OUR LADY OF CONSTELLATION³

3:1

The cell door hit the floor. Eugene jolted awake and smacked his head against the bars.

Wolfe snapped out of her paperwork and hopped over the desk.

“Ugh,” Eugene said. He sat up and rubbed his head, his eyes puffy from sleep.

“You alright, kid?” Wolfe said.

“I can hear my brain,” he said, clutching his temples. “Ah…” His eyes ping-ponged around the room.

“Hold up,” Wolfe said. She pulled out a light and waved it in his eyes. “You might have a concussion. Look, how many fingers am I holding?”

“All of them,” he said.

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah?” he said. “You’re always holding all of your fingers.” He yawned and swayed from side to side like a kid in timeout. “Elsewise, you’d drop them everywhere, they’d get lost and, oh, you meant as in counting. Three. It’s three. You were holding up three.”

“Well, that was a bit of a rollercoaster,” Wolfe said. “Good news is I don’t think you have a concussion.”

Eugene perked up.

“You do, however, have quite the hangover.”

Eugene’s foot started tapping.

“I’m assuming that’s the bad news.”

“Are you under the influence of any controlled substances, Eugene Bohr?”

“Okay, yes, I am,” he said. “But can I assure you that, for once, I did it completely legally.”

“How do you figure that?”

“The ship,” he said. “Haven’t we been over this?”

“Not at all, kid.”

“The console on the ship?” he said. “Didn’t I say that? Maybe I just thought it. Okay, well, it woke us up two hours into our cycle with some dumb announcement. This thing wouldn’t shut up. I had to pull the plug.”

“Had to?”

“Yeah, it was either that or listen to the pilot drone on for another…” He drifted off mid-sentence.

“Another thirty seconds, if we’re being generous.”

“I acted rashly,” he said. “That I admit. But in my defense, I was really, truly, exceptionably tired.”

“So, you try to bust this console to get some shut-eye,” she said. “And the ship’s systems pump you full of sedative?”

“That’s what I said. It was a legal stoning.”

“We’re gonna have to confirm that against the recovery data,” she said. “But sounds plausible enough to me.”

“Really?” he said.

“If it’s a lie, it’s a bad one,” she said. Wolfe stood up and walked over to her desk. She grabbed a tin pitcher and filled it from the utility sink. “Plus, your behavior makes more sense now that I know you’ve been doped up on corporate narcotics.”

“Is this a good time to ask who you are?” he said. “Or where I am?”

“Captain Wolfe.” She turned off the tap and swiped two glasses from the shelf. “You’re in Hazmat. West Terra, outer rim of BFE.”

“Right…”

“You okay, kid?” she said. She pulled up a tray table, poured the cups and sat the pitcher down. “Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No,” Eugene said. His forehead wrinkled up. He took a cup and stared into it. “Yeah, I don’t know. I was on the flight, then I was just, zoom, completely out of it.” His forehead wrinkled up. “And I had this awful dream where I landed in this miserable hot place…” He rubbed sand from the corners of his eyes. His leg started bouncing again. “I’m just really disoriented is all.”

“Understandable,” she said, watching his leg move up and down. “Truth told: you’re holding up pretty well considering the mess you arrived in.”

“Oh, wow,” he said. Eugene’s eyes grew and he leaned in close, taking on a conspiratorial air. “Shit,” he said. “So, that wasn’t a dream?”

“Afraid not.”

“Huh,” he said. “Ooh!” He hopped to his feet and began pacing. He checked his pulse and examined the room. “Maybe I’m dreaming right now.” He picked up his cup and splashed it in his face.

“Did it work?” Wolfe said, watching him drip all over the place.

He thought for a moment, then a light bulb went off and he reached for the pitcher

Wolfe smacked his hand away. “No, thanks,” she said. “We’re not gonna try that a second time.”

“It’s pointless anyway,” he said, plopping back down. “You can’t wake up from a dream using dream water. Cancels out. Everyone knows that.”

“I know it’s a lot to process, but you’re alive and well. Hell of a lot more than I can say about those other folks.”

“I should count my blessings, I suppose,” he said. “Does alive and well count as one or two?”

“You know, as much as I’m enjoying this…” She flipped out her notebook and pulled the pen from her pocket. “What brings you to Terra, Eugene Bohr?”

“Long story.”

“Good, I’m a busy woman,” she said. “I’ll take the broad strokes.”

