Juno's Order

The human brain craves order. Cause and effect. People like to name, categorise and arrange things, searching for some reason in all the chaos around them. It’s human nature. This trick has been keeping madness at bay for centuries. Take the sheer idea of a “turning point”. It’s so easy to name something a turning point of your life and start dividing your life and your self into “before” and “after”. Yet what is it but not a basic coping mechanism for a stress event so major that it breaks your previous well-established life into pieces? It’s never a pretty rising like a phoenix from the ashes. “A new you” always has cracks. And stitches. And ugly glue drips as evidence of your poor craftsmanship. How many stitches does one score if there was more than one turning point in their life? Can anything… or anyone glue it all back together? Alex’s “before” and “after” was with and without Morgan. The crack that went right through his heart the day he lost her was not meant to be stitched or mended. He neither could, nor wanted to; leaving it be, bloody, pulsating, torn. For days, for months. For as long as he was going to live. The feel of it was still vivid in his memory, but he could not relate anymore. Today he felt whole again for the first time in years. Healed. It was his second morning on the Juno station — or rather, his second conscious morning on board. How much time had passed between the demise of Talos-1 and now was hard to tell. Lying on pristine white sheets and looking around, trying to estimate, didn’t give him much. The best conclusion Alex could come to fit into one small phrase: “a lot.” After all, when the black circles had been taking over his vision in what he’d thought were the last minutes of Talos-1 and of his life respectively, Juno, the orbital Mars station, didn’t even exist. Or at least, his knowledge of its existence had been limited. Memories were coming back to him: some dim and uncertain — Morgan’s silhouette against medically crisp light and her voice, reading those stories to him. Fairy tales. Other memories had more weight to them. In one of those, he had flipped off Commander Walther Dahl not long before the named Commander was served as the main dish for Nightmare’s supper — the last supper. All those months of lonely research and of being an eyesore to the TranStar board of directors must have culminated in that very gesture. Alex had spent months being the last person aboard Talos-1 — a Hermit, yet feeling more like a Fool. With a solid eighty percent of the station under shutdown and infested with Typhons, the habitable space had been shared between him, five Operators, and a Phantom, or Morgan, as Alex would have loved to believe. They had had only as much in common, the phantom and his sister — neuromods, memories, a copy of Morgan’s neural connections. Tying the seven of them together had been one experiment with the probability of success lower than Alex’s self-esteem by that point. He had long stopped shaving, had stopped combing his hair, had almost ceased eating; he had been just sitting there next to Morgan-that-was, reading their childhood fairy tales aloud to the inky monster in the “scary chair,” hoping that if you dug deep enough, the human inside would stir. Nobody had believed in him and by the end of it, they were all abominations in others’ eyes. And yet, he had flipped off Walther Dahl. And by the feel of it, he had flipped the dear old Grim Reaper as well. All was well now. He knew there would be time to ask questions, to get into details about everything but Morgan insisted they should first make time for themselves. “How many happy days have you had recently?” she asked and added, “Aside from today.” There was absolutely nothing to counter this from his side, so Alex gave up. He didn’t even question the origins of bourbon he was pouring into their glasses. It all could wait. “To you,” he suggested passing the drink to his sister. “To us,” Morgan raised her glass saluting first to Alex and then to her reflection in the station window. Martian landscape beyond it did slightly resemble their drink in colours, all the dust and copper tones. “To us,” he agreed. Bourbon tasted as properly as it should have, like burnt sugar and oak, things so earthly Alex couldn’t believe he was drinking it while orbiting the Red Planet. Morgan made herself comfortable on the floor, cross legged, and tugged him on the sleeve to follow her lead. The gesture was so simple and so much like her, that it made Alex wonder if anything in between “Talos-1” and “Juno” — the Mars station as Morgan introduced her — had really happened. He sat down next to her, noting with satisfaction that he had lost a considerable amount of weight since his last day on Talos, and then wondering again about how much time had passed in between that day and today. Her head fell on his shoulder. “Pretty, isn’t it? Mars…” “I wouldn’t say exactly that.” “What would you say, then?” “Morgan, I…” He didn’t finish the phrase, because Morgan pressed her fingers against his lips, wilfully demanding him to stop where he was. Whatever he was going to say, didn’t sound too safe