Stepdaughters of Chiron wares that Deirdre and I selected from the night market yesterday. Everything else that had been filling the rover on our arrival—what we recovered from the Progenitor lab, Marina’s native planet collection, the Data Haven computer—that’s all left with Dr. Citali. As is the rover itself.
Deirdre’s here as well, both in a professional capacity to oversee the launch of the first ship of the Stepdaughter’s armada and in a personal capacity to say goodbye to me. She starts to hold out a hand, but I smile and give a slight shake of my head. On Earth this might not have been a hugging friendship, but it is now. “You’re doing a great job,” I say quietly into her ear, during the brief embrace. “But make sure you take time for yourself.” We release each other and step apart. “If it’s the cryopod data or some other fun scientific puzzle, it doesn’t matter. Just take time to do something that will help you.”
“Great minds think alike, Mariah,” Deirdre says, smiling back at me. “I looked at that a little bit already. I couldn’t help myself,” she adds with a chuckle. “I did want to share with you what I found out so far… Your cryopod was fully functional until just before planetfall.”
“So… it could’ve gotten damaged in whatever happened to the ship?” I ask, trying to sort through the ramifications of that.
Deirdre shrugs. “Damaged or tampered with.”
“I wonder how that compares with the timeline of when Morgan woke up. He was in that room, and he woke up early.” I shake my head in puzzlement. “I don’t think I ever pissed him off that much back on Earth.”
“It could have been inadvertent if someone was trying to wake you up and they didn’t know the right way to do it.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. That’s a possibility I’ve never considered. “Hey, fellow stowaway, wanna join my coup?” For a moment, I consider how differently everything could have gone. If I’d been awake then and at Morgan’s side, I could have nudged so many things down a different path. Maybe. Or I could have died like Captain Garland did. I dismiss those thoughts and return my attention to Deirdre. “So that means it really was thirty years of exposure.”
“Yes, and we’re definitely going to be looking into sustaining a person while they’re being exposed to miasma,” Deirdre shares. Fabulous, provided the test subjects are willing, of course. “Because if you can avoid the permanent damage, then maybe you can develop a resistance—or in your case, a reliance.”
“That sounds like a reasonable approach. I…” My voice drifts off into a sigh, as I spot the person I’m about to mention currently making their way toward the docks. “I hooked Sal up with Dr. Citali because Sal was in the ICU as an infant and now has some sensing capabilities. There could be other people like that.”
“Interesting,” Deirdre murmurs. It’s quite a different response from the uncomfortable one I initially got from Marina. Even though Deirdre doesn’t want Jack embroiled in the cult, she can see past her personal aggravations to the scientific potential of this information.
“Anybody who was on breathing support for any length of time as a child is a good starting place,” I tell her.
“We’ll do a cross-check of our records for possible candidates,” she says. “And we’ll be good stewards of all the gifts you’ve given us, Mariah.”
“I don’t know if or when I’ll be this way again, but if you can find a friendly craw to deliver a letter,” I say with a chuckle, “then I’m only a craw away. Or three or five. However many. I’m just saying… it’s hard to keep in touch here, I understand that, but I’d like to try.”
“I hope you come back this way eventually, but I understand you deserve a break. We are going to have to take your name down off the memorial wall,” she adds with a smile.
“That’s understandable. I hope you’ll still think of me frequently.”
“Of course, Mariah. You know, I didn’t imagine you’d always be that nice boy from sales, but thirty years later, you still are a nice boy.” She gives my arm a playful pat, and we part laughing.
Deirdre leaves me to exchange a few words with Xiao, creating an opening for Sal to hail me and Cleve. “I wish you both well on your journeys,” they say. “I know it is going to be a trying time. I will rally the righteous here to fight.” They make some kind of clearly ritualistic sign with their hand at both me and Cleve. “I just want you to know that Chiron is watching over you.”
I have this one last chance to temper the amount of creative writing that Sal associates with their artwork, and I try my best. They ascribe so much meaning to what they’re seeing, and a lot of people are following that. Which makes it more attractive. Which leads to stronger rhetoric. So I try to make them see the escalation going on and encourage them to dial it down and listen more closely. I suggest that they try presenting the visions for people to get what they can from them on their own. You know, without stamping their personality all over the images. I choose my words carefully; I know Sal’s got great conviction that they have a duty to interpret Chiron’s will, and I’m pretty much telling them to cut it out.
I end with a warning. “Too much embellishment is at odds with your desire for the Cult of Chiron to thrive. Escalating violence does not serve your long-term goal.”
“Yeah, remember the truth,” Cleve says, “and not what you think is happening.” Then, sounding firmer, he admonishes, “Remember, you’re a representative of Mother Chiron. Speak her truth.”
“Yes, speak Chiron’s truth, not your own,” I echo, pleased with how Cleve phrased that.
To my relief, Sal gives a little head bow and agrees, “I will engage more people in the understanding of these visions. But I ask that you be open to the words, the visions, the Truth of Chiron. Seek not an explanation for every Truth.”
I’m curious about how this all works, but I’m no scientist. “I understand that sometimes you can’t nail down an explanation for something,” I tell Sal.
Their parting words to me are, “Some things don’t need explaining, Mariah.”