The light receded with each step on the dirty sidewalk. The apartments stretched upward, swallowing whatever meager rays of sunlight had broken through the overcast sky. A raindrop landed on her face, threatening the arrival of a downpour. She clutched her books as a pang of dread struck her chest.

Some of the older kids had taken her backpack again. She did her best to stay out of sight and keep quiet but sometimes they still ran into her. No, they found her. They made it their business to find her. If she was lucky, she would just get shoved and called names. If she wasn’t, they’d beat her and take something. 

Hey half-ass, heading home to your shithole apartment? Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you. Nice bag. Haven’t you had this ratty shit since you got here? Maybe it’s time your dad got you a new one. I’m sure he can afford it, right? 

They threw the bag onto a lamp post, letting her books and homework tumble into the street. She tried for hours to get it down but stopped after a nasty fall tore a bloody gash across her arm. Defeated, she had gathered up her books and headed home. Now the rain was coming, and if she didn’t get back fast enough it would ruin her things. 

Reclamation Academy, or the wreck, as everyone called it, was among the least funded schools in the city, probably on all of Lone Star. Students had to buy their own books. If you couldn’t afford the reading material, you couldn’t go to school. If you couldn’t go to school, someone would come and take you to the Child Welfare Institute. 

One of her classmates was taken away last year; he got bullied too. It didn’t matter if everyone around her wore old clothes or ate the cheapest dehydrated lunch, someone would always make fun of the poorest kids. Her dad told her it was because the bullies were afraid and that they were trying to make themselves feel stronger than they were. They never seemed afraid to her.

She ran up the exposed stairs, shielding the delicate papers from the rain that flew in past the railing. When she reach her floor, her foot caught on a crack in the concrete. Fighting the reflex to fling her arms out and catch herself, she gripped the books in a tight bear hug and landed hard on the ground. The impact sent a fresh wave pain through her shoulder but she quickly sprung to her feet, fearful of the wet walkway. She fished a key out of her pocket as she approached her apartment, thankful that she hadn’t kept it in her backpack. The door swung open with a metallic whine and she hurried into the gloomy space. 

Books in one arm, she tapped the lamp on the kitchen table. It didn’t light up much of the room, but the light was free. Her dad would take it to work and charge it in the sun. One of the few things they can’t bill you for, he’d say. She shuffled a pile of receipts to the side of the table and set her things down.

The plop of the dripping faucet broke through the din of the pouring rain. She walked to the kitchen sink, turned the handle, and washed the wound on her arm. As the diluted blood ran down her skin, her eyes fell and landed on a tear midway down her pants. With a sigh, she dried her arm with a dirty kitchen towel and pulled out the sewing kit from the dwindling pantry. 

The lid popped open revealing a few rattling needles and some empty spools. She snapped the box shut and walked to her father’s room. He kept some thread in a shoebox in his closet. It wouldn’t be the grey she needed for her pants, and she would be made fun of for it, but the jeers from her classmates would be worse if she walked in with torn clothes.

Dull light spilled in from the tiny window at the end of the hall, barely pushing the shadows to the corners. She paused, noticing her father’s shoes tucked neatly beside his door. He never came home early; work kept him until after dark, even on the days she had off. She crept forward and spotted a folded paper tucked in one of the shoes. Something creaked inside the room as she bent to pick it up.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the windowless room. The outlines of the sparse furniture took shape and grew solid. She reached up to turn on the light but paused when the creaking sound came again. Stepping inside, the image grew sharper; something was moving. The paper fell from her fingers when she noticed two feet swinging gently above the bed.

—

“Was your friend injured after we split up back aboard the station?” Annie McClue asked. “Another monster?

“No. Not like that one,” Adam said, kneeling beside Odybrix.

“Another kind then?”

“I don’t know!”

“Sorry for all of the questions. It’s my job and, well, what happened was…”

“A lot,” Vesper said, jumping in. “You all fought very bravely. Especially you,” she said to Buddy.

“Did I?” Buddy asked.

“You were nearly bitten in half, then you crawled into a damaged mech, and shredded the thing that mauled you with heavy artillery. That’s rad.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Sturdy said from medical.

“‘Buddy the brave’ has a nice ring to it,” Hilde chimed in over comms. “Sad that I missed it—the fight, not your mauling. You all must really consider getting me a drone to upload into. I’m designed for more than just ship-to-ship combat.”

“We’ll consider that after the upcoming medical bills.”

