Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gossan

The metal of the telescope’s eyepiece is cold, scratching against my skin. No need to close an eye you don’t have, but the muscles twitch anyway. The cold passes through me, cursing me, turning my feet to stone. Ash twin is shattered, creating a shield of debris flying around its sibling. The field stretches far, mostly sand, but poking through and moving at great speeds I can recognize the broken pieces of Ash Twin’s Nomai structures.

Pieces of Ash Twin’s core spins and collides with more debris, an active grinder, a death trap for ships. The sun bubbles, arms of liquid flame reaching out as the sun eats up all that didn’t get caught in or around Ember Twin, the rest to become hazards in open space.

Please. I beg, paralyzed. Please, let me move . 

“What-” Hornfels chokes, voice shaking as much as the hands pressed over their mouth, “What do we do?” The question is asked with such drowning sorrow it could pull me under and I’ll get stuck alongside their shock. Every bone in my body is screaming that it’s already far, far too late. 

How would they feel to know I gave up on them before I even bothered to try? 

I’m skidding to a stop at the far computer moving before I had a chance to think about it. My hands are cold as they fly across the keyboard and slam the power button. The start-up felt slow before, but this is agonizing, each of the three screens turning on individually, beeping obnoxiously as the fan whirrs to life, my urgency buzzing in my limbs.

“Gossan?” Hornfels croaks, floor creaking with the singular step they manage to take.

“Get on the radio, Hornfels.” My own voice strains against my throat, “We can’t-” the home screen appears, as cluttered as it always is, “-waste any time.” 

Without looking behind me as Hornfels unsticks whatever keeps them glued to the floor, I open the tracking program, shifting through rapidly until I land on SHIP:LOCATOR. Two options pop up, and I select the one that matters.

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One by one, the names appear. 

Loading slowly, the circle chasing its own tail. 

The program is built to find the location of all active ships simultaneously. This was a missight. 

If I could target a singular ship, the time would halve. 

Why didn’t we do that? Why didn’t we? Why are we so unprepared?

Every second that passes, those little dots appearing and vanishing, makes me feel like I’ve condemned Chert. I hear Hornfels try and try again, voice pitching with anxiety as they demand an answer out of a fried radio. I block it out. 

Then, finally. No noise to triumph the connection, no fanfare. 

It updates

Again.

And again, against the orbit, flying to us —towards home. 

“They’re alive! They’re- They’re moving, they’re on their ship!” I shout, relief shooting through me like a lightning strike. “Try their radio again- Try-” 

The air vanishes from my lungs, everything freezes, everything falls apart. Relief torn apart and replaced by vicious, ruthless terror. 

Underneath the Inactive Ships tab, organized out of sight and out of mind lies a similar text. Haunting us, haunting me, and hinting at another’s fate. 

Hornfels says something I can’t hear, blood rushing to my ears and there’s no preparation to combat this kind of fear. 

“Eclo-!” The radio screams, Chert is too close to the microphone. My ears ring. There’s a blaring alarm in the background threatening to overtake Chert’s voice. “Eclo was on-! Eclo went- The Ash twin- I-!” 

I close my eyes. 

“Chert-” Hornfels heaves, “Chert, breathe,” Hornfels sounds at the edge of hyperventilation themself. 

I pour out every bit of myself that’s a screaming, writhing thing, and open my eyes. 

I’m crossing the distance, leaving a part of myself at that screen. I’m nudging Hornfels away from the microphone. “Listen,” I start, sharp and serious and logical and not so whole. Dialing through the options on what to say and each feels worse than the last.

Eclo’s ship could be damaged, if not destroyed, and since Chert is the closest one there, they would have the highest potential to rescue them if only Chert’s ship wasn’t broken. The alarm currently blaring through their microphone is triggered by damage that could turn critical and needs immediate attention. 

It’s a choice. Risk Chert’s life to save one that we don’t know is alive, or protect Chert and abandon the hatchling on their first solo flight . 

“They aren’t dead.” I grind my teeth, willing every part of myself that still has energy to believe it. Then, the moment I do, I betray it, carving out my heart as I say, “Get away from there, I don’t know what damage you have but if it’s enough to set the alarm off then I can’t have you risking ship failure when nearing that debris field.” 

“I can help,” Chert forces out desperately, harsh breath grating against the microphone.

“Are- are you sure Eclo was at the Ash Twin when the-” Hornfels gulps, hesitant to ask the question, afraid of the answer, “-explosion went off?”