“I recently had a misunderstanding with the Heartland Board of Education,” he said. “Technically, I didn’t do anything wrong, at least according to the 4035-4036 edition of the handbook. And even if I did, it wouldn’t even apply because it happened off of school property. Unless there’s now a rule against displaying too much school pride.”

“Remember,” she said. “Broad strokes.”

“Naturally, they consider me a threat to their operation,” he said. “What with boosting student morale more than they ever could. They say I was expelled to spare Heartland Prep’s sterling reputation, but I know it’s because they were afraid of what I might accomplish.”

“You think I believe even half of that?”

“I’ll settle for a quarter,” he said. “Anyway, my mom freaked and grounded me and sent me off to Terra to stay the summer with my dad.”

“Now that part, I’ll buy,” she said. “We know why you came to Terra, now let’s figure out how you arrived. Did you know the ship was going to explode?”

“Not even a little bit,” he said.

“Reason I ask, is we found you quite a ways a way. Why didn’t you stick with the others?”

“They weren’t giving off the best vibes,” he said. “They were cranky and dumb and it was stupid hot out. It just made sense to bail. Trust me, if you were on what I was on…” He stopped and stared up at the security camera. “Is this an interrogation?”

“Eyes on me please,” she said. “And it’s standard operating procedure. I have to ask these questions to every out-of-town teen I find sleeping next to a burning shuttle.”

“That true?”

“Routine intake,” she said. “Not everyone gets to walk away from an incident like this, kid. Least you can do is answer my questions.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

“Notice anything odd before the explosion?”

“Aside from crash-landing on Tatooine?”

“Anything out of the ordinary,” she said. “Any little detail helps.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “There was a man with a suspicious mustache, but I doubt that was his intention. Wait…”

“Take your time.”

“There was someone,” he said. “But it was only for a second. I must have been seeing things.”

“What did they look like?”

“Yellow,” he said. “And a bit rubbery.”

“You know it’s against the law to provide false information, right?”

“Sure,” Eugene said. “I don’t think you’ve got the funding for a pulse-meter, though.”

“Well, that’s kind of rude,” she said. “But you ain’t wrong.”

“It was a radiation suit,” Eugene said. “Like an old one. A really, really, really—”

“Interesting,” Wolfe said. “But tell me: was it old?”

“Honest, it looked like something out of the archives,” Eugene said. “I think I was still asleep…”

“A radiation suit,” she said. “You been reading up on local ghost stories, Eugene?”

“No, I definitely haven’t been reading,” he said. “Am I under arrest?”

“Not just yet,” she said. “But I might bill you for the door. Did you see this suit do anything?”

“It appeared out of nowhere,” he said. “Blinked and it was gone. Wait, what makes you think I broke the door?”

“Guilt by proximity.”

“Glad to see you run a tight ship here, Captain.”

“You said you’re here to visit your pops,” she said. “Walter Bohr, I assume. Do you have a way of reaching him?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got his number in my phone, which is in my bag, which is…”

“Scrap.”

“Right.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“I’m sure he told me,” he said. “And I’m sure I don’t remember. I know it’s in Atlas…something. Atlas City?”

“Atlas Rock.”

“That’s the one,” Eugene said. “Think I could get a ride?”

“As a Captain in the Carbon Corps,” she said. “I’m not keen on running shuttle service for tourists.”

“How far is it?” he said. “Maybe I could walk.”

“Couple hours East if you’re hell on wheels,” she said. “Not what I’d call a leisurely stroll…”

3:2

Wolfe led Eugene across the dust-swept street toward a crinkled metal dome. Porthole windows bubbled out at regular intervals. Hand-blown neon tube letters hung over the thick, airtight door.

THE VAULTS: Luxury Apartments

NO VACANCIES

Judging by the state of the place, the “No” seldom shined.

Wolfe spun the handle. The door seal hissed.

Sunspots followed them into the dark lobby. The floor was a grated platform covered with garish flower print rugs. A spiral staircase skewered the room through the middle. The railing glowed with cheap holiday lights as it drilled into to the apartments below. A clear-plastic chandelier dangled at the apex of the dome ceiling. Fake diamonds idled around dozens of burned-out bulbs. A layer of sand covered the orb windows from the other side.

