"There's nothing down there," Nex says. He frowns at the small moon—barely a moon, really—filling the viewport. "Why else would it be empty?"
"They probably missed it," I say.
"Wouldn't be the first time," Hana chips in, flashing her teeth. Nex shrugs in acquiescence. He's new to our little pack, still thinks the galactic government is all-seeing. Not that I'm complaining about the gaps in the official charts that leave us space to explore. Not at all.
The autopilot takes control of the ship to land, which is our cue to head out back and double-check our hiking gear, while Mar stays up front to triple-checks the readings. When it comes to safety on unexplored cosmic bodies, one can never be too careful.
As the landing struts settle, Mar joins us with a double thumbs-up, her red hair already braided back.
"We're good for EVA," she says. "Nothing our filters can't handle."
Nex is raring to go; the second the ramp hits the ground he's out of here. Не doesn't get far. We join him at the base of the ramp, all of us stunned into silence.
A meadow of silky, lilac-coloured flowers stretches out in every direction for miles, all the way to the lavender mountains in the distance. They reach up to our waists—or chest, in Hana's case—and ripple with our movements. I breathe in a lungful of the freshest air I've ever tasted. It smells of vanilla and honey. Reminds me of childhood, somehow.
Odd, glowing bugs the size of my pinky fingernail fizz between the petals. Hana lowers herself into a low squat, tiny camera suddenly in her hands as if by sleight of hand. She almost disappears from view.
"I've never seen anything like this," she says. Mar taps her shoulder and points back towards the ship.
Where the Sonic Impulse's bulk shadows the flowers, the blooms have begun to luminesce, splashing a loving purple glow across the underside of our ship. Hana grins like a cat with cream and wades off through the meadow, her camera clicking away. Nex lets out a long, low whistle.
"I always thought you guys were a few screws loose for doing this kind of stuff, but I get it now," he says. I give his shoulder a soft punch that says, I told you so. Took us long enough to get him out here with us.
While Mar locks the ship up tight, Hana and I plan our route. Somewhere to our left we can hear the burble of a small creek hidden beneath the meadow, which we think we can follow to the mountains. Odds are we can't drink the water, or whatever liquid is gurgling away, but it'll give us a better chance of seeing other wildlife during the hike.
We tramp across the endless meadow until dusk claims the sky and make camp in the golden hour, which is more of a golden quarter-hour on such a tiny moon. We eat beans cold out of a can because we can't bear to damage the meadow with cooking equipment and joke about what we're going to name our secret little moon.
Nex is silent for a while, which we can't help but notice. Hana nudges him, dark eyes questioning.
"What's up?" she asks.
"I don't know," he says. "It feels selfish to keep this kind of place to ourselves, don't you think? For all we know, these plants are some miracle herb that could cure disease. We can't just claim a whole moon."
Mar snorts. Clear disagreement.
Hana gestures uncertainty. "I see your point, I think. But on the other hand, colonisation could damage its natural ecosystem and beauty." She languidly points an empty can of beans in my direction.
"What do you think?" she asks. Suddenly everyone is looking at me, the de facto arbitrator of our little group. "Should we share this with the galaxy?"

———

It's not until we're settling into our seats that I finally make up my mind. Nex is filled with idealistic hope, which I sure do admire, but Hana's got the heart of it. There are so few truly untouched paradises left in the galaxy. Our own little joy is in finding these places, and not once before have we betrayed their secrets to the wider galaxy. Maybe the stewed petals of the meadow flowers really could cure all disease—
But, but, they might just be flowers. No special properties, nothing to them except their exceptional beauty. I don't want to risk the destruction of this little moon through colonisation or mining.
"We're going to preserve this moon," I announce. Everyone stops their pre-flight checks to look at Nex, who is looking at me. "We may come back, perhaps we can bring other friends as long as they agree to secrecy. Do you understand?" I ask. A question mostly for Nex. He scowls, and I prepare myself for an argument, but after a moment his expression softens into something like relief.
"Sounds good to me." He grins around at everyone. "Guess that's our future retirement plan sorted."
Mar opens her mouth to snap at him when Hana swings an arm around her shoulders and leans in to whisper, "He's joking." Mar cracks a wry smile. Hana laughs loudly.
I pull up the galaxy map and we four crowd around, excited to find our next little adventure.

