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Glass cabinets overhang black-topped benches.
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At the end of the aisle, the hatchling is suspended in a tank of proteinaceous fluid.
Sun gasps at the sight.
Its only been a few days since the poor thing was eating in the video.
She steps past Hati, putting a hand on the glass.
Unconscious, the hatchlings head is tucked beneath its skinny neck.
It hasnt developed all of its fat pads yet, so its tail is reminiscent of a mouses.
The hatchling really is so small.
We were seeing evidence of atypical development.
Some of her Hati coughs.
Its receiving supplemental hormones now.
And how long does that take?
Were trying to be safe.
Arms crossed against his chest, Hati leans against the bench.
The hatchling may be small, but it casts a shadow that splits his face in two.
Shes relieved, for a moment, to learn that it isnt ill or dying.
But she recalls the fate of the other hatchlings, and she starts to understand.
Youre scared, she says.
Maybe she shouldnt have come.
No, he lies.
If this one fails, we will move onto the next.
Have you told Dossa about this?
It surprises her how much it hurts to say his name.
The suggestion rings hollow, even to her.
What would the old man care?
Hes retiring in a year.
Because hes your friend?
She leans forward, catches his eye.
The sigh that leaves his body makes his shoulders fall, and suddenly he is eggshell-fragile.
He says finally, I named her Luna.
She hears the catch in his voice.
Yes, Sun knows of this bang out of love.
Its been a decadeeverything of me, for a decade.
You wont lose her.
And she wont lose her bird either: she will keep clawing her way back.
Hes silent for a bit.
He picks at the hem of Suns coat.
What did you name your bird?
Sun lowers her voice.
Hati whispers back, Thats not an answer.
She never could decide.
She wishes she could.
I need to ask you something, she says instead.
It doesnt scare her as much as she thought it would to say this to Hati.
Not when the light from Lunas tank plays across his face.
Not when she watches his manicured nails worm between the weave of her clothes.
I cant tell Dossa, she says.
But I think the bird is talking to me.
Why do you think that?
Its outputs contain olfactory codes for scents Ive told it about.
And youre sure it isnt a coincidence?
Gastorian pheromones dont contain these compounds.
Neither do any of the chamber gasses.
And it only happens to me.
You think its remembering these scents intentionally, so they appear on the monitor.
I need to know.
This would be a major departure from the current research, if youre correct.
And theres so much we dont know about them.
She slides her tablet out of its case and hands it to him.
He skims through the neural outputs, zooms in on the notes in the margins.
She can tell how hard hes trying not to let his hands shake.
Normally when we see noisy sequences like these, he says, still reading, we assume theyre recollections.
My birds never done this.
Sure, sure, Hati says.
The frequency of noisy outputs varies wildly between shamans.
For the especially sentimental ones, we usually implement algorithms to filter out the noise.
Is there any way to read them?
Not to my knowledge.
He chews on his cheek.
A colleague of mine considered investigating noise more thoroughly, but finding funding was .
Its not important for piloting, after all.
Theres something else, Sun says, scrolling down to the most recent output.
It means something, doesnt it?
Maybe its referring to Dossa?
Sun hugs herself, lips drawn tight.
No, not Dossa.
Ive already spoken to Dossa.
Your bird doesnt know that.
Besides, do you have to talk to him?
Sun and Dossa go out to dinner together.
Its strange, at first.
Like shes a child again.
She asks for whatever meat has been most recently unpacked from storage and a bottle of white wine.
She watches as Dossa eats in small, manufactured bites, choreographed to the restaurants cacophony of clinking silverware.
You must hate the wine, Sun says.
You havent even had a sip.
He looks at his glass and puffs out his cheeks.
Sun waits a beat, justifying the pause by swirling her fork around on her plate.
Were you there when Hati took tissue samples from the bird?
Sun steals an orange slice from his plate and eats it before he can say anything.
You should ask him about it.
Im not sure what Im allowed to say, but hes made some interesting developments.
Dossa peers at her from over his wine glass.
Despite himself, he manages half a smile.
All right, he says, consider me intrigued.
He pours himself another drink and waves the server over to order desserts.