judging from the long inhale preceding it. Her skin carried a smell he couldn’t quite name at first. Something almost unreal. It wasn’t perfume, but it was sweet enough to make him close his eyes and just breathe it in. Morgan smelled like home. The feeling Alex had almost forgotten and honestly thought he’d lost forever. “Please. Let’s just enjoy this day. And Mars. And leave it all till tomorrow,” Morgan pleaded and Alex had no choice but to give in and nod in agreement. Slowly, her fingers left his lips, granting permission to speak again. For a few moments, the only sounds around them were the sounds of the station. There was nothing beeping, or creaking, or producing any other noise, but the station felt alive. He knew it had lungs — those pumps generating air for the two of them. It had electric veins, a beating reactor heart, and a womb, a med bay, that brought him back into this world. Alex hadn’t had a chance to explore the premises yet, but the way “Juno” was making him feel wasn’t too different from his perception of “Talos”. And that one he loved dearly. Only when the level of bourbon in his glass hit the bottom fifth of it, he broke the silence. “So how long is the day here?” “I made it twenty-four hours. Just like we used to have. With the exception that we don’t need the lights on for the full duration of it, so I calibrated them to dim for the ‘nighttime’ and go brighter during the ‘day’.” Alex nodded, whether in approval of this decision or in acceptance of these new rules of life. “Suppose it’s…” he turned to look around. “… dusk now? Twilight?” “No,” Morgan said, leaving his shoulder and stretching like a cat. “I just made it look romantic for you.” “What?” “What.” They held each other’s gazes for as long as they could until Morgan burst out laughing. “Brat,” Alex muttered under his breath, loud enough to make his sister grin that same impossible grin she used to wear whenever she got away with something. Seeing her, real her, flesh and blood, was the first and the greatest joy of his new life. How many times had he watched and rewatched every piece of footage from “Talos-1” that featured Morgan Yu, even if it was just a fleeting glimpse. Gigabytes of her: angry, busy, sad, drunk, confused, excited, hysterical, proud, even sleeping… Each version of her had been forever engraved in his memory, yet all of them dimmed against the brightness of the woman in front of him now. And she just sat there, in her unfamiliar smoke-grey uniform, fidgeting with her half-empty glass, grinning as if nothing had ever happened; as if they’d never shared a last kiss, never spoken their last words, never known a final touch. “Are you for real…” There was a tiny odd second of faltering. And it wasn’t a question even, but Morgan went on and replied. “You tell me, Alex.” He could think of only so many ways to make sure of it but went with what seemed the easiest and most enjoyable. It happened so fast. His lips found hers. Morgan’s fingers buried in his hair; and when Alex drew her closer, he could almost swear she was shivering. There was no mistake to it: she was real. Her body, slender and strong underneath the silky fabric, pressed against him. Nothing mattered anymore and they both could tell nothing would ever matter again. The world stood still and even Juno seemed to hold her breath. Morgan’s fingers moved down from her brother’s hair, along the neck, then pressed against his chest. She pushed and he went along with her whim, lying down on his back. She claimed her place on top. The only game he would gladly have her win. For a while, they were holding each other’s gaze, content and relaxed, letting fingers absentmindedly wander within their reach. And then, in an instant, like an echo of their distant past, Alex realized that Morgan’s fingers weren’t exactly wandering. They were fidgeting — that restless habit of hers, the thing she would always do, when her mind was fixed on something. “Morgan?” This brought her out of their little reverie. “Alex, I wanted to show you someth…” Her words were cut off by a low yet loud thrum. A tremble seemed to roll through the whole station, echoing from the walls and adding to the sound. Half empty and forlorn, their glasses, clinked against each other. This very instant red alarm lights went on, and Alex suddenly became aware of a smart intercom bracelet around his left wrist that was vibrating intensely to alert of a possible danger whoever was wearing it. Morgan was already checking hers. Whatever she wanted to tell or show him, had to wait, as they were both on their feet in a matter of seconds. “Juno, accident report,” Morgan almost barked in the intercom. They didn’t have to wait long. A response came through immediately and sounded nauseatingly familiar. Of course, she had done it again. Now it was the station who spoke with Morgan’s voice, albeit digitalized and blank. Alex couldn’t say he missed January and certainly didn’t harbour any regrets as to how their last encounter ended but was secretly hoping that Juno would be a much lesser pain in the ass. “Habitation sector got hit by a micrometeorite.” “Any damage sustained?” “The hull