Wolfe went over to reception. There was a bell with a sign printed in elegant cursive: Please Ring for Service. A crumpled post-it note was taped to the bottom with an addendum to the first message, underlined three times, scrawled in all caps. ONLY ONCE!

A massive calendar dominated the table. Giant crosses blotted out the past, slashing days gone by in permanent marker. A picture frame leaned on a stand in the middle of the desk. The needlepoint within showed a happy nuclear family with cartoon eyes and bobbleheads. They smiled next to a small church. The sun above them smiled too.

Gone to be blessed…be back in peace!

“Lovely, Adrian,” Wolfe said. “Forgot what day it was. Again. Say, does your dad go to church?”

“How would I know?” he said.

“Ever seen him go?” she said.

“Do I look like I get up early enough to see anyone do anything?”

“Suppose not,” she said. “Come on.”

Eugene followed her back outside and he took in the sights.

Hazmat Township consisted of two clumps of buildings divided by a single unpaved road. An old shuttle repurposed into a diner-takeout served as the town square. There was a single Biomass Solutions (BS) sludge pump for fueling up dunedusters and sandtrawlers. The swollen water tower stood on bent iron poles, the town mascot plastered on the side. There was a graveyard on the hill and a small, clean church on top. Nothing else but sprawling dunes and empty sky over the cliffs. He stopped walking and folded his arms.

“No thanks,” he said. “I’ll just take a pamphlet.”

“Not up for debate,” Wolfe said.

“But it’s all the way up there,” he said. “Can’t we just as easily pray for him to show up down here?”

“Fella named Mort works in Atlas for the Corps,” Wolfe said. “Smartest cuss in town by a long shot and I reckon he works with your dad.”

“You reckon?”

“I know he works with your dad,” she said. “‘Reckon’ is just my polite way of being open to other possibilities, unlikely though they may be.”

“And we have to go to church,” he said. “Why?”

“It’s Sunday, kid. Whole town’s in service. Want to find your dad? That’s the place to start.”

Eugene looked up. The sun burned at high noon. He checked his imaginary watch in mock amazement.

“Still?” he said. “When do they start?”

“Sun-up,” she said. Wolfe cracked her neck and kept walking. “They make it long on account of going six days without The Word.”

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll wait here until the Chosen Ones break for lunch.”

“Seeing the trouble you get in while you’re asleep,” she said. “I’m not leaving you fully conscious unless someone’s around to be responsible for you.”

“Why does someone have to be responsible for me?”

“Because otherwise,” she sighed. “I’d have to be…”

3:3

The town aged toward the hill. For Sale signs camped out behind smeared windows, soft roofs sunk over their support beams like forgotten laundry. The Gordian Curio and Madame Methuselah’s Apothecary were locked in a bitter sales war, each advertising similar items with a litany of crossed-out price points. The lopsided tables in Skar’s Hardware collected sawdust. Sloat’s Dry Goods had its grand re-reopening banner to re-reassure potential customers. Even Dee’s Diner, Hazmat’s nutritional and cultural hub, was in desperate need of new side panels and a good hose-down.

The shops gave way to shacks and trailers as the path narrowed up the slope. The trail wasn’t paved or lined with gravel. Years of attentive service had worn it down. Not even the relentless sand, which sought to swallow everything else, could hide the way to the Lord.

Wolfe marched ahead, but Eugene took his time examining the tombstones. They crowded the path like overgrowth. It was a mess of makeshift crosses, stone stars, and double helixes. Some held remnants of flaking desert flowers or abandoned rosary. Others came equipped with holograms, a briefly popular burial choice in the 90s. They provided farewells and guilt trips from the beyond whenever some poor sap tripped their motion detectors. Folks soon realized, however, that living headstones directly contradicted the preferred atmosphere of mourning. Holograve sales plummeted as the fad fell by the wayside, leaving most inoperable with the exception of those who sprung for the deluxe solar battery package.

From the top of the hill, Wolfe could see rolling dust storms ravage the dunes, but all was still in Hazmat. Even at the summit of McDougal Hill, where the wind typically grew fierce, the air was quiet. The town’s windmill groaned through another painful rotation out of force of habit. Only when Wolfe approached the chapel did sound return to the world. The organ and the sermon. Voices raptured through the sky, ringing up to heaven.

Life is coming, death is going…

Even so, Amen…

The headstones at the top were smooth, made that way same as the path: time. The church was much younger. It had been blown askew or knocked down several times over, but it was always rebuilt in the same spot. God doesn’t care about the building, they say. It’s all in the foundation.