“Speaking of that, when will she wake up?” Adam asked Jim.

“I do not know for certain,” Jim replied. “Odybrix’ external injuries are non-critical and have been treated adequately-”

“You’re welcome,” Sturdy said from medical.

“But while BOB occupies the med table, I am unable to initiate internal diagnostics.”

“But you have a diagnosis, right? Is she in a coma?” Adam asked, leaning over the halfling.

“I ca-”

Odybrix jolted up with a start and slugged Adam in the chin, sending him tumbling on the floor.

“I can confirm she is not in a coma,” Jim said.

“Oh, gods,” Odybrix said, holding a hand to her temple, “my head feels like it was tossed out an airlock.”

“Yeah,” Adam said, rolling into a sitting position and rubbing his cheek, “mine too.” 

“Sorry, kid. Oh fuck, how’s BOB?” Odybrix asked, looking around the room.

“BOB’s body is in stasis until we are able to transfer them to a better-equipped facility. As for you, you have substantial internal trauma and are likely suffering from POS.”

“Plasma overdrive system?” Adam asked.

“Point of sale?” Buddy offered.

“Piece of shit?” Odybrix said.

“Psionic overuse syndrome” Jim corrected. “Utilizing psionics for extended periods or pushing the boundaries of their capabilities without rest can lead to neurodegeneration, cardiovascular collapse, hemorrha-”

“Take a nap, got it,” she said, rising to her feet with a groan. “You alright, Buddy?”

Buddy lifted her head from the mat where she was lying and gave a thumbs up. “My spine’s just a little broken. I’ll be okay.”

“That’s the spirit,” Odybrix said, stepping into the med bay. 

BOB lay flat on the table, exposing the savage vertical tear the beam blade had left. A subtle azure hue lit up the wound as the stasis field worked to hold BOB’s insides together. Odybrix scowled at the sight of her injured comrade but softened to see Sturdy diligently monitoring them. He locked eyes with her and she gave him a nod, then turned her chin to indicate she wanted the room. When he left she placed a hand on BOB’s chassis.

“You’re a mess,” she said, running her fingers across the stripe BOB had decorated themself with. “We’re going to get you some help, then we’re going to get the fuckers that did this to you. Hang in there, okay? What the hell would I do if I lost the galaxy’s best coffee machine?” 

Odybrix stifled the tears before they came, pushing the sadness down until it was buried under a fresh layer of anger. She made enemies easily—there were assholes aplenty among the stars—but friendship came much harder. Harlow and Vaelor ascended her shit list like a rocket breaking through the atmosphere. There were only two people in the universe she hated more.

“A ‘nap’ isn’t a bad idea,” Adam said from the hold. “We’ve got days of flight ahead of us. We all need to recover, decompress.”

“Any time spent not being shot or mauled is a blessing,” Hoxley said. “The sooner we get to bed, the sooner I can wake up and make us breakfast. Is Buddy okay to go to her bunk?”

“Yes,” Jim said, “Adam, please assist her to bed.”

“I can do it,” Hoxley said.

Jim looked at Hoxley. Then Adam. Then Buddy. Then Hoxley again.

“For the patient’s stability, Adam is optimal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hoxley asked.

“It means Adam’s built like a forklift,” Zenith said over comms.

“And you’re built more like a fork,” Odybrix continued. “Or a spoon. A little spoon.”

“And not a metal one,” Zenith added.

“Plastic, definitely,” Odybrix concluded.

Hoxley gave a tired glare and Odybrix said, “Besides, your dog is giving her stink eye.”

“Beast and Buddy just need to spend more time together.”

“We’ll both do it,” Adam said, clapping Hoxley on the shoulder. “We can discuss next steps after sleep. Ozzy, can you or the other AI send me an alert if BOB’s condition changes.”

“You got it, boss,” Ozzy said, “Go get some shut-eye.”

—

Zenith watched the stars bend and slip away like an image passing through a glass. The bubble of space-time distortion created by the mass reversion engine was a comfort to her. She had stared out at the passing stars for hours when she was a child, lost in thoughts about distant worlds and strange new people. Though, if she asked herself now, it wasn’t the nostalgia she took solace in, it was how nothing could touch her or the crew while the bubble was wrapped around them.

“You going to bed, ZT?” Ozzy asked.

“I’m going to stay up for a bit,” she said, adjusting herself to get comfortable, “I’ll sleep in the cockpit when I feel the need.”

“I hear that’s bad for your back.”