Captain Flare was right. Out here, at the outskirts of the galaxy, it's clear just how much we look into our own galaxy, and how little we look out. The transition from the known borders into the beyond is like the drop at the edge of a coral reef, a sharp descent into darkness and the unknown.
Our fleet is adventuring past the reef that is our galaxy, dipping into those dark depths, forming a chain of long-haul frigates near the border. We are a wall, protecting our cosmic home.
A flotilla, Captain Flare called it in his briefing to the crews of a couple hundred ships. One with its back to home and its eyes on the unknown. A whole unofficial network of ships working together to watch for anything headed our way.
"Someone's gotta do it," Nex says. He lounges in his station seat. He's barely paying attention to the screens that flash with his updated scans. "I figured, why not me?"
"What were you doing before this?" I ask. He waves his hand vaguely.
"Oh, this and that. I explored the hidden places of the galaxy when I was younger, but I've always been a bit of a drifter, if I'm honest." A drifter. Based on the brief time I've been his station partner, I believe it. He's got an outward calm, but a hot vivacity sizzling beneath the surface. "You've been with Flare for a while, haven't you?"
I blink. "How'd you know?" He gestures ambiguously again.
"You all have a bit of his fire in your eyes. I think that's how he convinced so many ships to join his alliance. He ignites a righteous fire in everyone who meets him."
"Righteous fire," I say. "A good ship name."
"If that isn't already a registered ship name I'll eat my boot," he says.
"Hat," I say. He frowns. "You'll eat your hat." His frown deepens, eyebrows finding a new low.
"Why would I eat a hat?" he asks.
"Why would you eat a boot?"
He considers this for a moment before replying with a concise, "Chewy." I find I can't argue with that, and I cede victory.
I'm dozing off to thoughts of an old documentary about deep-sea creatures across the galaxy when a dark shape ripples across Nex's screen. The silhouette of a curved oceanic tail cutting through the stars—there for an instant, then gone.
I blink. The screen is back to normal, if it was in fact ever abnormal at all. I check my own screen: nothing.
"Nex, did you see that?" He snaps to attention, stifling a yawn.
"See what, Anat?"
"On your screen, there was something..." I trail off, unable to describe the digital phenomenon. Wondering if I dreamed it. He leans closer to his console, glowing symbols reflected in his eyes.
"I don't see anything," he says, looking over at me. "Sure it wasn't a glitch?"
"Maybe..." I chew the inside of my cheek. "But what if it's not? Shouldn't I call it in?."
"What if it is? We're gonna be here a long time. If we want to keep our little flotilla afloat, we can't waste resources every time the tech hiccups." he says. And it hiccups pretty often, I think. Nex gazes at his screen thoughtfully. "You gotta be sure when it comes to this kind of stuff. Are you sure?"
I get up and walk over to a viewport, as if I could see what might be beyond the stars with my own mortal eyes. Deep space is known to make people see strange things, and I had been drifting off...
Did I really see something out there? A potential threat, a glitch, or a dream? I look at Nex, conflicted.
He shrugs. "Up to you, pal."

———

At first I decide to ignore the digital ripple. I don't want to become the crewmember who cried wolf. But it sits with me, the pressure of the whole galaxy weighing on my chest. Nex is entirely unphased. I have never met another person so unconcerned about anything in my life.
It's Flare visiting our station that tips the balance in my mind. The captain has always stressed the importance of caution. The flotilla is so very, very far from help—from anything at all. Even years back, when we were a simple freighter crew transporting potatoes, Flare made sure we never placed efficiency over safety. Seeing Flare's stone-edged face brings those old habits back to the forefront of my mind. Flare would never wave something off as just a trick of the eye or a simple tech glitch. Our captain would tear the ship apart to ensure there's no danger to
us, our ship, or the galaxy.
I can't believe I let Nex's laid-back attitude influence me so much.
Flare gives us a wide, welcoming grin upon approaching our station. "How are you both doing? Not too bored, I hope."
Nex tilts his head my way, smirking at my glare. "You know me, Cap. I don't know the meaning of the word." They guffaw. I give a small nervous chuckle. "Actually," I say. It comes out as a pathetic whisper. I clear my throat and Flare turns to me, eyebrows quirked. "I saw something. On Nex's screen." Flare's face sharpens with that familiar, curious intensity.
"What did you see, Anat?"
"I'm not entirely sure, Captain." I wiggle my fingers. "I was thinking about an ocean documentary when I saw it, so it's probably nothing, but maybe it is?" Flare gestures for me to continue. "It looked like some kind of ocean creature at the edge of my vision. When I looked again, there was nothing."
"Nex, did you see anything?"
"Sorry, Cap. This is all Anat."
"I'm glad you brought this to me. You know we can never be too safe."
Flare gestures me over to Nex's console. The three of us stare down at the screen
like some kind of crystal ball. I expect nothing at all.
The stars ripple.