Quickly past us time is flowing…

Even so, Amen…

Wolfe reached the door while Eugene lagged behind. He looked at the antique graves surrounding the chapel. And that’s when he saw her.

Day is dawning, night is flying…

Even so, Amen…

She sat between a clump of graves, smoking a cigarette and listening to headphones. She had a sloppy ponytail and one of those old-fashioned dresses, the kind with layers upon layers of frills. Something you might wear to a murder-mystery party or a public execution.

Love is coming, hate is going…

Even so, Amen…

“Hustle up, kid,” Wolfe said. She held the door for him. Eugene looked back at the girl. She looked up and he smiled at her. She rolled her eyes. Wolfe pulled him inside and eased the door shut.

Seeds of unity are sowing…

Even so, Amen…

The Captain folded her arms and stood at-ease. Reverend Cornelius Jones bounced at the organ. He wore a white cassock, tinged a wrinkled yellow from age and sweat, his clerical collar faded black. His nimble fingers danced along the keys as the organ blasted like a factory running full-tilt. He made the calls as the congregation swept up the responses.

Fear is passing, hope is brightening…

Even so, Amen…

Eugene looked around. The innumerable eyes painted on the ceiling spiraled around the giant pupil in the center.

Burdened brows and hearts are lightening…

Even so, Amen…

The parishioners pursued their own personal redemption. They followed the Reverend’s lead, but they sang through him, casting their voices into the ether.

Cells are bursting, chains are breaking…

Even so, Amen…

They sang their cheeks red and made ridiculous faces. The Reverend regarded them with the kind of wonder normally reserved for grandparents watching children perform the simplest of tasks.

Weary spirits cease their aching…

Even so, Amen…

Eugene fidgeted. Churches made him sweat.

Tears are drying, songs are breaking…

Even so, Amen…

The crowded pews. The empty space overhead.

Earth’s glad echoes are awaking…

Even so, Amen…

The same old tales told over and over and out of order. Gospel truth shifted from speaker to speaker, but somehow everyone else still knew the songs. Or if they didn’t, that didn’t stop them from singing.

Graves are opening, dead are meeting…

Even so, Amen…

Eugene had tried his hand at believing. Many times, in fact, but too often poetic passages were employed as points of debate. He’d seen too many fables turned into instruction manuals by petty people with odd and specific grievances.

Heaven and earth each other greeting…

Even so, Amen…

He didn’t pray because it felt in his heart dishonest, lying to himself and the Almighty. He didn’t sing because he heard every false note, ringing his ears deaf.

Hill and vale put on their gladness…

Even so, Amen…

It was a sin to lie. It was a sin to tell the truth. Either way, the flames of hell awaited.

Not a trace remains of sadness…

Eugene tapped his foot and waited for them to finish.

Even so, Amen…

The townspeople charged into the final notes, stretching the melody out in exaltation of the Lord and perhaps to show off just a little. Ignatius Skar belted out his flat baritone. The Vanvulcanburg triplets all tried to out-pitch each other. The Reverend sighed and stepped away from the organ. He left that last note hanging, dripping in the air until he deemed the moment passed.

“Thank you, sisters and brothers,” Jones said. He wiped his sweaty hands down his pants. “That was lovely and I’m sure the Almighty would agree. Now, it’s looking to be about that time. Before we finish up, though, let’s take a moment to welcome our latecomers.” He motioned for them to step on up. “Now, you all know Adrian.”

“Howdy, folks,” Wolfe said.

“And who’s this handsome young man you’ve got here?”

“This here’s Eugene.”

“Hello there, Eugene,” Jones said. “Where do you hail from?”

“Earth,” Eugene said.

“Well, well, well,” Jones said. “What do you know? So do we.” The Reverend turned back to the others to grin at his own joke. A few chuckles passed through the congregation and only half of them were out of pity. Good crowd. “Would you care to bless us today, Eugene? Perhaps with your favorite prayer.”

“Sure,” Eugene said. “My favorite prayer is silent.”

“That’s the best kind, isn’t it?” Jones said. “Don’t get more personal with the Lord than that. How about a hymn?”

“I’m a fan of them all,” Eugene said. “It’s hard to choose just one, you know?”

“I’m the same way,” Jones said. “What’s your favorite at the moment?”