“You just want the chair for yourself.”

“I’m an incorporeal presence, ZT.”

“Sure, sure. Pretend this isn’t the best spot on the ship.”

“It is, but I still think you need a good night’s sleep after-”

“I’m fine, Ozzy. I like it here. It relaxes me. Why don’t you get some sleep.”

“I’ll get right on that after I grow a body.”

“You’re probably overdue.”

“For a nap or a body?”

“Nap,” she said, yawning. “You’ve earned it. Maybe one day we’ll have enough credits to spring for an android blank and you can try the chair out.”

“Hah, I’m content with what I got. Goodnight, ZT.”

“Night.”

The stars flew overhead, briefly slowing, enlarging, then zipping out of sight. Zenith let some of the trauma of the day go with them, but couldn’t escape what had happened. Her brother nearly killed BOB—nearly killed her. She wanted to believe that he held back his attack for her and that there was still some love there, but what if this was who he was now? What if…

A red light pulsed as warnings lit up her console. The emergency klaxon began to blare just as the Sunrunner was violently knocked out of rev-space. Zenith’s head flew forward and her helmet smashed against the central panel, cracking both. She cursed and strapped herself into the seat, trying to make sense of what happened. Every alarm possible seemed to be going off: hull breach, MRE failure…chem leaks.

“Ozzy, what the fuck happened?”

The AI didn’t answer.

“Ozzy? Anyone?! What’s going on back there?”

She tapped the console and tried to engage manual controls, but the ship didn’t respond. 

“Fuck.”

She unstrapped herself and knelt under the console, popping open its access panel with a grunt. The circuitry was mostly fried.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

She scrambled up and ripped a tech kit off the wall by the cockpit door. Something caught her eye just as she pulled out the soldering iron. For a moment she thought they had re-entered rev-space. The stars bent and warped, but they were hardly moving. The Sunrunner veered starboard and the source of the phenomenon came into view. 

As Zenith stared into the insatiable void of the black hole another warning popped up—not from the ship, but her helmet. The words “containment breach” pulsed red on the display and an acrid smell spread through the helmet. In seconds, her nostrils started burning, then her eyes. The noxious vapour hit her throat and she began coughing uncontrollably. Every hack and rasp meant to expel the gas only brought it deeper inside her.

A horrible pain lanced through her neck and she tore off her helmet. Staggering towards the window she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Bloodshot eyes stared back at her, framed by a pallid and desiccated face. Just below her chin, a hole had opened in her neck. The rot spread from her exposed throat, silencing a scream and replacing it with a choking burble. Her mother’s face flashed in her mind and her vision went black.

“Holy shit!” Zenith yelled, springing up from her seat.

“You okay, ZT?” Ozzy asked.

The pilot’s console was quiet: no system warnings, no hull breaches, no chem leaks. Passing stars zipped quietly around the ship with no indication they had stopped. She gingerly pulled off her helmet and raised a hand to her throat. Smooth, uninjured.

“Oh, gods. Status report, ship-wide.”

“Green across the board.”

“Good, good,” she said, easing back into her seat. “Is everyone on board?

“Yeah. Bad dream?”

“Something like that.”

“I’ve never seen you take your helmet off at the stick.”

She rolled the helmet back and forth in her hands, checking for cracks. Satisfied that there was no damage, she pulled it down over her head.

“For good reason. I’ll tell you about it another day.”

—

Hoxley put the finishing touches on the morning’s breakfast—eggs benedict with avocado and a side of precisely seasoned roasted potatoes—as Beast watched eagerly at his side. He selected a few morsels from his plate and tossed them to his furry sous chef. The cramped kitchen would be a disaster for two people to work in, but Beast diligently danced away from Hoxley’s legs as he shuffled pans, grabbed spices, and plated dishes. Having the dog around also meant that he could talk to someone without fear of them thinking he was a freak.

“You don’t think I’m weird, right boy? I mean, I am. Obviously. But you don’t care.”

Beast let out a low ruff and wagged his tail.

“Thanks. I feel the same way about you. Shall we bring this masterpiece of culinary expertise out to them?” He asked, balancing four plates on his arms.

He hit the access panel with his elbow and the door slid open. A cool breeze blew in and his arms went limp. The clatter of metal plates striking stone rang out into the desolate hall. The shattered floor rose, forming steps that led to an altar. Though he couldn’t see it from the angle, he knew that chunks of the structure were being pulled into the pulverizing oblivion of the black hole beyond.