We're in the middle of the ocean when we get the news. Seabirds with seaspray-sparkling wings loop and dive, letting loose a cacophony of screeches that's surely music to their ears, but definitely not to mine.
To my left, Stella doodles various worlds' whales and seals in the margins of her notebook. She's whistling along to a song I know I'll never get out of my head. To my right, Paolo diligently matches tracking silhouettes to the boat's location on a screen. That in itself is a science. He points, I shoot.
Click-clack. The shutter snaps. There's only a moment's delay before the photo bursts into still life from Paolo's tablet. I scoot over to get a better look, because my subject isn't exactly close to the boat. Thanks to my super long lens, the projected image is so detailed and clear I can almost believe I took the shot from only feet away.
Shimmering in the sun is a brilliantly violet-blue whale, frozen in the moment of hurling its magnificent body into the air, silver spray pluming from its blowhole. I think Stella will like this one.
I nudge her arm to get her attention. She wipes salt from her eyes and leans across my knees to get a better look at the photo.
"She's a beaut," she says. She's admiring the whale, not my photography skills.
Good thing they didn't hire me for good framing and a solid knowledge of the golden ratio. I look at Paolo sitting on my other side.
"Is this number...?" I trail off, realising I've forgotten the number of whales we've tracked so far.
"Yeah, she's a new one," he says. He scratches his nose and sniffs. It's been a long day. After a moment, he continues. "Number thirty-six for today. Not bad."
He waves the photo down and goes back to his work. I go back to my camera.
Back to waiting, then.
The smell of the ocean fills the air, permeating every fibre of my being. I'm gonna be smelling it for days. This is what I'm thinking about the moment the galaxy changes; that I'll never forget the taste of sea salt on my lips. Somehow, it tastes the same everywhere.
Every device on the ship wails instantaneously. This sets off the seabirds even more than their feeding frenzy. They howl and whoop around the boat in response to the howling alerts.
The three of us crowd around Paolo's tablet. The message materialises in the air before us as if manifested from sunlight.
At first, the alert seems impossible to understand. Something about unknown objects from beyond the galaxy, supermassive beings that appear to be...
Whales?
As Paolo and I mull that over, Stella answers a call on her comm. We watch as she gets up and walks off to talk. When she lowers the comm, she lets out a sigh that could rival the whales' blows. I can't tell what her sigh signifies, besides the early wrap-up of today's survey.
"They want us up there," she says.
"Up where?" I ask.
"The orbital platform. There's a ship waiting there."
"For us?" Paolo asks. He seems to find this whole situation amusing. "Why?"
Stella shrugs. "We know our whales."
That's how we find ourselves on a frigate at the edge of the galaxy. Space isn't so different from the ocean, I think. It's big, mysterious, and apparently has whales, too.
A crewmember introduced as Anat ushers us to a holographic screen in the ship's command room, which shows the results of their fleet's deep-space scans.
The room is silent, everyone reverently watching as we take in the image presented to us. Stella, unsurprisingly, sits down on the floor in shock and Paolo walks off to ruminate at a viewport. The crew in the command room react in whispered uncertainty. They want us—need us—to give them some kind of answer. Neither of my colleagues seem up to it, so I turn to Anat and say the only thing I can think to say. "Those sure are whales."

———

Anat seems extraordinarily relieved at my response. "Glad for the clarification on that. We weren't sure if we were having a shared deep-space delusion. Should we be worried?"
Worried? I take a moment to think through the implications of Anat's question.
There's no doubt those galactic whales are massive beyond comprehension-but aren't most whales, on a smaller scale? They've never been a danger to us on any planet. I don't see why that would change now, and I fear what might happen to galactic whales if I pin them as a threat from the get-go.
Stella and Paolo come to my rescue. She drapes her arm over my shoulder.
"Give us a moment to discuss this, will ya?" she asks.
"Of course." Anat flushes. Worried about pushing too much, perhaps. "Take all the time you need."
We take five hours to come to a decision. For a small whale survey team who has suddenly had the potential fate of a new species and the galaxy thrust upon us, I think we did alright.
Anat and the wall flotilla's captain, Flare, rise from their seats as we return to the command centre, deep shadows colouring their eyes.
"What should we do?" Flare asks. I'm surprised to see so much anxiety in such a confident face.
"For the time being, we advise caution," I say. Stella waves up a holographic screen at the command console and begins drawing out her thoughts.
"The whales are still very far away," she says, "but they are, obviously, very large. I don't think they're a threat, however, the three of us believe that it's entirely possible the whales won't even notice us as they pass through our galaxy."
"That seems like a good thing," Anat says.
Paolo shakes his head. "It could mean they knock our planets aside as their pod moves through the systems."
"So," I say, loud enough to draw all eyes to me, "we do not consider them an active threat. We should research and admire these creatures. But just in case, we advise planets to take action to protect citizens if anything does go wrong."
The room bursts into discussion. There are plans to be drawn up, calls to be made.
Stella ruffles my hair. "Well said, champ."

Hana sees the whale first. I'm still prepping our ship to be hot to fly if we need it, when she gasps in awe.
"Whoa," she breathes. "That is a sight to behold."
I slap the side of the ship, give her a reassuring murmur. Only then do I turn to follow Hana's gaze up towards the sky. Filling the blue is the shadow of a titanic whale, hazy and obscured in part by clouds. My brain struggles to grasp the true scale of it. I simply can't comprehend the whale.
So I look back down, at Hana. She's wearing our crisp uniform, her silvering hair pulled up into a bun. The fact that we're here, in this moment, feels surreal. Like some kind of dream. After all these years, all this waiting, it's finally happening. Humanity has been holding its excited breath ever since the first scientists to discover the whales made their announcement. Optimistic, but cautious.
Which is why we're here. A team to observe first planetary contact with one of the leviathans. Ready to skedaddle at a moment's notice in case things get dicey. Hana, in my opinion, is a little too soft for an operation like this. She's already in love with the whales. She's lived a long time though, even for a long-lived human, and her experience is invaluable.
The city is packed full to the brim with people who've come from all over to witness this moment in history. Will the whale breach the atmosphere like the ocean's surface and shower us with stardust? Unlikely; yet the crowd hopes.
The second sun has just begun to kiss the horizon when it happens. There's a cool breeze blowing across the city, making people pull their jackets tight around their bodies. The whale's fins dip into the lower atmosphere, stirring the currents. It opens its mouth wide, a void black as space, and the crowd quiets in wait.
"Will it speak?" Hana murmurs. No, I think.
The ground trembles beneath our feet as the whale inhales, what could be baleen shimmers with sunset gold. A chunk of farmland just outside the city drifts up, as if suddenly untethered from gravity. I tense. Hana inhales sharply.
"That's amazing," she says. She's right, but it's terrifying, too. I grab her wrist and tug her back towards our ship. She hesitates only a moment, enraptured like everyone else.
"We have to go," I say. She nods—the mission is now more vital than ever. The truth has occurred to us both at the same time: whales must feed, and planets are what these giants eat.
"Wait," she says, pulling back at my grip. "These people—" She looks around, helpless.
"They'll realise. They'll evacuate." I say this, but I know I could be wrong. Right now, the whale is devouring unpopulated land. How long might they believe it to be benevolent? I don't want to risk Hana's life, though. "We need to leave right now, before the whale knocks out any kind of communications." Comms were already iffy when we landed, the whale's gravity throwing off the satellites in orbit.
"We can't do nothing, Kit," she says. Her stance is firm, her eyes intense.
"Other whales are already approaching more planets." I'm not pleading with her, but I'm getting close. "We need to warn everyone before it's too late."
"I'm staying," she says. Her silver-black hair blazes in the sunset. "What are you going to do?"