They chat until their plates are bare and she feels herself become Sundimnya from three years ago.
She has just met her bird.
She is ecstatic with new love.
and really, do I have to tell you?
Dossa says, a little too loudly.
The IED discharged early obviouslywhy else would I be telling you this?
I cant even describe how that grin made me feel.
My body still thinks its about to die.
My ears are still ringing.
And you know what he says to me.
He says, Well, at least we have dinner.
And I realize all that gore isnt from any of our men.
Its from the poor Alatarian livestock that were grazing out in the field.
Nothing but red, sticky piles now.
He didnt think that was nearly as funny.
Oh, you think its your job to tell me what I can and cant eat, he says.
Well, it was my job, actually.
Sun leans her head against her hand as she listens.
This is the longest Soldier-Dossa story shes ever heard.
I shouldnt have told him, Dossa decides.
But I was a nicer person back then.
What did he look like?
He was very handsome, you know, in a puppy-dog kind of way.
Sometimes its hard to remember his face.
Ill have to show you some pictures later.
Ill be around, Sun says.
Actually, Ive been meaning to ask you a favor.
He hesitates for maybe half a second, but Suns skin goes cold.
She cant believe she tricked herself into believing that he would forget so easily.
Ive been reading some of Hatis latest research and some of his colleagues, too, she explains.
They reference some obscure pheromones that I cant find in my database.
Would you mind if I hopped onto your setup to see if you have anything on file?
Sun slips inside Dossas office.
Ill be in the other room if you need me, Dossa says before he leaves.
Turn out the light if you head out after me.
She thinks that her excuse to access his computer is pretty good.
The transfer of data from ship to ship, or planet to ship, is time consuming and costly.
They may get internet access at the upcoming lunar station, but they couldnt always bet on it.
He has to know something, right?
Dossa has piloted with the bird for longer than she has been alive.
She scrolls through his files in his piloting database.
Its marginally more expansive than hers, but completely ordinary.
Absently, she clicks on his open applications.
Looking at each one makes her feel like shes staring Dossa right in the eye.
Even after their argument, he still trusts her this much.
She closes those apps and navigates to his documents instead.
His filing system is immaculately specific, sorted by year and topic, then further divided into subsystems.
They go back decades.
It would take her hours, if not days, to comb through this amount of material.
She wrings her fingers.
He became a fully-fledged pilot in 65, so she starts in that folder and finds routine datasheets.
Inside, there are two folders with the same exact name.
She pauses, blinks.
She opens both of them.
This has to be it.
Standing, she studies his shelf.
There is one of a tiger-striped basenji.
Another of a wedding where a bride in red and gold (his sister?)
is lifted in the arms of her husband, her saree fluttering like a bird-of-paradise in flight.
They wear spears and swords instead of rifles, metal and leather instead of Teflon.
Beneath this, theres a shelf of framed metals and traditional photographs, so old theyve faded with time.
She doesnt recognize any of the faces.
Its like looking into the life of a stranger, and the feeling discomforts her.
One is turned backwards, so she flips it around.
Its a black-and-white portrait of a man with a small, lopsided smile.
Hes pale, even paler than Hati, and he wears his hair in a ponytail.
A linen gorget hides his throat.
On his shoulder, a soft shape implies the presence of a hand.
Sitting down, she opens up the frame.
She finds that the photo is folded in half.
Two men stand shoulder-to- shoulder.
Its DossanotherDossa, but a version of him.
On the back of the photo, To an eternity is written in an unfamiliar script.
Below it, she finds Dossas handwriting:
Antony Germain, 23/4/57.
She leans back in the chair, chewing her lip, with the photo lying on her breast.
When she lifts it up, Antony smiles at her.
She tries Antonys note, exactly as it is written.
The folder opens and reveals its new name: MEMORY.
MEMORY is made of three components.
The first: hundreds of documents of noise and nonsense code, each one titled and dated.
62, 63, 64.
These records cease right before the new year.
The second: a decryption key, using the same format as the piloting database standard.
The third: a diary.
And Im beginning to suspect that T suspects something about these late-night visits.
