to the stars, through hardship

“Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.” Goren said.

In the long procession line of huddled bodies, his voice occupied the space between the repetitive squelch of feet, and the low, ever present hum of the aircraft leaving the planet, hidden by The Rift. The thick layer of smoke, named The Rift, blanketed most of the planet. It was a visible barrier between The Surface and all of its unsightly peaks and Above, where the air was thin and clean.

Soleil had once dreamed of reaching Above. For as long as she could remember, she’d fallen asleep imagining herself amongst the wealthy.

How hot would the sun be? She’d ask herself in her fantasies, trying to feel it against her skin, unfiltered by the Rift. Sometimes, when they were able to find a dwelling with heating, or the space and tools to make a fire, she would hold her hands close to the heater or to the open flame for as long as she could stand it. That’s what it would be like, she’d think, rubbing her stinging finger tips against one another. That’s what the sun would feel like.

Before bed, she used to breathe as deeply as she could before a fit of coughing would take over. It was like a game; training herself to see how deeply she could breathe in before the dirty, heavy air of The Surface irritated her lungs. The longer she could breathe, the deeper she could hold the air inside her lungs, the closer she felt like she was Above. She’d heard rumours of how fresh the air was. How crisp it felt to do something as simple as breathing, how wide a persons lungs could expand when the very air they breathed was clean.

She’d thought a lot about Above. About its cities glittering in the sun. She’d spent hours devising plans on how to get there; how to beg and steal and barter her way to the top.

But that was a long time ago. And now, Above was destroyed. Just as badly as The Surface was.

“But we won’t be in space.” Soleil murmured voice getting lost in the stamping feet. “We’ll be in the Artemis. We’ll be safe.”

Goren hums in response, and they let the tenuous silence filled with marching feet and aircraft in the sky filter between them until ahead, someone slips and falls down.

The procession of bodies parts around them; the sea of ragged clothing hiding scarred, mangled, hunched bodies bearing the scars of their luck of birth, splitting like water around the wounded.

No one stopped to help, either uncaring or unwilling to lose their place- their shot at getting onto Artemis. The last ship. The last chance to leave their dying planet.

Goren slows as they approach the collapsed figure and Soleil knows that he wants to help.

The procession passes by them as they slow to a stop, ahead, the white hull of Artemis glimmers dimly in the distance, reflecting what little light filters past The Rift. Soleil stops too, even though she doesn’t want to - even though she knows they shouldn’t. Because Goren was the better of them, and if he wanted to stop, they would.

The crowd streams past them as they crouch, roll the body onto it’s back revealing to Soleil sees why they had fallen in the first place.

It's a man, gaunt in the cheeks and his skin is tinged grey from soot and malnourishment like so many inhabitants of The Surface. His eyes are wide, fixed in that look of death she’d seen so many times; shock mingled with sadness and at the edges, relief. Relief that something, anything, had taken them away.

She sighs, takes Goren’s hand and stands, pulling him up with her. For that man, his journey to the new planet is over. Now he’d be left, nameless, alone, forgotten. Left to rot on the dying planet.

“We’ll remember him.” Goren says softly, staring down at her.

Soleil blinks, unaware that she’d said it out loud. She tries for a smile, but she can feel it wobble, and sees the concern in Goren’s grey eyes.

“When we’re on the ship. When we’re on the new planet. Our new planet.” Goren whispers, gripping her upper arm and tugging her back into a slow walk. “We’ll remember him.”

Soleil turns back, just as the procession they’ve re-joined begins to meld back together around the body, like a wound stitching itself back up against an infection. She catches a glimpse of the dead man, of the muddy soles of the bottom of his feet before the bodies of the procession block him from her view forever.

A low panic, deep and painful, fills her chest. If they don’t make it to Artemis, that will be them. Dead on a dead planet, forgotten thousands of years until someone or thing happens across their bones and wonders who they were, too.

***

“Do not push. Do not fight. All who come will be admitted.” The voice booms from all around, speakers placed high and low that Soleil couldn’t see repeated the same message. “The Artemis welcomes you to your new life. Your life is sponsored by the generosity of the ones Above. Be grateful for this opportunity of a new life.”