———

Hana stands her ground and I have no choice but to leave without her. My chest aches as I push through the crowd with increasing urgency. Behind me, I hear her calling out warnings, but I don't have time to look back and see if anyone is listening.
The ship is ready to go when I jump into the pilot's seat. I whisper a small thanks to her as she hurtles up and away from the landing pad. The whale dominates a sky turning black, eclipsing the moons and stars. Clouds swirl around its body, troposphere whirlpools.
The comms are a mess. If I don't get out to send a message soon, the other planets might not get the warning they need in time. I need to get out of here, but I can't stop looking down, at the mass of bodies, searching for Hana. Panic constricts my throat at the thought of the ground suddenly lifting beneath her feet.
My hand tightens on the yoke, knuckles white. I groan.
The ship swerves down over the crowd, in the direction of the place I last saw Hana. People are only just starting to realise the implications of the whale's lazy devourment. Not fast enough, not if they have a chance of getting offplanet uneaten. I flick the exterior speakers on and send out a repeating evacuation alert. The crowd swells in response and suddenly I see her, looking up at me. People clear a space as I lower the ship and run to the hatch to help her in. The countdown until failure ticks insistently in the back of my mind.
"Grab as many people as you can in the next minute. After that, we're gone," I say. She squeezes my forearm, tears in her eyes. "Thank you."

Streamers fill the perfumed air, whale kites bobbing in the breeze as if it were an ocean, the sky over the camp looking like a bright cosmic storm. I follow Stella through the small crowd to a group by the lake. People lounge on cushions placed over the pebbled beach, drinks in hand and snacks scattered across a blanket the same purple as the meadow of flowers stretching off into the distance. I recognise some of the party-goers. I'm disappointed to see Darcy isn't here yet.
Stella settles down, looking exhausted. The crinkles around her eyes have only gotten deeper. I doubt she's slept much in the years since her team discovered the whales. A team that's since expanded, now including me. For a moment I feel adrift from the party, in a way I imagine Stella feels far too often. The reality of what we're doing hits me all at once—a reality I can't share with my friends here. In a way, this is a farewell party.
I let myself zone out, trying to absorb the scared-yet-optimistic vibe of the party.
The whales are terrifying, we know that thanks to a brave team that scraped their way out of the first devouring, yet they are part of the natural cycle of things.
Beautiful and awesome.
Luckily, Stella and her team had warned caution right away. Luckily, the whales are slow. We've been working non-stop since their discovery, and we're about to descend entirely into finishing the project. In a way, that's why we're here today.
One last experience of humanity's enduring spirit: the appreciation for the terrifying and the awe of the wonderful. We will need that, going forward. Someone nudges my arm and I look up to see Darcy across the group. He hasn't spotted me yet, but I can tell he's searching the crowd for me. My best friend. The most important human in the universe. My heart aches at the thought of saying farewell to him.
Except, do I? Do I really have to?
I stand and make a beeline for him.
"Eliz!" He wraps me in a bear hug. "I was looking for you."
"Want to go for a walk?" I ask, gesturing at the beach. He grins.
"Sure."
We walk, talk a little, but he can tell straight away that something is wrong. He stops, stares me right in the eyes. He's figured it out. Why Stella and I are here, why I can barely look at him.
"You have to go, don't you?" he says. "To finish off the bunkers."
"Yeah," I say, struggling to figure out how this conversation ends. I can't ask him to come with me—can't take away the little freedom he has left to enjoy the galaxy.
The bunker isn't going to be finished for quite some time still, and he has family out here. I suddenly want to scream, to hurl myself into the deep blue lake.
Anything but this..
He opens his mouth, and I place a finger on his lips to quiet him. My heart flutters, fear of leaving him; fear of asking him to come with; fear of him saying no.
I know I have to say something. So, I do.