“Oh no.”

Hoxley hit the door panel once, then rapidly tapped it when the door didn’t close. An undulating click rolled from somewhere inside the broken building, signaling the arrival of the thing that would kill him. Hoxley slammed his eyes shut, willing himself to wake from the nightmare, but couldn’t. These dreams always ended one way, a painful, terrible death with no one to help him.

Beast dashed out from under his legs and leapt up the nearest step. With an oblivious joy in his eyes, he turned to Hoxley and let out a loud bark, signaling for him to follow. Hoxley cursed and ran after him while faceless figures observed the pair from their crucified stations on the walls. At the top, he found Beast staring into space, tail wagging happily.

“Nothing good is going to happen here, my friend. The big black thing isn’t a ball that we can play with.”

Beast stared up at him quizzically, then back into space. An immeasurable distance away, a bright halo swirled around the singularity. Celestial debris spun helplessly in the inescapable grasp of the void, waiting for oblivion. Hoxley imagined himself caught in that irresistible pull once again, his body being torn apart, atom by atom. 

A wet click undulated behind him and his heart sank with the inevitability of his fate. His nightmares only ever ended one way. A claw slid onto the plateau and the monster pulled itself up to their level. Beast growled and Hoxley stepped in front of him.

“Not my dog. He shouldn’t be here. Do whatever you want to me and leave him out of it.”

The monster’s face split open as it approached, bearing dozens of needle-pointed teeth. Its claw-tipped fingers curled and flexed in anticipation of skewering his insides. It was like Hoxley didn’t matter—like he was just there to be killed or sacrificed. He clenched his fists. 

It always ended the same way, but the presumption that he would just stand and be killed kindled a new fury in his chest. His own fingers flexed and extended, electricity crackling about them. The monster let out a low growl and Hoxley met its menace with a snarl. His hand shot up just as the creature lunged and a blinding flash filled the space between them.

There was silence, then a gentle, insistent prodding at his calf. He opened his eyes to a scene frozen in time. The tip of a claw floated inches from his abdomen. A scorch mark blackened the creature’s chest where the lightning struck, framed by floating white motes of electricity. Hoxley took in the still image of the moment before his death with awe and curiosity. The lightning wasn’t enough to stop it. What had stopped it? He looked at Beast who mirrored his puzzlement.

“It’s your dream. You don’t fight it—you control it.”

Hoxley spun to see someone step out of the shadows. 

“I didn’t peg you for much of a fighter, darlin’,” Ebby said, “or an animal lover.”

A second figure weaved out from under her legs and bounced forward to greet Beast.

“Is that a fox? Wait, no, better question: how are you in my nightmare?”

Ebby stepped to the edge of the crumbling building and peered out over the edge.

“Yes, that’s Silas. And the question you should be asking is, ‘how did she stop that thing from turnin’ me into a spit roast.’”

“Oh, the impaling would have only been a start, it gets a lot worse. So if you could shed some light on, well, everything, that would be appreciated.”

“How long have you been seeing things like this?” She said, waving an arm out at the black hole.

“That’s kind of new, but things like this,” He said, pointing to the monster, “many, many years.”

“And the lightnin’?”

“That’s pretty new too, but I’ve been able to do other strange things since I started having the nightmares.”

Ebby walked up to the monster, raised a boot onto its chest, and shoved it back down the shattered steps. Despite the brutal fall, the creature didn’t budge from the position it was locked in.

“On very rare occasions, like one in a hundred million, someone in the galaxy has a gift given to them. The gift can come from different places, but the result is the same. That person is granted access to something that was supposed to have left the universe thousands of years ago.”

“Ancient powers?”

“Call it whatever you please: sorcery, magic, power—the old word for it is arcanum—but the result is the ability to manipulate the natural order of things.”

“So I’m, what, a wizard?”

“Yeah.”

“And you are too?”

“Uh-huh. Though I came into it differently.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most of us don’t come by our powers through horrible nightmares. That’s rare, even for us. To my knowledge, there are only a handful of people like you in the galaxy. You-”

“And Vaelor.”

“And a few more behind bars, but yeah. People who are touched by that,” she said, raising a thumb at the black hole, “generally don’t turn out so well. They start hurting people. They start bringing the terrible things from their dark dreams to our world. When that happens, they need to be put down.”

Hoxley anxiously took a step back.

“I don’t think you’re that far gone, darlin’. In fact, I think you are positively redeemable. You just need to learn to control it before it controls you.”