is intact. Further to that, I haven’t registered any pressure drops around the impact area.” They didn’t know they had been holding their breath until they exhaled with relief upon hearing the news. Line went silent, but the presence on it still lingered, obediently waiting for its next order or an end to the conversation. “It was still pretty bad, I mean, it felt like that…” Morgan said without addressing either her brother or her intercom directly. “Do we have any… robots, operators, anything to spare to check the hull state?” She hesitated, then shook her head. “We do, but… Juno.” “Yes, Morgan.” “I’d like to run the hull surface scan and possible repair. Send nanites.” “Nanites…” Alex’s pupils followed the flashlight. “Kept myself busy here while you were sleeping.” Morgan put down the flashlight pen and turned to her computer to make some notes. Alex was sitting on the edge of his bed — pulse taken, temperature taken, pressure taken. Also taken aback by how professionally his sister was performing this medical check. “All reflexes are in perfect order,” she hummed, almost slamming the Enter button, obviously satisfied with the data. “You’re healthier than you’ve ever been! At least on the outside… now, to the inside part of it — roll up your sleeve.” “You still owe me a story about nanites,” he reminded her, all the while following her orders. He could argue all he wanted that he would never, under any pretext, be called healthy again — having spent an unknown period in a state close to coma, after being shot and beaten by that bastard Walther Dahl, and before that, having endured the mad solitude of Talos-1, where his own well-being and health had been of the last and least concern to him. He could argue, of course, but all the pain had left him now, and he could swear he had never felt better than at this moment. Morgan nodded. “Yes, nanites. The nano-bots… ah,” she broke off mid-sentence, “but you don’t need an explanation, do you? We’ve been too nerdy for too long.” A familiar cold spread over the spot on his inner elbow as the disinfectant began to evaporate. “Apparently, there was a ton of research available on Argus in that field. Nothing fully successful, though.” The band coiled tightly around his upper arm, bringing a lot more awareness of his now quickening pulse. “A lot from robotics… but the most recent pieces were based entirely around Typhon — similarly unsuccessful. So, Dad supposed that if he shared with me what they had, it wouldn’t hurt.” It slightly did. Alex’s eyes flicked quickly to the needle in his vein before moving back to Morgan’s face. Her gaze followed the smooth motion of the plunger. With face steady and concentrated on the process, she kept on talking. “Courtesy of William Yu, I took what they had and improved it the way, I suppose, only I could — if you know what I mean…” She shrugged, sealed the blood sample, freed him of the band, then pressed her thumb to the spot where the needle had been a moment ago. Lifting her dark eyes to him, Morgan smiled. “They are Typhon-based, indeed. I’d say Typhon-infused — in a sense, they’re not entirely robots. If I were to describe them, I’d say they’re my tiny army. They follow my command,” she snickered. “Yeah, from now on call me Apex.” “That’s not funny, Morgan.” “Who said I’m joking? You still don’t know what the hell I am. And that makes you uncomfortable. I can feel it.” Her thumb was still pressing firmly against his vein, even though the bleeding had long stopped. Her words were true, in a way — she could feel his quick pulse. But saying he was uncomfortable was an exaggeration. There were so many stars in the darkness of her gaze as Alex took it in. So many stars — from the brightest supernovas to the farthest, faintest scatter of smallest diamonds. He’d known that starry sky since he’d been brave enough to hold her so close he could memorize all its planets and constellations. He had spent months on Talos-1 in the company of a phantom specimen — the least desirable company a human could have. And even then, hardly anything had brought him more relief or comfort than seeing Morgan’s familiar features in that phantom. Calling the current setup uncomfortable was simply too self-assured. And very Morgan-style. And also, very Morgan-like, her underlying intentions were spilling out through the tiniest cracks in her stalwart will. She so obviously and desperately wanted to talk to him about herself, about her identity, that she was inadvertently pushing him away. “If my pulse is rushing, it’s only because I’m happy to see you.” His palm covered hers, stroking gently. “That’s lame.” “The Apex joke was also lame.” “I’m sorry.” “Me too. Morgan?” “M?” “Nothing really matters aside from this.” He gave her palm a firm squeeze. “Even if I am a freaking Apex?” “Even if you are a freaking Apex.” The human brain craves order. But as the lights dimmed and Morgan’s breathing steadied beside him for the first time in his new life, he realized he didn’t need to understand it all. There would be a new day, and then another, and another — and they would have plenty of time to deconstruct and name the things they both were.