———

"I'll miss you. More than you can imagine."
Darcy gives me a half-hearted grin. "Then why won't you ask me to come with you?" He averts his eyes for a moment, out towards the lake. "Do you not want me around?"
"No!" I'm surprised he could even think such a thing. I take his hands in mine and squeeze. "Of course not, Darcy. You're my best friend in the world, but you have your family to take care of out here, and you'd hate it down there. We're far from finished, it's going to be empty for a long time. You wouldn't have anything."
"I'd have you," he says. His thumbs rub my palms. I pull my hands away, because if
I don't do it now I fear I'll never leave.
"I'm sorry," I say. "We'll stay in contact, okay? I'll make sure of that." I turn before I burst into tears and walk away.
He calls out behind me, "I know I'll see you again, Eliz."
I don't turn back. It's for the best.
It's for the best.

The shuttle touches down, jerking me out of an uneasy dream of Kyo. Next to me, my older brother is wide awake, almost vibrating in tune with the shuttle's engines. He gives me a half-hearted smile as I groan and stretch out my heavy limbs. He's trying his best to ease my anxiety. Unfortunately, his nerves are blazing away clear as day, undoing any comfort he attempts to instill. In reality, I'm the one keeping us both calm, even though I'm the kid sibling. It's always been that way with us.
Outside it's dreary and raining slush. He doesn't let his grip on my hand loosen as we're carried through the throng of bodies. It's chaos out here, bodies pushing towards the gate like a swelling tide. There's no yelling, no anger; just people moving together to get us to the same place. To safety.
I sneak a glance up at the sky, but there's no telltale whale shadow behind the dark clouds. If the pod has arrived, it's invisible to us on the surface. I wonder, fleetingly, if Kyo is looking for the whales, too.
Though the atmosphere is calm now, it won't be long until panic starts. We're in the shock stage, our brains suppressing any emotion threatening to topple us. I know my brother and I are guaranteed spots in the bunker, but not everyone here is—there are simply too many people here, hoping to slip past. I can't blame them, I'd do the same if not for my brother getting me in.
He leads me through the crowd, somehow finding gaps where there was no gap before despite his broad shoulders. A man on a mission, as our mother used to say.
I let myself be led as I scan for Kyo.
Suddenly, Eliz is running to us from the gate, her authority clearing a path around her.
"Darcy!" she cries, and my brother's face lights up like the sun at her voice. He wraps her in a giant bear hug, tears in his eyes.
"Come on, quickly," Eliz says, leading us to the gates. M1N0-class bots thud through the slurry, carrying final supplies to the loading bays. Their silhouettes cast ominous shadows in the mist above the crowd.
A silence falls, and there, finally, is Kyo. The light of my life. She's beautiful, even in the grey. I somehow reach her, touch her face to make sure she's real, and for a moment we're the only people in the world.
"You made it," she says.
"I made it," I say.
Then the crowd surges, and the voice of a woman carries over the din. I look back and see a woman around my age pushing a kid towards Security, begging for them to take the young boy.
"Please," she says. "He's my little brother. Please."
Kyo's dark eyes flash with empathy.
"We should get inside, before it gets worse," she says.
"Yeah," I say, but when she tugs me forward I find my feet stuck in place.
"There's nothing you can do," she murmurs, her voice cracking. I think of leaving Darcy behind as the world ends. I think of leaving Kyo alone in the deep. I think, I think—
I stop thinking and follow my heart.

———

I run forward and take the kid's hand in mine. The older sister cries and thanks me as I haul the kid over my shoulder and march up to the gate. A security guard steps in the way, and I catch Eliz's eyes over his shoulder.
"We have to be better than this," I say. "Even just this one kid. We have to have some hope."
"Want to trade places?" The guard asks, sneering. Eliz places a hand on his shoulder and steps past. The crowd behind me has gone silent, their energy mingling with mine.
Eliz frowns at the boy wriggling in my grip. "We planned out exactly how many people we could sustain. But... but, I could rearrange some things." She looks directly into my eyes. "He will be your responsibility, we can't bring anyone else."
From nowhere, Kyo is at my side.
"We'll take him in," she says. She is beautiful in the hoary light. She makes me put the kid down and crouches to be eye level with him. "What's your name?"
"Dario," he murmurs. I turn back to his sister, who stands at the forefront of the crowd, silently sobbing.
"We'll take care of Dario, I promise."

