“Cowards. I’ll go first.” Cenn jumped into the cryo pod and grabbed the IV from the technician then placed the node on the inside elbow of her cryosuit. “There, now you can all stop arguing,”

  The crew reacted as though they’d only just then believed the day’s itinerary.

  “Now if we can all just get in line,” the technician said to the rest of them, though they hardly looked inspired to follow directions.

  Daiko cleared his throat, “You ate your pills, took your shot, and even got on these blasted skin suits. That’s the worst of it, I promise.”

  With his prodding, they began to disperse down the line of pods.

  “Joyce,” Daiko said, “do you mind helping the kids into their car seats?”

  “My pleasure.”

  She reached down and squeezed Cenn’s hand.

  “See you on the other side,” she replied, but already her words were beginning to slur.

  Joyce returned the smile and patted the technician’s back reassuringly as they went to corral the rest of the crew.

  Daiko poked his head under Cenn’s pod canopy. Her eyes were fluttering, and her head was beginning to sag.

  “Sleep tight, soldier.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said dreamily, “Erin, you rat, where are you?”

  “Yeah, right here.”

  “See this? I’m first down so….I win…Again.”

  A melodic and robotic voice chimed, “Stasis initiated.”

  Daiko stepped back as the cushioned straps expanded, sealing her into place. The canopy slid down, and Daiko had one fleeting look through the glass before it frosted over. Then all that remained visible of the interior were thin orange lines outlining the power cells.

  Daiko and Erin stood on either side of Cenn’s pod as it retracted into the wall. The pod locked into place a meter above the ground, with the canopy projecting a few inches outward.

  Though he comforted the crew honestly, their discomfort was not unwarranted. Daiko had gone on ice four times in his life now, and had no love for the process. Daiko was fifty-six in Asparian Standard years, with two ice years to his name, soon to have more time on the bill. Hanging onto that detail always seemed important.

  Believing time was your ally had consequences, seen no more clearly than in the faces of new recruits arriving in the moonscape, having closed their eyes on one side of the system and blinked to find themselves face to face with their decision.

  “Sir?” Erin said.

  Shaking the desolate thoughts from his mind, Daiko realized he still wasn’t impervious to the mysticism of traveling through the cosmos.

  “Hm?”

  “I was just asking if this was all feeling familiar.”

  Daiko gave a small laugh.

  “A little. Helps that it’s all the same technology from back then. Even the high gloss finished pods aboard the new colony ships are built to the same spec.” He slid his hand over the pod. “It’s a very Asparian thing to do—find something that works and move on.”

  “Is that what’s worrying you?”

  Daiko regarded Erin—chillingly present, patient, without a hint of performance in his curiosity.

  “In a way… what I’m feeling is probably heartbreak.” Daiko took a deep breath before continuing. “I was engaged when I left Dearth the first time, just fifteen years old, if you can believe it. Not to Mina’s mother, of course. High school sweetheart. Leaving her was the hardest thing I’d done up to that point.”

  Erin gave little reaction, doubtless Mina had already told him that much.

  “When I came back from my extended tour, she was gone. Ironically, going back to Jupiter a second time without her was the hardest thing I’d done till that point.” He drew a hand down his tired face then patted his chest. “I feel that every time I go under.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “And I hope you never do.” He crossed his arms, “You and Mina are doing it right—going together.”

  Erin turned his head and Daiko followed his gaze across the hanger, where a lone figure stood, hardly recognizable from this distance but both men saw her clearly. Not an ounce of shame in the way his eyes sought her out.

  “She’s changed my life, sir,” Erin said, swinging his gaze back to Daiko. “I’ll take care of her.”

  “I know you will.”

  A second technician walked up to them.

  “Excuse me, but it’s nearing time. Captain says we have to get you under.”

  “We’re on our way,” Daiko assured her, but she lingered, glancing at the empty pod beside her. Daiko and Erin chuckled.

  “Do you want this one?” Erin asked.

  Daiko looked down the line. The rest of the crew had found their pods it seemed, but still dawdled despite the technicians’ prodding.

  “I’ll wait for the crew. You go ahead.”

  Erin nodded, then hesitated with one hand on the canopy, gazing across the hangar.

  “You’ll see her before you know it, son,” Daiko said.

  “I know. Just getting one last look,” Erin beamed.

  A minute later his canopy was sealed, glass frosted, and his pod retracted into the wall.

  Two down.

  Daiko passed two empty pods—meant for him and Mina—on his way down the line. Snake was about to nod off in the next pod but managed a thumbs-up just before.

  “Rambunctious crowd,” the tech said as she checked Snake’s medchart. “At least this one wasn’t much of a talker.”

  “Yeah, well cut the rest some slack; this’ll be the first time for a lot of them. Right, Val?”

  The pod next to Snake’s was Val’s. Her reply was an unintelligible garble, accompanied by a stream of saliva running down her cheek. Don’t ever change. He gave the tech a wan smile before she bustled down the line to the next pod where Mark was already down, snoring before the canopy sealed him away.