“Well, if you must know,” Eugene said. “Right now, I like the one about divine gifts.”

“And which one would that be?”

“Let’s see,” Eugene said. The Reverend smiled patiently awaiting his response. He was so kind and polite Eugene almost felt bad for him. Almost. “How does it go again? Oh, that’s right.” He cleared his throat. “Up on the rooftop, click, click, click…”

“I see, I see,” Jones said. “Not much of a believer, are you?” He somehow frowned and smiled at the same time.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Eugene said. “Fairy tales can teach children very important lessons…”

Murmurs in the pews. Most of the good folks of Hazmat stared daggers at him. The rest stared hellfire missiles.

“Now, settle down, folks,” Jones said. “This young man here told us the truth and we can’t ask for much more than that, can we? Tell you what, Eugene. You’re welcome to step outside while we wrap things up if it makes you more comfortable. Perhaps you could keep our other conscientious objector company.”

More murmurs and dirty looks, but now they were aimed at the other side of the room. A plump middle-aged couple in the back row. Mort and Molly Nova blushed and grinned awkwardly.

“Amen,” Eugene said. He went down the aisle and pretended the floorboards were suddenly interesting. The eyes of town followed him out.

“Come now, friends,” Jones said. “Remember ‘judge lest not ye be judged’ weren’t no challenge…”

3:4

Joules Nova sat with her back to Bilson Higgs’ headstone. Eugene approached her as she took another drag of her cigarette. She exhaled and the smoke snaked right into his eyes. He blinked to prevent tears, but a few came anyway. He brought his hand up to wipe them away. Joules wrapped her headphones around her neck and pushed herself up.

“No sense in getting all weepy,” she said, flicking the cigarette toward the cliffs. She blew the remaining smoke out like an afterthought. “Bilson’s been dead a good while now.”

“It’s just so tragic,” Eugene said. “Never met a Bilson before. For all we know, he could’ve been the very last one.”

“What did you do?” she said.

“What?” he said. “Nothing.”

“No one leaves early lest they tarnish the sanctity of the Sabbath,” she said. “What did you do?”

“I made the honest mistake of being honest,” he said. “People are pretty touchy in this town.”

“I’ve found if you speak in tongues enough, they’ll eventually leave you be.”

Something clicked inside the steeple. A breath later the bell tolled. The double doors burst open and the town marched out. Their fire and brimstone descended upon Eugene, a parade of slow-bubbling lava.

“That’s all you, buddy,” Joules said. She snapped her headphones on and got out of the way.

The Vanvulcanburg sisters shook their heads and harrumphed in unison.

Ignatius limped his way out of the church. He stopped and grabbed his suspenders to look the heretic up and down. He scoffed, as if the matter simply wasn’t worthy of another second of his time, and kept going. His young adult sons followed close behind, muttering to each other and pointing at Eugene.

“Sure odd-looking, ain’t he?”

“Skinny too.”

“Yeah, skinny little city bitch.”

“Think he fancies you, Ennis.”

“Shove it, Garth. It’s you he likes.”

They chuckled and kicked sand at Eugene.

Abner Sloat watched his steps carefully as he escorted his grandmother down the hill. Anice could barely walk, the poor thing, but she still had enough strength and clarity of mind to stop and spit at Eugene’s feet.

“Get thee behind me, Satan!” she crowed.

Abner patted her back and turned to Eugene and mouthed a quiet I’m sorry.

The town continued to parade their disdain by Eugene. Some stayed on-topic as they passed by, speaking unsubtly about their faith.

Tell me again, Thomas. What does the Word have to say about non-believers?

They are darkened in their understanding, Miss Comstock. Alienated from the life of God. Because of the ignorance that is in them!

Others made sure he knew his place.

We’ve seen Dome-brats like you come and go.

They never last too long.

Better watch yourself, son. Folks go missing all the time…

Most simply glared or stared past him while giving themselves a pat on the back for holding their tongues. On they went, satisfied in their good work; a day’s worth of idle judgement done, and it was only lunch time.

The flow of parishioners slowed to a trickle as the chapel emptied. They went down the hill, one by one, dividing into pairs and clumps, and disappeared inside their crooked homes and failed businesses. They drew the curtains and gossiped till kingdom come.

The Captain emerged with Mort and Molly Nova. Molly had her hair plastered in place like it was forged in a kiln. Her husband wore a wrinkled button-up that failed to conceal the old t-shirt underneath. Piece of Pi, it said.