Ebby clapped her hands and a sound erupted from below. The monster’s unfinished roar resumed as if it were an unpaused video. The creature bounded up the broken stone towards them, foregoing all of its previous methodical menace. Hoxley clenched a fist and electricity crackled around it, then Ebby stepped behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t fight it. Control it.”

“How?” He asked, panicked.

“Is there something in your life you feel like you have control over?”

“No!”

“There is. Think. Think of the feelin’ you have when you’re doin’ somethin’ you have authority over.”

Hoxley’s mind raced as the monster pulled itself up to his level. So much of his life was spent being swept away by the desires of others: his parents, his professors, his dreams. When had he ever had control? Even now, aboard the Sunrunner, he felt like he was being pulled by the gravity of the people around him: soldiers, criminals, pilots. What was he compared to them? He was just…

Hoxley relaxed his hand and the lightning dissipated. He imagined himself in a small rectangular room, six by ten feet. All of his ingredients were around him, waiting to be made into something new, something more than the sum of them. All that they needed were the right measurements, timing, and temperature—elements of his domain.

The creature lunged, closing the distance between them in a savage instant. Its arms extended as it leapt, claws poised to tear his throat open. Hoxley raised an arm and flicked his wrist with a flourish. The creature stopped in the air, twitching with murderous rage. With another flourish of Hoxley’s hand, a wave of frost rapidly swept across the creature, stifling its growl. It hung in the air a moment longer, then he let it drop and shatter into frozen chunks.

“Woo! The hand waving was a little pretentious, but you got it done,” Ebby said.

Hoxley looked at the remains of the monster in disbelief, then asked, “So I can just do this whenever I want?” 

“In your dreams, yeah. The physical world works differently. There, you’d have to fight this thing the hard way. You can only exert this kind of control in dreams or on someone else’s magic, but that’s a lesson for another day.”

Hoxley sighed a heavy breath. If this were true, it meant an end to the nightmares. No more fear, no more sleepless nights, no more liters of coffee each day. It was the greatest gift he’d ever received.

“I owe you breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, uh, this dream started with breakfast—a meal of your choosing.”

The fox padded forward and sniffed his leg. Hoxley reached down to scratch his head but the fox jumped back.

“Hands to yourself, pal.”

Hoxley stood up. 

“Your fox talks.”

“I have a name.”

“Silas is my familiar. I’ve got a special bond with him that comes with a few perks.”

“Talking?”

“That and more. Though sometimes the talking doesn’t feel like a perk.”

“Rude,” Silas said, jumping onto her back and curling himself around her shoulders.

“By the looks of it, you and your friend might have a similar bond.”

Hoxley looked down at his dog. Beast returned the gaze, panting happily.

“Anyway, it’s time for us to leave,” Ebby said, walking to the edge of the plateau.

“Wait, I still have so many questions. Can I see you again?”

Ebby fell backward towards the singularity, “Sure. In your dreams.” 

The perspective of the heavens shifted. The seemingly distant stars began to swirl about Ebby, illuminating her in dazzling light. With a brilliant flash, she rocketed towards the black hole, leaving a trail of stardust in her wake. Her form grew smaller and smaller still as she approached oblivion. Just as it seemed the void would swallow her, a kaleidoscopic barrage of colour and light burst forth from the anomaly and washed over Hoxley.

He woke in his bunk with a start. Beast lifted his head from where it rested on Hoxley’s thigh. In the adjacent bunk, Buddy’s chest gently rose and fell, accompanied by a soft snore. Hoxley eased his head back onto the pillow and scratched behind Beast’s ears.

“What a dream, huh?”

“You’re telling me,” the dog said.

—

Odybrix sat with her arms wrapped around her knees in the quiet of her room. The events aboard Levisia played in her head again and again, precluding any chance of sleep. She went over every detail, every dead body, every mistake until the self-loathing curled her lips into grimace. She thought about her failure to prevent Buddy from being maimed, her failure to save BOB from Harlow, and she thought about Remington casting her and the crew as murderous terrorists.

She looked over at the sleeping form of Adam atop his bunk and quietly rolled to the side of her bunk. Underneath was a small box of her belongings. She pulled it up onto the bed and popped the lid open. Beneath a mickey of whiskey and a metal tag with the letters CWI was an old envelope with a single piece of paper inside. She unfolded it and read the three words therein, “Don’t be afraid.”