A line of Mec’s stood guarding the small openings between the hyper-field fence. Their metal augmentations looking especially menacing as they flexed their arms. She could almost hear the creak of their plasma-guns in their grips.

The Artemis, larger than anything Soleil had ever seen loomed ahead, as wide and ominous as a mountain. As close as he had ever seen it, and yet as far as it had ever felt.

The feeling of seeing it after all the stories, after all the miles that had rubbed her feet raw, and the emptiness in her stomach from the food they’d had to part with to barter and scam their way there, was…unusual. She thought she would have felt as she had when she used to dream of Above. Hopeful, like anything could happen. But instead, standing in the ship’s shadow, squashed between thousands of other people from The Surface, she felt restless. All of her dreams were in front of her, hidden behind a small, dark opening in the ships side, connected to the ground by a flimsy-looking ramp. But they felt intangible, flimsy in a way her bedtime fantasies never had.

She just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong.

The crowd surged behind her, and she tightened her grip on Goren’s hand, taking comfort in its familiarity, in the weight of it, in the way his long fingers wrapped around her palm.

She turns to him, seeing the face she’d always seen. High cheekbones and a long, aquiline nose. Beneath the wrap of cloth soaked in Arnica to protect their skin against the air, she knew lay a mop of golden curls on his head, rare and beautiful.

They were so different, her and Goren and yet, ultimately the same. His skin was light, hers a dark chestnut, her hair was tightly coiled and ash grey, his was long and wavy and golden. Her eyes dark, his a peculiar bright grey. And yet, she knew he was standing slightly askew, weight balanced on his left foot like she was balanced on her right, ready to run if they needed to. She knew that his hand, the one not entwined with hers, was curled into a fist, ready to launch itself should it be needed, just as hers was. Different ant yet the same.

“Do not push. Do not fight. All who come will be admitted…” The announcement droned on as Goren caught her staring, throwing her a smile before he went back to scanning the crowd; alert, as always for any threats. Like second nature.

“’Grateful’?” Someone spits, pulling Soleil’s attention. It’s a tall man, strangely bulky under his rags. “Grateful for the space that should be ours by the virtue of being alive?”

“Shhh.” Someone whispered back, frantic, low. Frightened. The crowd surges again. They’re restless. Tired. Desperate. “If they hear you, they won’t let you on.”

“Let me?” The man cracks his neck. Soleil’s hackles rise at the display. If this was The Underbelly that would be “They crack the planet in half and now they’re letting me on?”

Goren’s hand tightened around hers. She knew that his calves were probably tense, ready to spring. Ready to run away like they always had before to survive. But the Artemis, despite her uneasiness, was right there. All her old fantasies, all her old dreams. Hidden inside. They had to get on. They had to.

She tugged him forward, away from the argument brewing between the man and the others. The believers. Bodies hiss, and grumble, as she pulls and pushes and wedges herself and Goren in a small pocket, closer to the front. From where they stood she swore should could feel the heat rolling off the Mec’s from there.

“It’s better here.” She explained, breathily.

The bodies were tighter closer to the front, more densely packed. It became hard to pull the polluted air into her lungs, childhood games long forgotten.

More people pushed from behind until she’s pressed against the person in front.

Goren’s fingers flex. Another surge threatens to push them away from one another but they remain connected. She spies his eyes, so bright, despite all they’d seen. They find hers, and for one moment, all is ok. He smiles, his mouth parts, he’s going to say something to make her feel better, she thinks. But he never got the chance.

“All who come will be admitted. The Artemis welcomes you to your new life. Your life is sponsored by the generosity of the ones Abo-”

A loud boom sounded behind them, and everyone flinched or ducked. A second of stillness surrounded them and before everyone scattered. There were screaming, shouts.

Soleil stumbles but righted herself. If she went down, she knows she wouldn’t ever get up. But her right hand felt empty, and as the bodies flew beside and around her she realised why: Goren was gone.