“I- No- No, I didn’t see them land, but they flew towards it- but it happened so fast- I think if they didn’t land they- they would’ve gotten caught in the blast.” 

Hope albeit weak and flickering burns in me, contradicting rationality, but I cling with everything I have.

“Even without the damages, you have a single-engine ship. You’re an incredibly skilled pilot, but taking another chance at dodging shards flying at who-knows- what speed isn’t feasible, and you know that.” 

Chert stammers the beginnings of crackled, strained protests, and I snap before they can get a full word out, “It matters that you get home safe.” 

My teeth clatter shut, words hanging in the air long enough for their importance to sink in. Each inhale I take feels like breaching the water’s surface then plummeting again. 

“I’m sending someone else to search the rubble. Go to the outpost, or do a spacewalk to repair if you believe it’s possible, but do not approach the Twins.” Barking orders feels heavy, the weight of the decision on my shoulders, building pressure – I feel my nerves boil with the threat of one single mistake. 

“I’m the closest one here!” Chert doesn’t listen easily, teeth chattering. “You can’t make me leave when- when I should’ve stopped them from leaving in the first place!”

That strikes me as confusing. “Did you know it was going to explode?” Stars above I hope not, it doesn’t make sense, but if Chert knew-

“No! But- They did! At- At least I think, they were telling me- they said to ‘not be afraid of what I learn-’ I didn’t understand, but-”

“They knew?!” Hornfels break their silence, and they take space next to me, shoulders pressing as they lean towards the mic. “What in Hearth’s name is going on, Chert?!”

“I don’t know!” they shout, wobbly and distressed, repeating, “I don’t know! I don’t know!”

Reel back, get a grip on this, don’t let them sink. I grab Hornfels’ arm to stop them before they drive Chert further into a panic. “You need to prioritize yourself right now. Don’t worry about them and let me handle this, but I can’t while I’m trying to get you safe, do you understand?” 

There’s a quiet shaky inhale from the radio, “I need to help.”

“And you will,” I promise, “once you and your ship are safe.”

What I don’t say, what I try to not think about, is that no matter if I send them now or someone else later, there might not be anything there to save.  

“Okay… okay.” Chert sounds defeated, exhaustion winning out against fear. 

My gut ties itself into knots, my doubt unwanted but a struggle to ignore. I say anyways, “It’ll be okay. We’ll keep you updated.”

Hovering my hand over the frequency dial, I finally twist it, watching the numbers shift on the display until it aligns with Gabbro’s suit radio.

“Gabbro, do you copy? This is an emergency.” I lean a bit too close to the microphone, my finger getting sore from how long I’ve been holding the unmute button. 

The static says nothing at all.

“Do you copy?” Agitation bleeds easily into my voice. Gabbro's tendency to ignore the radio is far past exasperation at this point, the extra antenna they’ve bolstered their comms with only confirms our suspicions when the astronaut leaves calls unanswered. There isn’t any time for this. 

“I repeat-”

“-yeah, I hear you.” Gabbro’s drawl is heavy with the slurring around their tongue. “What’s the ‘mergency, coach?” 

For the first time in the last few minutes, I lift my hand off the unmute button, snapping towards Hornfels. “You’re hearing this? Are they drunk- or high?” I hiss.

“I hope not, Hal said they were acting weird earlier, but- I don’t know,” Hornfels admits with an anxious mumble, their knuckles pressed up against their lips. 

Every traveller is stocked with a little wine, a Feldspar decision for ‘camp days and memories of home’, and I’m regretting letting it happen. It’s never been abused before, most people know the dangers of flying under the influence, but the risk shouldn’t have been ignored. I’ll fix it. 

“Are you in a state fit enough to pilot?” My voice is sharper than I intended, I glare at the little screen displaying the frequency channel as if they could see it. “There’s been an explosion on Ash Twin, and we think Eclo was either near it- or on it.” 

I pause, chewing my bottom lip until I taste blood. “...There isn’t any signal from their ship either,” I admit, wincing as I hear Hornfels deflated ‘no’ beside me. 

“Ah,” Gabbro goes painfully silent after that. I claw at the edge of the keyboard to stop myself from saying anything rash, but the silence stretches on too long and I’m about to speak- scream- or something, when Gabbro finally replies.

“I can’t do anything. My ship’s out somewhere in the waves, having a good time– hopefully.”

“You lost your ship?!”