I wonder if night in the bunker happens at the same time as night on the surface.
It's impossible to tell down here. No moon, no stars, no clouds in the sky to orient myself with the orbit of our planet. We still have the same cycles down here, though. 12 hours of day fading into 12 hours of night fading back into 12 hours of day. The night cycle drapes the corridors and twisting central staircase with dusky purple and blue tones, the lights above turned low enough to see by, but not bright enough to encourage being out and about at night.
As if that ever stops me.
Night is my time to be alone, away from my overbearing adoptive family. I love them, I really do, but they're a lot, and I've always been a bit of a loner even before the descent. Not only does it give me time for myself, the night also gives me the space to do the main thing that makes this whole place tolerable: paint. Crouching in the shadows of a corridor heading to agriculture, I pry a panel from the wall. Behind it are my supplies, paints and brushes I've made or bartered for. Some gifts. I take stock of what I need for tonight. Greens and yellows and browns.
My favourite red.
I slide the panel back into place and head off, wandering through the levels of the dim bunker until a piece of wall speaks to me. A stretch of blank wall near the mess hall sings silently, calling my name.
I lay out my plastic tablecloth and get to work. Sprawling vines, leaves reaching for the unseen sun, and juicy, ripe strawberries. Like the strawberries we used to have in our backyard, when I was with my sister on the surface. The thought of them makes me smile, and I hope my painting of them will make other people stuck down here smile, too.
Of course, some people call my paintings vandalism. They think little acts of law-breaking will bring down morale and collapse the bunker. Ridiculous, I reckon. Art makes everything better. Regardless, the council gets the little GR-3M bots to clean up whatever I leave. It's a constant battle to bring a little more joy and colour into the bunker.
I'm so invested in the seed detailing that I don't notice someone has sneaked up to me in the dark until they sit down beside me. I jerk aside in shock, my paintbrush smearing a line of pink. It's aunt Eliz, her face creased with age, and the stress of being on the council. I know I'm in trouble now.
"So you're our mystery artist," she says, gaze taking in my work in progress. "It makes sense."
"It does?" I ask. I'm surprised she's not fuming.
"You being here was a rebellious act of hope." She smiles, eyes crinkling. "You would do well in the council, you know. You should run next time it opens up."
"Politics?" I make a face. "No thanks, Aunty. Politics are why... why my..."
"Why your sister isn't here with you?" She strokes my cheek, thumb wiping away a stray tear. "I know. That's why we need people like you leading us. You know what's important for us to not just survive, but to remain human. The more you dislike the idea of power, the better you are for the role, in my opinion."
She pats my cheek, then rises.
"Am I in trouble?" I ask. She winks.
"I won't tell if you don't." I almost can't believe my luck. "If you change your mind about running for council, let me know. I'll be waiting."
When she's gone, I sit and stare at my strawberries for a long time. Thinking of the people who were left behind on the surface. Thinking of how I can help the people down here now.

———

I dwell on Eliz's suggestion for a long while. She doesn't push the issue. She doesn't need to, and she knows it. She wouldn't be where she is today if she wasn't as sharp as she is.
I keep thinking about what my sister would want me to do. As I'm falling asleep each night I ask her what advice she has, hoping I'll conjure her spirit in dreams.
What I'm trying to ignore is that I already know the answer. My sister would agree with Eliz. Of course she'd agree with Eliz. They're both so similar, despite being so very different. I notice after a while that no GR-3M bot has cleaned up my latest work yet, and wonder if Eliz has ever eaten homegrown strawberries on a summer's day.
The reality is, I could do more than paint in the dead of night. I could do bigger, better things. If there's even a chance of helping another kid like me, then it has to be worth a shot.
The whole crowd cheers when my name is read aloud on election day, but my family hoots and howls the loudest. Eliz catches my eve through the din and winks.

Every day is the same. Potatoes. So many potatoes! I stare out at the potato field, hoe in hand, and grimace at the potato plants growing beneath the artificial grow-lights. Dad's working nearby, covered in sweat, looking for all the world like he was born for this. His parents once grew potatoes upon the surface, farmers like us for generations stretching back in time. Mum's parents too, or at least that's the lecture we always get. If family legend is to be believed, the ring Mum wears is set with a gem made from fossilised potato.
All at once, the idea of seeing even one more potato makes me want to scream. I throw the hoe to the ground and walk out. Dumas senses my mood immediately, leaping rows of potato plants to catch up with me as I stride through the exit into the cooler atmosphere of the hallways.
"Georgie?" he asks. "What's wrong?"
"Just need a break," I say. He darts in front of me, eyes narrowed. I have to stop walking so I don't barrel straight into him—though the idea is tempting. Everyone else in the bunker loves the idea of having a twin, but everyone else doesn't have to deal with Dumas, who can read me like Dad can read the leaves of a potato.
There's some yellow on this leaf here, which means Georgie is having an existential crisis. Dumas raises his eyebrows.
"Is it about the fruit again?"
"No."
"It's about the fruit again." He sighs. "Come on, let's go grab lunch."
The mess hall is blessedly quiet. I pause at the entrance, like always, and admire the violet meadow painted across the ceiling and walls. If I let my eyes blur, I can almost imagine I'm in that whimsical, alien place.
Lunch proper isn't for a few hours yet, but there's still bread, cheese, and a bowl full of the most beautiful thing in the world: moonfruit. Dumas pretends he doesn't notice me piling my plate high with the fruit. We find a table in silence, both of us enjoying the ambient sounds of the bunker outside the farm.
I pull one of the moonfruit apart on the table with two forks. I'm testing the tenderness of the flesh, the colour of the pith, the size of the seeds. I make a mental note of the salty-sweet scent of this particular fruit, slotting my new mental notes in with previous ideas on how to breed in a note of caramel. Dumas munches on a sandwich, watching me with curiosity.
"I really don't get it," he says. "It's just a fruit."
"A fruit from the Moon!" I gesture at the shimmering fruit. The skin glimmers like stars in a sky of indigo velvet.
"That's just a rumour," he says. He's wrong. I can't prove it but I know it. When I hold the moonfruit in my hands, I can feel its connection up beyond the surface, into space itself. Humans used to live out there, I know it in my heart.
"So what are you gonna tell Dad about all this?" He gestures at the dissected fruit before me. "We're potato farmers. What we do is important. It's what we're raised
to do."
"Yeah, well, I hate it." I flick a seed at him. "I want to follow my heart, like humans are meant to."
He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "Georgie, humans are meant to support the community. That's how we keep growing even when we're buried down here. We do this together, right? As a family."
As if I have any idea what I'm meant to say to that. I don't even want to think about my future. I shove a piece of moonfruit in my mouth and slouch further down in my seat, dreading the inevitable confrontation with Dad. Dumas is right. I have to think of something before it all blows up, but my heart has no easy answers.