Sun closes the diary files and instead uploads the first of her nonsense codes to the new database key.
Her gut bulges from behind her keel.
This is not new.
The hatchling was a late hatcher and now a late drop.
Its emergence is signaled by the ripples across the flank of warmthbonerain.
At my approach, she backs away.
She breathes in gusts now.
Her fear is nauseous and pervasive.
Her fear lives inside of my lungs.
I ask the others to wait.
I watch their eyes.
But after some time, the hatchling does not emerge and warmthbonerains alarms cease.
She shakes instead of straining.
Her flank is still.
Perhaps this should not come as a shock to us.
Above her gut, her hips sit lopsided.
A red scar stretches from flank to pelvis.
A metal spear hit her here.
I call to her, and she strains weakly.
The hatchlings tail emerges from her as if it might split her in two.
This sight is full of wrongness.
It fills me with a sickness I have not felt for some time.
I call to her again but nothing seeps out of her, not used-up-air, not my name.
I tell myself, there is no pain anymore, as I pull.
Her muscles grip the hatchling with a primal memory, a desire to house it within.
The feet slip out.
Limp and cobwebbed with blood.
There is a wetness, beaded around us, and the embrace of the others against my skin.
The hatchling emerges and I wrap myself around it.
At first, I grip too tightly and it whines.
It breathes and wriggles!
Opening its mouth with mine, I let crop-food slide into its throat.
It will breathe more easily now.
It will warm up and sleep.
For now, I will hold it in the nest of my tail.
A few of us nudge warmthbonerains face.
She exhales once, and a strange, crackling period of time waits between this exhale and the next.
Her gut is blackened, bruised, wrinkled, and her own blood sticks to her.
I see her throat moving, convulsing.
There is nothing left of her, but we wait, anyway.
We wait and wait until one of us wraps his mouth around her neck and crushes it.
Another pinches the skin of her gut and pulls until it tears.
When I lick the fluid from the hatchlings face, it tastes of warmthbonerain.
Exactly of her, as if she is speaking her name to me.
[ [1] Approximation based on the given relative coordinates.
Confidence 73.4%]
Sun doesnt know how long she spends staring at the birds last line.
She is filled nearly to bursting.
She imagines herself popping like a balloon.
What could she deduce from this?
Or was it a happenstance daydream, perhaps inspired by the flock leaving Miphre?
She wonders how much it really matters.
After all, the circumstances of how she attained this memory doesnt change its contents.
Thinking about the remaining contents of MEMORY makes her skin itch.
There are hundreds of files just like this one: decrypted, annotated daydream code from their bird.
She lets herself laugh, and she forces a smile on her face.
She has been right the whole time.
How long would it take for her to read all of the memories?
How long did it take Dossa to figure this all out?
Someone knocks at her door.
She wraps herself up in a robe, checking to ensure her computer is still off, before answering.
Dossa stands in front of her.
Something about his sad eyes and the tilt of his head sparks a fire in her stomach.
He speaks softly, as if hes approaching a wild animal with a handheld palm-up.
How did you know?
Ive been trying to call you.
Are you all right?
She digs her nails into the neckline of her robe.
His shoulders fall as he exhales.
you might probably make a few guesses.
She cant help the way her lip curls.
Her voice doesnt even sound like her own.
He looks at her silently, brow furrowed, overflowing withis it pity?
She wanted to scream:Were the same!
You made me out of yourself!
Would you slit your own throat?
You lied to me, and you made me think I was insane.
She uses the back of her hand to wipe away tears.
Can I come inside?
No, you cannot come inside!
Dossa takes a step back, hands held up.
Look, he says.
Whatever you think is happening?
like, stop pretending.
You cant keep lying when Ive already seen it.
It doesnt love you, Sun.
This escapes him, wide-eyed and frantically.
Dossa doesnt need to yell.
You cant know that.
It doesnt, he whispers, and it never will.
Sun, I promise, youwantto forget this ever happened.
When you do, eventually, itll stop trying.
Sun recedes into herself.
She falls against the doorframe and asks, What does it want?
How do you escape a prison where you cant even speak to your captors?