“Technically? It’s there, but it’ll take me a little more than twenty minutes to swim there, y’know the gravity is pretty heavy here, and I wonder-”

“-Get to your ship.” I can’t stand their unbothered tone and the ramblings of nothing important. Rarely does my voice go this cold, rarely do I feel this type of anger so deep under my bones. “This isn’t a joke! Every minute wasted, Eclo could be– stuck out there.” I shudder, feeling like the floor beneath me is moving.

“... I won’t get there in time, coach”

“You don’t get to give up.” 

“I don’t think you can do anythin’ is what I’m saying.”

“Get to your ship.”

“Co-” I twist the dial so fast the speaker sounds like a waterfall of different staticky songs all flickering rapidly between each other, Gabbro’s lost voice a relief to me. My shoulders are pulled nearly up to my ears, and I don’t even blink as I start to align the frequency with Riebeck’s.

I remember back when they were still new- but not as new as Gabbro- and we tasked them with searching for Feldspar near Brittle Hollow. I had hoped that their interest and the seriousness of the situation would overpower their fear. It did not, and it took an hour of Hornfels and Chert coaxing them out of an episode to lead them back home; would I really be willing to risk that?

In the end, I might have to go out there on my own. My ship is the oldest one still in operation, the slowest, and it still hasn’t been updated with the warping technology for the Little Scout.

How has everything aligned to make this impossible to do?

“Gossan.” There’s a hand on my shoulder, I barely contain my flinching. “What do you want me to do?” And they sound so scared .

I gasp around my next inhale, blinking up at Hornfels’ fearful face, and mutter with all the strength I can muster, “Tell Slate to get my ship ready. Tell Rutile to keep people inside, in case any debris reaches us.” 

There isn’t time to calculate the potential threat of that, nor do I have anyone out in space right now who could tell us if there’s anything coming. I have to make the decision to be safe rather than sorry. 

The panic will be a struggle to deal with. The questions will be worse. 

Hornfels nods, stepping away from my side, they turn around and then stop, stammering, “H-Hal?”

Oh, oh no.

“How long have you been here?” Hornfels puts on a fake ease, I turn around to see them approach the hatchling cautiously, a hand outstretched. Hal doesn’t look at them, instead they face me directly, eyes wide with pure terror .

“They’re okay,” I start immediately, keeping my voice soft and comforting, pleading. “Hal, they’re okay. It’s going to be okay.”

It doesn’t reach them, they’ve heard too much. Hal presses their palms to their eyes but that doesn’t stop the tears and there’s nothing there to muffle the broken sob that follows. “ No- no they aren’t. ” 

I can’t move again. My legs turned to stone, my heart into ice. “They’re okay,” I beg, unable to get my voice loud enough to be heard through Hal’s crying. Hornfels moves, placing their hands on Hal’s shoulders only to stumble back at the force of Hal burrowing their face into their sweater.

“They’re okay,” I try again, but I can’t get my voice above a whisper. 

“They’re okay,” I croak. 

“U-uhm, hello?” I startle at Riebeck’s voice, I’ve sunk enough on weak legs that I accidentally pressed down on the unmute button. “Who..? What’s- uh- going on? If- If I can ask?”

“Riebeck!” I hate how desperate I sound, turning away from Hal and Hornfels feels like tearing skin, but I have to try. I can’t give up, I can’t give up only to learn they were waiting for me. I can’t do that. “I need you to get to your ship and head to Ash Twin. Eclo is- I think Eclo is trapped. There was an explosion.”

I can’t frame my sentences fully anymore, I can’t hide the fear, I can’t keep my voice from shaking anymore. I’m going to drown.

“What?! But-” Riebeck’s voice pitches with the panic I knew they were going to have, and I don’t know if I will be able to pull them out of it. This couldn’t have worked, we weren’t prepared, I wasn’t- 

“-But I just saw them?” My heart stops and starts all in a few seconds.

“When?” I gasp, gripping the neck to the microphone “When?!”

Hal has gone silent, Hornfels stopped their comforting whispers, I feel their eyes on the back of my head.

“They were just here- uh- like maybe- a minute ago?” Riebeck answers, it feels like flying for the first time, the force of my relief nearly knocks me onto my knees.

“Thank you,” I gasp, breathing like I found land after swimming for hours, the tremor to my hands rattling the small microphone, I have to let go. “Stars above.”

“They’re okay,” I repeat and truly believe it.