“Thanks a million, folks,” Wolfe said. “I’d help the kid out, but I ain’t got time to babysit.”

“Don’t mention it, Adrian,” Mort said, he pulled his glasses off and cleaned them with his shirt.

“It’s the least we could do,” Molly agreed.

The Reverend stepped outside and looked up wistfully at the sunshine.

“Apologies for the boy spoiling service,” Wolfe said. She took Eugene by the shoulder. “What can I say? He just ain’t from around here.”

“Ain’t no sin,” Jones said. “Folks need their bones rattled every once in a while. Hell, I’ve never seen Ignatius move that fast in all my years. You might say it constitutes a minor miracle.”

“You’re welcome?” Eugene said.

“You’re a smart kid, Eugene,” Jones said. “Being smart’s nice, but remember: being smart don’t make you nice.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Eugene said. “Is that from the Book of Scrolls or a fortune cookie?”

Wolfe knocked Eugene gently in the ribs. Gentle for her. Not for him.

“Leave him be, Adrian,” Jones said. “Boy’s smart. Let him be smart. Like I said: ain’t no sin.”

“You hear that?” Eugene said. “God’s gonna let me be smart.”

“Bless you, son,” Jones said.

“Gesundheit,” Eugene said.

Jones bowed to Eugene and walked over to Joules. He didn’t try to take her headphones off or strike up conversation. He simply sat beside her and bobbed his head along with her. She smiled, took his hand, and joined him in private prayer.

“In the name of the One and the Silence,” he said. “The Mind and the Truth, the Word and the Life…”

“Excuse me, folks,” Wolfe said. “Me and the boy need to have a little chat.” She pulled him around the side of the chapel and pushed him against the siding.

“Whoa, there,” Eugene said. “This is moving a little fast, don’t you think? I mean, you’re sweet and all, but we just met—”

“Listen,” she said. “I’ve been mighty kind to your attitude so far, but the Reverend’s right.”

“From what I know about scripture,” he said. “There are many different ways to interpret—”

“Better learn to hold your tongue,” she said. “Keep spitting on what these folks hold dear and you’re bound to end up on my list of missing persons. Savvy?”

“Roger that,” Eugene said. He wiggled his arm up under hers and saluted.

“Civs don’t salute soldiers,” Wolfe said. She sighed and let him go. “It’s disrespectful.”

“Aye, aye,” he said, barely restraining himself from saluting again.

“Oh, and before I forget,” she said. She patted her pockets and pulled out a pair of glasses. “Found these on you earlier. There’s a good repair shop off the main square in Atlas.”

“Right,” Eugene said, looking down at the broken frames. “Thanks.”

Not a dream, he thought.

“Now, Eugene,” Wolfe said. “This here’s Mort. He works with your dad. Against all sound judgment, he’s being kind enough to help you out, so you’d best behave or he has my permission to leave your smartass out in the dunes.”

“Oh, I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Mort said.

“Alright, I should be getting back to it,” Wolfe said. “Thanks again for helping out, Dr. Nova.”

“Happy to oblige, Captain.”

Wolfe nodded and waved them off. She started jogging down the hill and got on the horn: “Kale, did you take a look at that intake footage?”

Affirmative, boss. Best guess on the door is magnetic fields. Maybe some Atlas U kids doing field tests for their labs. I don’t know. I’ll check the atmospherics, but might just be one of those things, you know.

“And what about the boy’s tapping?”

Must be a nervous tick. You were right that it translates from morse, but it’s all gibberish.

“How do you mean?”

Don’t make any sense. A, T, C, A, A, T, G, A…just goes on like that. Same letters, but the order varies.

“Run it by Austen,” Wolfe said. “See if it rings any bells. Something about that boy ain’t right.”

Will do, boss. See you in the huddle…

The Novas looked at Eugene with unnerving familiarity. It was like he was their nephew that they last saw as a baby. He half-expected them to comment on how big he’d gotten.

“Great to finally meet you,” Mort said. He took Eugene’s hand and shook it like it was a contest. “I’m Mort Nova. This is my partner, Molly.”

“How do you do?” Molly said. She smiled so politely her cheeks were fit to split in two. “It’s so nice to see you. We weren’t expecting you for at least a few more days.”

“Yes, this is a rather pleasant surprise,” Mort said.