Maybe you convince one of them to love you so much that he will set you free.
Sun shakes her head.
How can I trust you?
He reaches out, but she flinches away, back into the green glow of her lamp.
With no one to hold it, the door starts to creak closed.
She can only see half of Dossas face.
Dont look at me like that, he pleads.
Like you think Im going to lock you up and take all of this away from you.
Theres nothing I can do about that.
This only ends one way, Sun, but there are many ways to get there.
Some hurt less than others.
No, she says, slowly, this is all lies.
All youve ever done, from the moment I stepped foot here, is lie to me.
Shes spent years on this vessel.
Picked her fingers across her birds brain.
Learned the language of its wingbeats.
She will never be anything else, but that doesnt matter, because it chose her.
You know that isnt true.
Really She digs her fingers into her arms, scratches her skin until it burns.
She startles herself with her own, bitter laugh.
Really, I dont know why I havent told you to fuck off yet.
Dossa nods, lips pursed.
Ill save you the trouble.
Good night, Sun.
Messinas Third Daughterdocks at the station on Celuses third moon.
With most of the crew gone, the shipfills with a comforting silence.
Together, Sun and Luna head to the piloting chamber.
And before he left for the station, Hati gave Sun permission to introduce Luna to her bird.
But you dont want to be there?
Sun asked, haltingly.
She didnt want to question her luckbut she didnt want to take advantage of her friend, either.
After all, this was his bird.
Your bird hardly knows me, Hati replied.
Its best to keep the situation as controlled as possible.
He added, more quietly this time, And I think shell be lonely while Im gone.
Its too much work, out here, for it to move much.
This thing before her isnt quite an animal, but it isnt quite a human, either.
What has it seen during its long life, during its unquantifiable jaunts through space.
Who has it loved?
Who has it mourned?
As the breadth of its experiences unroll before her, she finds herself overwhelmed with a sense of awe.
She settles down with her own tablet, grabs the monitor, and gets comfortable.
Meanwhile, the bird puts its head between theDaughters fingers once again and waits.
Dust-like particles float in the humor behind its hard eye caps.
The ambient darkness reminds Sun of the bottom of a lake.
You understand me, Sun says.
The statement makes her smile.
Will you tell me your name?
A sweet smell escapes its nostrils in a mist.
But the name is more complex than she anticipated.
She transfers the code to her tablet instead, runs it through Dossas key.
Sun thinks,Oak-teapetalwhale-blood.
She wants to cup the name in her hands.
Thank you, she says.
You know Im Sun, dont you?
Its okay that you cant say my name.
I cant exhale yours, so I think were even.
Some nonsense code trickles down the screen.
Its not as long as any of the memories Sun has captured before.
She translates this one, too.
[Transcript completed 17/10/94, 06:18]
She sits before me.
I have known her.
Never has she been so sure that Dossa is wrong.
She runs her fingers over the birds beak, lets its barbels fall against her palms.
I want to show you something, she says.
I hope you find it just as charming as I do.
She hurries back to the atrium and returns with Luna bundled in her arms.
The hatchling peers out shyly, only two eyes visible between the blankets folds.
Luna wraps its tail around Suns arm and presses its keel into her chest.
The new skin on its freshly grown wattle and comb shines like an oil spill.
It cocks its head to the side then puffs little clouds out of its tail stomata.
The bird raises its head and with a trumpeting exhale, pushes itself away from the piloting apparatus.
Tension runs through its body.
The vestigial, wisp-like feathers along its spine stand straight up.
Hey, she tries, I know its probably been a while since youve seen another bird.
it’s possible for you to take your time.
With her hands full, Sun cant reach for the monitor as code floods its screen.
She doesnt dare let Luna go.
The birds mouth drops open and it reaches forward, tongue-first, open-throat-first.
From beak-tip to beak-tip, its mouth is twice as tall as Sun.
Heat emanates from its depths.
Her bird would never hurt her, even in a moment of fear.
She knows the bird better than she knows herself.
Taking in a deep breath, she reaches out with a single hand.
A screech escapes the birds throat.
