The three siblings all talked at once. Their voices bled into each other and built up, filling the narrow length of tactical comm. One by one, the other officers had squirmed through the door as soon as it slid open wide enough. Talib saw them in the corner of his eye, but by the time he turned, the door was wide open, the hall beyond, lit dark blue, empty.

Only Makros and Talib sat at their consoles. Their surfaces flicked red whenever Cornix waved her hands or jabbed a finger at the central display, but then Dorea would snap her fingers across. The white and black of statistical data and survey results flashed up at the two remaining officers. Lysander swiped a finger over a particular cluster of data, and it lit a soft blue.

Cornix threw a hand in front of his. Again the consoles flashed red—error: repeat command. She repeated some choice obscenities. Flash red—error.

Snap—black and white.

“Fuck you—”

repeat command.

“Very mature—”

error.

“Lick my—”

repeat command.

“I said: lick my ass.”

Cornix shouted out above her siblings. They both stared at her with wide eyes, and she began to laugh. Dorea and Lysander raved at Cornix as she laughed.

The ship shook with a deep clunk. A loud whirring replaced the soft hum of the engines. The lights—both the white overhead and the green along the floor—blinked out. An alarm screeched up from decks below. Red light hummed on as the ship jerked, the back-up systems kicking awake. They were all silent. Floating in the red light.

Cornix chuckled.

“I don’t fucking believe this.” Lysander ran fingers through then pulled at his hair. Heels of his hands pressing into his forehead, he shook his head. “What did you do?”

She giggled. “I broke the fucking ship.” Then bent over, curled up and rocked back in the air as she laughed.

Dorea pushed off a wall. Gliding past her brother, she yanked him along by his collar. Makros kicked over to help them pry the door open. Cornix was still laughing, her olive skin flushed red, tears rolling down her cheeks. Talib, grinning, shook his head. His stomach hurt watching her. But as her laughter petered off, the others wiggled out into the hall and left the narrow room quiet. She rubbed at her eyes. Sniffled a bit. Chuckled a little more then sighed.

“I need a drink.”

“We should probably check on the rest of the crew.”

“Probably, yea, okay.”

“But, after—I’ve got a bottle of rum. Been saving it.”

She grinned. “What’s the occassion?”

“You broke the fucking ship.”

"What is the plan?"

"Why do we always have to have a plan?"

The two sisters glared at each other. Dorea was three hours older and three inches taller. Cornix had broken her nose twice before she was twelve. But they were both grey-eyed with black hair and olive skin. Dorea would call them both determined. Cornix would say they were too fucking stubborn for their own good. Either way, the two sisters had a bounty to collect.

Dorea looked away, shook her head. "We should have brought Lysander."

"Only so he'd side with you then whine until I relented."

"We need a third."

"Bullshit. If I know his name, I can kill him."

"How do you figure?"

"Nothing shames a man like being called his full name in a stern voice."

Dorea smiled. "Makes him feel like a child."

"Exactly."

"Not much of a plan, but enough for a start."

where are we?

o miles and miles

from home--

far have we wandered.

how far is that fabled shore

where warriors rest,

where love and light dwell?

o miles and miles

from here--

farther still from all we know.

we know nothing

of sand or sea

'cept the stories where there is lad and lass

nerve touching nerve

until all are foam.

we were born in the green hills.

o miles and miles

from here--

far have we wandered.

“You have to get up.”

“But I’m so tired.”

“You have to.”

“But it’s dark, cold.”

“You have to work. If you don’t, you won’t be able to--”

“I’m up, I’m up, I’m up.”

“Good. One foot in front of the next. Bathroom first.”

“I know how it goes. I know this dance. The steps are the same as the day before, the one before that, on back as far as I care to think. You don’t have to narrate.”

“Someone is very irritable.”

“And you don’t have to analyze. Just leave me be. Let me fade away into the familiarity.”

“You can’t do that forever. You can’t keep hiding away.”

“Is that a challenge? It’s how we’ve managed these past few years. How else do you propose to go on? How else can we reconcile the pain of the past with the needs of the present?”

“Nothing changes the fact that we must face our fears.”

“And each and every day we do. When will it be enough?”

“I shouldn’t push you so hard in the morning. I know you’re tired.”

“Now you are kind?”

“I’m trying to find a way to be. If we can’t be kind to each other, how can we be kind to anyone else?”

“It’ll be a good day, won’t it?”

“If we try hard enough.”

“It’ll be a great day.”