  “My turn to get tucked in?” Joyce called from one over.

  She laid in her pod, one arm propped up as she slid into the restraints.

  Daiko walked towards her and raised a hand to his face in mock secrecy, blocking the sound of his words from the tech nearby, “did they not already… poor management.”

  “You’ll have to do,” She took a moment to calm herself, “no dreams means no nightmares, right?”

  “That’s the way of it. When you wake up in six months, it’ll feel like nothing happened.”

  “Shame,” she said, smiling in a way he desperately wanted to repay.

  He grabbed her hand instead and was comforted by the strength of her grip.

  “Shame,” she said again, though with the hint of slumber just around the corner. “I would have liked to dream…”

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  Her grip lingered till the restraints pulled her hand tight against her body, and sealed. He sighed, taking his own advice that it would feel like a short six months.

  “Just let me see it again,” Roman grabbed the slab from the technician’s holster like a pickpocket. It took her a minute to realize he’d done it.

  “See what—Excuse me!” She cried, “I’ve been doing this for thirty years, I know what I’m doing.”

  Daiko slipped behind Roman, “everything looking good?”

  Roman turned, hawk-eyed, then saw it was Daiko and softened.

  “More Martians die of cryo dosages than Dearthlings. Did you know that?”

  That got another gasp from the technician. “Are you kidding me?” She said as she swiped the slab from Roman, but only because he let her. She was about to lay into him when Daiko stepped in.

  “I’ll take this one,” Daiko assured her, patting Roman on the back.

  “Fine, but if the captain sees you out of bed, you’ll have to answer to him.”

  Roman watched her leave before giving Daiko a shrug and laying in his pod. “Can’t be too careful, can you?”

  “Maybe. Suspicion is a bludgeon disguised as a shield,” Daiko chuckled at the sound of his own words. “In my experience, you only get as far as you can trust people.”

  Roman paused while fitting himself in the restraints. Then, after a moment, said, “Well, I’ve made it this long.”

  “Probably because you know which people to trust.” Daiko sighed.”

  “Sure… Have you thought about what I had to say back at the garage?”

  Daiko hadn’t allocated any additional capacity to think of Roman’s offer. He’d been incredibly busy the past few days—but that didn’t mean the capacity Daiko did have wasn’t strained as he considered their conversation a week ago.

  “I don’t understand how it’s possible,” Daiko held up a hand as Roman started explaining himself. “Not here. Realistically, I should’ve given you more time, but you brought this to me last minute. If there’s truly a chance to help your people, I want to do it. As Arcomeckanist, and friend of the Admiral, I might be able to get you more than just my support. But it’ll have to wait.”

  Roman seemed to struggle with that answer, as though he needed something more definite that moment—it wasn’t like the man to hesitate.

  “Remember what you said to me, that night after the Primera?” Daiko said, holding Roman’s gaze, “you said I was partially to blame for what’s happened.”

  A nice person would’ve interrupted Daiko to dissuade him of such a belief. Roman simply waited.

  “You’re right, I do shoulder some of the responsibility. I haven’t meant many martians, believe it or not. My battle ground was Jupiter, not Mars, but knowing you has told me everything I need to know about your people. I promise you I’ll help make it right.”

  Another promise. Another one I have to keep.

  “I understand,” Roman said after a while, still seeming distressed. “Thank you. For everything.”

  He was on the verge of saying more, but then leaned back and connected his IV.

  Daiko watched Arthur squirm inside his pod, checking the restraints and eyeing the IV as though it were a snake.

  “Trouble?” Daiko said.

  “No, of course not.” But his eyes were searching, and the IV got no closer to the node on his arm.

  Unlike Roman, Arthur couldn’t keep his heart from bleeding through his shirt. The two were alike only in how much they tried to hide it.

  “It’s alright to be nervous.”

  “I’m not.”

  Arthur winced at his own raised voice, then looked at the techs waiting a few pods down. They stared at the two of them impatiently.

  “Don’t worry, we’ve got time. Talk to me.”

  Arthur’s face was caught up in the moral dilemma Daiko often saw him in: trying to decide if his problems were worth sharing. He shrugged then, and went on.

  “I know this is going to sound weird but I’ve been thinking a lot about Harold Van Met, his biography anyway. Have you read it?”

  “Harbinger? What loyal patriot hasn’t?”

  “Right.” Arthur scratched his head, digging the thought out manually. “I’m just thinking about him now. How things just opened up for him. Photography, film school, enlisting. Then, bam, he’s watching the Geos Quint destroy the first settlement on Alma Prime. Suddenly all that stuff before didn’t matter. He never picked up a camera again. Said it was because he found his purpose and dedicated himself to the war effort.”

  Daiko sensed there was more, and nodded for Arthur to continue,

  “All I’ve ever wanted was to fight, but no one will let me. I finally get to go, and it’s to help change oil and replace sprockets instead. I’m grateful, and I think it’s the right thing to do, but it doesn’t feel like my purpose.” He gazed toward the closed loading bay, and Daiko was wondering what he was visualizing. “It’s just hard not feeling like I’m the most useless tool in the shop.”