With its wings raised, its shadow eclipses the entire apparatus.
The sensors on the sides of its keel dilate, revealing pulsing rings of cyan blue and fleshy reds.
There is another sound in the cacophony.
It inhales violentlyinflated until its ribs press up against its skinand exhales like a peel of thunder.
Tumultuous winds steal away the monitor and throw her tablet against the glass.
Sun claws herself back to the door with her tether.
In her arms, Luna trembles.
She cant even hear herself over the storm.
Theres enough of it to make her eyes burn.
I promise youre safe!
Fear pheromone escapes its stomata in such a concentrated form that it leaks out in yellow droplets.
Sun struggles to wrap the blanket over it again, but even that wont block out the smell.
You know I love you!
With an air-shaking roar, the bird throws itself against the wall of the chamber.
She cries again, into the storm, but there are no words this time.
New currents sweep Sun against the door.
As her back collides with the metal frame, the air is knocked out of her lungs.
Even as she gasps, she holds Luna tightly against her breast.
Finally, her fumbling hands find the doors handles.
The doors slam shut, and the locks engage with a resounding thud.
The only sound is Lunas breathing: each shuddering, wheezing whisper falling gently into the expanse around them.
[Transcript completed 12/12/92, 23:05]
Planet-side, we find a herd of large, fur-covered prey.
Around me, I hear us trumpet and call.
The ground shakes when we touch it.
I take one of the herd by the leg, pull it into the sky.
Its body cracks and breaks.
Already its blood leaks down my throat.
I cant hear its heart moving anymore.
I drop it against the cliff and lay my head against it.
Offal spills from the chasm in its gut.
The sound it makes when it breaks apart echoes in my chest.
Ive spread it across the rocks, the ground.
Ive turned it into dust.
In the sky, its blood wouldnt sink down.
I see it: her blood, speckled across the sky like stars.
The hatchling clutches my tail, but now she crawls forward, up my back and to my head.
Her movements are slow and clumsy, as are mine.
I tear off a piece and drop it into her mouth.
She grabs it and backs away, eating in the shadow of my haunches.
This will be her first memory, I decide.
That of violence, and loneliness, and the scar that decorated her mothers flank.
The adjunctive deck is dressed in golden curtains and shimmering glass baubles.
Dossa leans against the back of a chair, nursing a glass of sparkling wine.
Harmonized against a backdrop of soft violins, the piloting crew gossips, and laughs, and drinks.
When she actually finds something funny, she nearly frowns, hides her face, and her shoulders shake.
When Sun was dragged out of theDaughters hand, she was trembling, wide-eyed, glowing.
You were perfect, he said.
He sips on his champagne and watches as Sun is dragged from table to table.
They love herthey should love her.
In the silence they leave behind, Dossa notices that Sun left her tablet on a table.
Bright white text glares at him.
Sun calls, waving from the doorway.
Dossa, come on!
Then shes at his side, a little flustered and her smile a little strained.
He holds out her tablet.
You left this here.
She grabs it quickly.
She wavers like a candle flame, between him and the door.
Her fingers worry at her sleeves.
Finally, she tilts her head to the side, leans forward, and manages, Did you?
Yes, he interrupts.
Yes, I saw the notification.
It looks like you got something from Hati.
Probably another update about the hatchling.
The birds silhouette breaks up the chambers ambient blue glow.
Its followed by another, smaller creature that weaves between the curves of its tail like a ribbon.
Their companionship is the result of a careful habituation protocol designed by Hati.
Dossa didnt realize how worried he had been for Sun until he met Hatis hatchling.
There is a perpetuity that lives inside of it, an inevitability, an immortality.
Yeah, Sun says, tucking the tablet away.
Yeah, that must be it.
Lowry Poletti is a Black author, artist, and veterinary student from New Jersey.
They write a variety of fantasy, scifi, and horror fiction unified by their fascination with gore.
Their other pieces appear in Strange Horizons, Baffling Magazine, and Fantasy Magazine.
you’re able to find more of their work on their website:lowrypoletti.wordpress.com.
just visitLightspeed Magazineto read more great science fiction and fantasy.
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