———

One thing that will always be true about living in the bunker: nothing's ever easy.
Dumas says he'll cover for me when he eventually heads back to work, leaving me alone with my dissected fruit. Head resting on my hands, I gaze at the painted purple meadow covering the walls. Everyone in the bunker knows about Dario's struggle, how he was torn between what he believed in and what would help the community. He found a compromise, didn't he? I see it every day in the murals adorning the bunker walls. There's always a compromise to be found.
My family and my dream are both important to me, so there must be a way to keep them both. I push the fruit pulp around the table, lining the pieces up like crops.
And then it occurs to me—
If I can find a way to grow the two crops together to suit each other, I might be able to increase both crops' diversity and resilience. I have enough notes about selective moonfruit breeding floating around in my head, and Dad's brain is filled with potato knowledge. We don't have to butt heads, we can work together. I jump to my feet, hands slamming against the table. People look my way, but I don't care. I'm gonna be the best dang farmer this bunker's ever seen.

We are all of us walking through a dream. Reality is vague, as undefined as the old murals fading from the bunker walls. Time is fake, we never see the sun nor the moon. The world is surreal, because what really exists outside the bunker?
Wanting to answer that question is why I'm here right now, picking the lock to get into the council archives. If our leaders aren't going to acknowledge our questions, then someone has to find the answers. That someone is me and Tove. She's keeping watch, but that doesn't stop her from glancing over her shoulder to hiss,
"Are you done yet?"
"Give me a second," I say. The lock clicks. I give her a smug grin. "See?"
"Took long enough," she says. She pushes past me, slipping through into the archives. I follow her, silently closing and locking the door behind us. After seconds of cursing and wall-slapping, Tove hits the light switch.
As the overhead lights flicker on, the disuse of the archives becomes clear. Dust covers every surface of a room that's almost a broom closet. A single shelf filled with data discs stands next to the biggest shock of all: a computer. A computer! I haven't seen a working computer in years.
Tove's less impressed. She slides onto the filthy seat in front of the monitor, rolling her eyes at my surprise.
"You're so cute," she says.
"Not all of us work with computers all day," I say. I don't want to sound sulky, but I do anyway. She looks up at me as the computer beeps to life, forehead creased.
"You know our technology is dying, right? We've run out of resources to build components."
"That's why you're here, isn't it?" I ask.
"Not the only reason." She flashes her teeth. "I want to know when we're getting out, too."
"You can find it, right?" A stupid question. Of course she can.
I don't know how long we spend checking all the data discs, Tove hunting through the computer for even a hint of what we're looking for. Again and again, the same result: data corrupted. Data corrupted. Data corrupted.
"How can everything be corrupted?" I groan in frustration, taking the last disc from Tove and slotting it back in with the rest. "It makes no sense."
"No," she says, leaning back. "It makes plenty of sense. Don't you get it?"
"Get what?" I ask. I can't help it, I'm getting mad. "There's nothing to find! They hid it all from us. We still don't know anything."
"No!" She rises up and grabs my shoulders. "Spud, don't you see? It's not just us—they don't know anything either. Our leaders, the people dictating our lives, none of them actually have the answers. All of our history has been lost. Nobody knows when we're meant to leave!"
"Oh. Oh. Oh!" I grip her shoulders in return, mind reeling. "We have to tell someone."
I see the change in her the moment the words leave my mouth. She takes my hands and eases my grasp, suddenly far too quiet.
"Do we?" she asks. Almost silent. "We don't know how people will react. No wonder the council hasn't told us anything. They're probably terrified we'll panic and destroy everything."
"Why shouldn't we?" I wave my arms at the ceiling "We're buried down here. We don't know anything. Maybe we should riot."
Her fingers wrap around my wrist, tight. She pulls my face close, eyes serious.
"We're alive, aren't we? The people left up there, they aren't. But we are."
"We don't know that," I say. She narrows her eyes, nostrils flared.
"Then tell me, what are you going to do?"

———

"What are you going to do?" I snap at Tove. She scowls. Gestures at the computer.
"Since this is useless without the data, I'm going and butcher it to fix our audio equipment." Which means she's going to take apart the one thing that proves our lost history. That only gives me limited time to get the message out before the past is gone forever.
Which gives me an idea. A terrible idea. Tove is going to hate me.
"Can I help with the repairs?" I ask. She raises her eyebrows.
"You really want to help out? Really?"
"Yeah, I'm serious. Can I go grab your kit for you or something?"
She hesitates. Draws out her words. "Sure. Okay."
"I figured you'd want to keep messing around with this thing." I wave at the computer. "You know, before you crack it open."
She grins. "Of course. Thanks, Spud."
"No worries. Be back soon." I give her a joking salute and crack open the door to look for any potential witnesses. There's not a soul to be seen. I slip into the hall, but before I close the door Tove gives me a hard look.
"Don't do anything stupid," she says. A cold shiver goes down my spine.
"I would never," I say. The door clicks shut and I take a deep, steadying breath. I head down the hall, in the opposite direction to Tove's workshop. Guilt bubbles in my gut. If I told Tove what I'm going to do, she'd do everything in her power to stop me. But, the people need to know the truth.
We all deserve the truth.