“What can I say?” Eugene said. “I’m full of them.”

“Much like that little show you put on in there.”

“Oh, that,” he said. “Look, I’m really sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” Mort said. “In my experience, if it wasn’t something you said or did, they’d just make up a reason to excommunicate you. Good on you for doing it on your own terms.”

“Yeah, it wouldn’t hurt these people to lighten up a bit.”

“Speaking of lighting up, have you met our daughter?” Molly waved to her pride and joy. “Joules? That was a smoking joke. She smokes and I can’t stand it. I hope you don’t smoke, Eugene. Terrible habit. Joules, honey?”

Joules and the Reverend held hands. She tapped her foot to the beat. Little puffs of dust swirled around her sneakers as Jones whispered her soft prayers in a dead language: “Bythos, Sige, Nous, Aletheia, Sermo y Vita…”

“Joules…” Molly folded her arms and flashed Eugene a quick smile. She started tapping her foot too. Finally, she burst out: “Joules Marie Nova!”

“What?” Joules said without looking up.

“Come on, kid,” Mort said. “Take those things off and come say ‘hello.’”

“Yes, honey,” Molly said. “Let’s not be weird.”

“Look who’s ‘ruining service’ now,” Joules said. She pressed pause but left her headphones on. “Thanks, Preach.”

“Bless you, Joules,” Jones said. He brought her hands together in his and kissed the top. They bowed to each other and Jones ambled back into the church to clean up.

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” Molly said.

“Yeah,” Joules said. “We’ve met.”

“That so?” Molly said. “Then it’s fair betting you’ve been giving this poor boy hell.”

“No, ma’am,” Joules said. “Least no more than the standard amount.”

“The standard amount’s pretty high,” Mort said.

“She really is a sweet girl,” Molly said to Eugene. “Honest.”

“I believe you,” Eugene said. “I mean, just look at that dress.”

“See?” Molly said excitedly. “What did I tell you? I said: you start dressing nice, maybe try smiling once a month, and the boys’ll take notice.”

Joules went red in the face and she flashed her mother a look. She turned her music up until everyone could hear it bleating from her headphones.

“So…” Eugene said, following Mort and Molly down the hill. “You work with my dad?”

“Work is a strong word for what I do compared to your father,” Mort said. “The man literally wrote the book on Alchemetaphysics. I just do my best to keep up with him.”

“Don’t be modest, Mort,” Molly said. “Walter wouldn’t even be here without your findings.”

“True, true,” Mort said. “Honestly, it’s just been nice having someone else around who speaks my language.”

“I’m still not convinced it’s language,” Molly said. “Might as well be bleeps and bloops to me.”

“Now you know how I feel when you start talking finance,” Mort said. “I swear, economics defies the laws of nature.”

“And that’s why I keep the checkbook.”

“Amen to that!” Mort said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Most people would find it endearing to see a couple get along so well after being together for nearly three decades. Eugene wasn’t most people.

“Do you have his number or…?”

“Right,” Mort said. “Of course.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. “Don’t worry, Eugene. We’ll get you sorted…”

3:5

The Novas led Eugene down the spiral staircase to the first sub-level of the Vaults. It had all the charm of a cramped submarine. Occasional dust trickled through the bolted seals lining the curved hulls. Uncovered bulbs lit the ports to each apartment. Molly had tried to brighten the dim proceedings with a mural of sorts. It was supposed to be a field of flowers like the ones she’d grown up with back on Perenium.

The radioactive yellow petals dripped over splotched grass the color of military fatigues. Gray cloud lumps floated through a metallic sky. Molly either forgot to add the background layer or got toward the end and decided it wasn’t worth the cost of blue paint to finish it. It may have been worth the cost of two layers of primer to cover up, but all the tenants seemed content to leave well enough alone and spare their landlord the embarrassment.

Joules disappeared into the apartment, already in her room by the time Molly reached the door. Mort redialed Walt’s number.

“Are you hungry, Eugene?” Molly said. “Do you want a sandwich? We’ve got synth beef, synth-chicken…” She checked the cupboard and the fridge. “And synth-beef.”

“No thanks,” Eugene said. He plopped down on the couch and cradled his head in his hands. Music started blaring from Joules’ room down the hall.

Mort paced into the kitchen.

“Any luck?” Molly asked.