  Daiko gazed out the bay as well, searching for the words, and scratching his head as he dug for another nugget of wisdom.

  “Let me see if I understand…you spend your days surrounded by peers who are far more skilled and talented than you; and when you finally set sail—toward your dream—you do so riding their coattails.” Daiko waved off Arthur's protestations. “I’m not saying it’s true, just setting myself up. Give a man time.”

  With a shared smile he continued. “I personally don’t believe there’s such a thing as a useless tool. In my experience, if there’s something everyone continues to overlook, I’m more curious than most to know what it can do—not what it can’t. That’s why I hired you.”

  Arthur perked up but leveled a skeptical gaze at him a second later.

  “I always thought it was because you felt guilty for everything that happened.”

  Daiko wished he could forget that day…but perhaps I wouldn’t be the man I am without it.

  “Oh I drown in guilt everyday, from more than just what happened between you and I. But no, I don’t make decisions based solely on that.”

  “So why did you choose me then?”

  Daiko stepped closer to the pod and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Because you’re the heart of this crew, Arthur. Whether you know it or not. And because I underestimated you once, and I don’t plan on ever doing it again.”

  The technicians behind them cleared their throat and Daiko nodded to them. When he returned his attention to Arthur, the boy was pushing a tear back with his hand.

  “Yes, sir. I mean, thank you sir.”

  “We’ll talk more when we get there.” Daiko grabbed Arthur’s IV and handed it to him. He took it and placed it on the node in his inner elbow.

  “And one last thing. Harbinger was all about the publicized HVM3, but he didn’t write it himself. Did you know that?” When Arthur shook his head, he continued. “But he did write a different book just a few years ago actually, though significantly less famous than his first.”

  “What? How have I not heard of it?”

  “Probably because of the name he used. It’s called A Bird’s World, and under the name Harry Met—just Harry Met.”

  “Harry?”

  “Mhm, I brought my copy. You can give it a read when we land.”

  “But… why…”

  The boy’s eye lids kept shooting up and dropping low as he fought to sate his curiosity. It was a valiant effort, but it didn’t last more than a few moments.

  “Stasis initiated.” The voice chimed.

  “He’s all yours.”

  The technicians bustled over and asked if he was going to follow suit.

  “I’m making my way there, promise.”

  Just one more to go…

  But as he turned to find Mina, he saw Suraj Murphy step from behind the last pod in the row. Daiko didn’t know how he’d missed that blockhead. The technicians didn’t seem obliged to keep him on schedule, that or they busied themselves hoping they wouldn't have to.

  “You’re too soft with him,” Murphy said as he readied his own pod.

  “We’ll see.”

  Murphy didn’t respond. In moments he was secured, sedated, and sealed for the journey.

  Mina still stood across the hangar, despite the clucking technicians. He went to fetch her.

  “It’s that time, little hammer.”

  She mumbled a reply but continued to stare through the surface of the meck’s container at the machine underneath. It was thick opaque plating, layered enough to survive the vacuum of space, yet he could tell her curiosity still penetrated the steel, seeking the riddle beneath.

  “You think it will meet their expectations?” she asked.

  “To hell with their expectations. It’s hard enough to meet my own.”

  She gave him a look that said many things, so much like her mother’s.

  “Mom would be happy you’re going back,” she said, reading his mind.

  “You mean that?”

  “I’m starting to—the further we get on this trip, anyway. Maybe that changes when we get there and it’s as bad as you say, but at least for now it feels right.”

  Her blessing felt like a cleansing wave. Only a sliver of regret remained—an ache to know who she might have become without the gravity of Mons Daiko Hitori dragging her in his wake.

  “There’s more to do on Jupiter than war, Mina.” His abrupt comment drew a concerned look from her. “I mean after all of this ends, have you ever wondered what you’ll do?”

  She considered the idea while circling him wistfully.

  “Make a living, be close to friends and family…” she glanced toward Erin’s pod. Be in love.

  “Come on,” she said lightly, wrapping her arms around his bicep and leaning on him, “who knows—and who cares right now? Maybe I’ll take after you and try my hand at gardening.”

  The technicians were waiting—because of course they were—and Mina followed their directions and got into bed.

  “I love you, little hammer,” he said as she laid back.

  “I love you too. Sweet dreams.”

  He watched as she fell silent and asleep. Her pod retracted into the wall and suddenly the emptiness of the bay became acute.

  He stared down the rows of pods embedded into the wall—the crew waiting patiently for their slumber to end, and for some, their dreams to begin.

  Looking across the bay at the meck, his sense of duty, which had been simmering for months now boiled.

  “You sleep well too, my friend. We have a lot of work to do.”

  He found his way to the pod, and soon felt the familiar numbness of cryo. Thoughts became fluid. Textures and colors blended together, before becoming a muted nothing. It was the sign, Daiko knew, that their journey had finally and truly begun…

  …But then the nothing ended too soon, and already he knew something wasn’t right.

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