I should have known better than to trust Spud. While I've been here pilfering parts for the radio, he's been out preaching his precious truth to the entire bunker. Some truth that is; it does us no good to know there is no end to all of this.
There must be someone else out there. We can't be the only people left. I have to believe that, because to believe anything else is too much to bear. If nothing else, humanity is stubborn. We see the proof of that in how our ancestors used alien fruit to save the potato crops from a blight. I feel it in the very existence of our bunker and the painted landscapes fading from the metal walls. There's colour and life here.
Nobody looks twice at me carrying my hoard of electronics back to my workshop. I'm only Tove doing my weird mechanic thing, after all. I hear whispers as I pass small groups of people. Everyone's talking about the archive news already. Word spreads fast down here.
I lock myself in my workshop. No distractions, not now. Hands tremble as I open up the communications equipment and get to work. My soldering is messy, but it'll get the job done. Times like this I miss my old stereo with its heavy guitar music. I can't waste resources patching it back up these days. Instead, I sing what I remember of the songs to stay focused.
When I click the front panel back into place, I find that I can't bring myself to turn on the power. Too many what ifs float around in my mind and I don't want to face any of them.
A knock on the door makes me jump. It's distinctive. Spud's knock.
I begrudgingly let him in. To his credit, he looks contrite and apologetic. Neither of us seem to know what to say, so I wander silently back over to my radio. He stands next to me and we both stare at the inert equipment.
"Have you tried it yet?"
"No." His eyes search my face.
"Never known you to be a scaredy cat," he says. A laugh bubbles out of me at his childish rebuke. "Come on, Tove."
I can't back down now, not in front of Spud, of all people. I take a deep breath and reach out to flick the power on. Nothing happens, continues to happen.
"No!" I slam my hand on the side of the radio, ready to throw the thing at the wall.
At my whack, the radio bursts to life. We laugh in shock and joy.
I grab the microphone, ignoring my shaking hands.
"Is anyone out there?" I ask.
In reply: silence. Spud leaps to action, tuning the frequency as I repeat my plea into the void. Is anyone there? Are you out there? Please, someone, anyone, be there.
Silence. Silence. More silence.
I look at Spud and he looks at me.
"There's nobody else," I say. The truth, Spud's truth, hits me so suddenly that I feel hot tears welling in my eyes. "It's just us."
"No just about it," he says. "It's us. We're together, all of us." He gently pries my hand from the microphone and holds it. When did he get so mature and brave?
"You know what this means, right?"
I nod, too emotional to speak. It means that there are no other choices to be made now. We're going back to the surface.
It's time to see the world again.

———

Things move fast once the decision is made. I let Spud pull me along, bouncing around in his wake. I've never seen him so filled with purpose before, it gives me hope that we're going to be okay at the end of all this. Even when the silence over the airwaves screams louder than the commotion of the bunker; even when the arguments flare; and even when the elevator creaks and groans on the long ride up to the highest chamber, labelled "Atrium".
Spud bounces on his heels at my side, radiating glee as the elevator doors ding open. Our little group is greeted by a dim room barely illuminated by small strips of red light. The ceiling glints in the feeble light like glass, except it's a dead black. I give Spud a sidelong glance, because for a heartbeat I'm terrified that we're looking up at an empty sky.
The light flickers and the whole room bursts to life. Bright white replaces red and the glass above us shimmers, crackling into a glitching panorama of a sky filled with stars and artifacted nebulae. Not windows, but a magical glass dome showing us what lies beyond. Gasps and nervous whispers ripple through the group. My tinkering is nothing compared to this, I'm just a toddler playing in the dirt. I clutch my chest, my heart dropping.
Spud elbows me. "Hey, don't get distracted. The real sky is so close."
"I know." I take a shaky breath. "I'm just realising how little I really know. How little we know. We're not going to have anything like this out there, assuming going outside doesn't kill us in the first place. We don't have any resources. We don't have anything!"
"We'll figure it out," Spud says, ever the optimist. "Humanity's done it before, why not a second time?" I gesture begrudgingly, but I'm not sure Spud realises the realistic timeframe of learning everything we used to know.
We lead our little group into the airlock, listening with baited breath as it whirrs and hisses. I hope desperately that these are good sounds, but I have no clue. I reassure everyone that we'll be fine. I don't think they believe me.
The heavy bulkhead door clicks, and Spud and I push it open together.
Sunlight—real, warm, velvety sunligh—streams into the dusty airlock. We emerge, blinking, into a new world. Nobody suffocates, or burns up, or floats off into the ether. There's grass beneath our feet, and a wide open sky over our heads. Wind dances across our skin, fresh and sweet. Spud whoops and hollers, sprinting out into a meadow of flowers with me on his heels. We're jumping and laughing and suddenly I'm singing, belting half-remembered lyrics into the wonderful unknown.
After a time, more people emerge from the bunker to find us dancing and yelling, and they join us, too. Spud's right. We'll figure it out, because we belong out here in the open.
Above us stretches a big, beautiful sky. We're home.