“Nope,” Mort said. “Hotel keeps putting me on hold. I can’t get through to base and, yup, his inbox is full.”

“There goes lunch,” she said, pulling out some brown bags. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get out of clearing those sandtraps.”

“You know I’m better in theory than in practice,” he said. “But you’re welcome to run to Atlas in my stead.”

“Six hours in a car after five in church,” Molly said. “No, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” Mort said. “I’m sure I can chip away at that big list of yours.”

“Knowing you,” she said. “You’d just end up adding to it.” She sighed and held up the two tins of fake meat. “Beef or chicken?”

3:6

Mort carried a grocery tote with faux-beef sandwiches, Plankton-brand seaweed chips, and reused bottles of filtered water. Molly walked with him out to the temporary storage unit that had become permanent a decade ago when the rental company went under.

“Figure we’ll get back before dark,” Mort said.

“That’ll be the day,” she said.

“I’ll make it quick,” he said. “Trust me.”

“Trust me, he says,” Molly scoffed. “Trust me, babe, Terra’s gonna be great. Get in on the ground floor…more like underground.”

“Funny,” Mort said. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

He grunted and pulled up the segmented door. It rolled away above his head, revealing a cornucopia of tools and gears mounted on the walls. Spools of wire on hooks. Screwdrivers, wrenches, and hammers dangled over top of one another. Crammed inside was a beat-up Grisdale Tomahawk, a family-style duneduster recently discontinued in favor of the Tomahawk XL, which boasted zero new features outside of the higher price tag and reduced pedestrian visibility.

Molly watched Mort back himself into the corner just far enough to get past the door. He opened it, sucked his belly in, and somehow eased himself into the driver’s seat. The engine struggled for a stretch, caught itself, and roared to half-life. The van shook and all the crap on the walls knocked and rattled. He pulled out slow and Molly walked alongside him as he parked at the sludge pump.

“We’ll never turn a profit on that stuff,” Molly said. “If you keep getting by on our own supply.”

“Never make a profit regardless,” Mort said. He popped the fuel hatch and held the nozzle. “Unless you got a time machine or a cloning lab to grow us some customers.”

The numbers ticked up to a whopping 27 cents and the pump shut off. Mort pressed his code in and zeroed it out.

“My dear husband, ever the smart investor.”

“Hey, they say marriage is an investment.”

“And I know better than to sell at a loss.”

Mort screwed the gas cap back on. “Hurry up, you two!” he said.

The kids trailed behind at a rather adolescent pace. They passed the rusty dumpster with grease dribbling from its gaping chin. A couple of chewed-up, blasted-out tires leaned against the side.

Eugene took shotgun and Joules threw open the sliding door. She climbed back to the third row, kicked her feet up, and relaxed across the loose seatbelts.

“Okay,” Molly said, leaning in the window. “You all be safe.”

“Sure you don’t want to come?” Mort said. “I hate to think of you stuck here all alone.”

“I’ve got more company than I can handle,” she said. “7-J has another hull leak. Got to get that patched or we’ll be looking at another floor lost to sand. By the by, did they say when they’ll be done knocking around in our basement? That remodel’s been going on a while now.”

“You know how contractors are,” Mort said. “They aren’t exactly racing to finish ahead of schedule. Plus, they’re paying double rent, so we can’t really complain. Come on, you haven’t taken a break in…wait, when’s the last time you took a break?”

“If take a break, everything else does.”

“It’ll be fun,” he said. “You know that hull will hold another day.”

“Yeah, but there’s also rent checks to process,” Molly said. “Monthlies to balance. Oh, and Dotty put in another maintenance request. Sixth time this month. I don’t even want to know what she’s been doing to that poor toilet.”

“For how much she goes on about keeping the Sabbath, she sure gives you the runaround on the day of rest.”

“Day of rest don’t mean I get a day off,” she said. “I swear that woman’s going to put me in a straitjacket.” She poked her head inside. “You kids have fun now. Joules, mind your father and, Eugene, don’t let Mort here do all the talking. He could argue with an empty room.”

Eugene chuckled at that.

“Oh, you think I’m joking?” Molly said. She winked and knocked on the hood.

Mort put it in drive and Molly waved them off as the Tomahawk bumbled along toward the main drag. Mort cranked it once they hit Buzzard Road. The engine sputtered and gradually picked up speed as they rumbled down the gravel-crusted county highway.

PARDON OUR DUST