Declination

The fog was like cool fingers on her face, a knuckle caress over the swell of her cheek. It sat heavy on her tongue—damp, cellar-thick, something she couldn’t swallow.

In front of her, the rocky surface dropped off into a nothingness that was just misty and white. The bottom far, far below. To her right: a bridge.

She blew out a breath.

The scuff of Jyn’s boots was loud in the silence as he stepped up next to her. In her periphery, she watched him turn to look over his shoulder. He looked almost sorrowful as he regarded their ship, its indicator lights barely visible through the mist.

Sighing heavily, he said, “It amazes me, really, how terrible you are at parking.”

Peri shot him a baleful look.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He raised a dark eyebrow at her. The corner of his mouth twitched, eyes dancing with amusement as he tried to suppress a grin. “We had to climb down a sheer cliff face—we’ll need to climb back up, mind you—all for you to tell me we need to cross that.”

Without looking away from her, Jyn pointed a thumb towards the bridge in question.

The handles were thick, some sort of rope. Strung horizontal and between the two sides were planks spaced about half a meter across. They were made up of something flat, distinctly not wood. They looked like rhodium with a matte polish—a near-white color to them that didn’t shine, but was close enough to the mist to blur the edges.

The whole thing swung in the breeze.

Not heavy, then, she thought, purposely steering her mind away from whether not heavy also meant sturdy.

The back half disappeared into nothing somewhere over the gap. She didn’t know what was on the other side—just that getting there was something she wanted with her every cell.

“I didn’t want to risk the fog,” she said, finally. Half-truth.

“Ah, that makes sense.” Jyn nodded. “The best scientists on our planet created the most groundbreaking scanning equipment known to man. So sensitive it could find a grub in mud if all the light had been sucked out of the cosmos. But, yes. Let’s not risk a little fog.”

Peri frowned. “We have no idea what’s in there.”

His grunt was noncommittal. Behind his thick glasses, his green eyes scanned her face, smile falling slowly.

Something about the way he swayed toward her made her think of unstable orbit.

Imperceptibly, he shook his head, shoved his hands in the pockets of his flight suit. “Are you sure this is something you want to do?” he asked, suddenly serious. “Those coordinates are sketchy at best. There’s no guarantee we’ll find anything. The atmosphere is sustainable, we can breathe, but the little we know has no expected variance. We’re flying blind. Is this really so important?”

Peri looked toward the bridge, at the place where it disappeared into a hazy wall of white.

Sketchy at best was an understatement, and Peri bit the inside of her cheek to keep the guilt from rising to her face. Truthfully, she’d been dreaming of these numbers for as long as she could remember.

First, it had been simple: latitude and longitude. -30, 113.01.

Except, that didn’t really match up to coordinates on a non-spherical space station. She’d checked. A large part of her had known before she’d gone searching as a teenager—the flavor of the numbers didn’t fit the place she lived. She didn’t know how she knew; just did.

Then, something in her bones told her the time. Twenty-two hours, fifty-six minutes. It had sat firmly in her molars like a cavity until she’d turned to the window—looked to space.

Whatever planet was on the end of that time had answers for her.

The rest came when she’d asked Jyn for help three months ago. He hadn’t hesitated, just asked her for the declination.

Negative thirty-eight degrees, she’d said automatically, like she’d known her whole life. Forty-four seconds.

Peri dug the toe of her boot into the uneven, rocky surface; dropped her gaze.

It was real. That alone made it worth it—but it still wasn’t enough.

The wind pulled gentle fingers through her loose hair as she said, “I can’t leave without knowing what I’m supposed to find.”

She lifted her face to Jyn.

His eyes were too soft for the casual shrug he gave her in response.

“Incredibly vague, but I had no pressing plans.” He gestured ahead of them. “Let’s not waste time. There’s a chasm to dangle ourselves over.”

At the bridge, she didn’t hesitate.

Her foot was halfway from the first plank when she was yanked back by the collar of her jumpsuit. With an oof she landed on her backside.

Jyn glared at her.

“What was that for?” she asked, indignant, wiping gravel from her hands.

He opened his mouth to say something, then rubbed his temples.

Muttering, “Orphans,” he placed a careful foot on the first plank. “No common sense.”

He tapped it first—the material making a hollow, almost tinny tap, tap, tap. They both held their breath as, slowly, he put his full weight on it.

Peri nearly choked when he jumped on it, the bridge clacking down the length as the whole thing moved in a rolling wave. The sound echoed off the chasm.

“You insufferable idiot,” she hissed. “I have no common sense? What if it broke?”

He made a show of rolling his eyes. “I’d fall to my death and become food for the unknown carnivorous fauna that live in the depths of this pit.” Clearly satisfied that wasn’t the case, he took another step. “Are you coming?”

Scowling, Peri dusted herself off and followed him.

The planks did feel sturdy under her boots, even as her heart leaped to her throat with every step. She held onto the rope handles tight, letting the fibrous material slide roughly against the leather of her glove.

Over Jyn’s shoulder, she could see the approaching white wall of mist. This close it was clear it wasn’t stagnant. It was moving. In and out in a steady pulse; inhale, exhale. Her breathing fell in time with it.

Blindly, he reached back for her—his knuckles coasting over the thick material of her flight suit’s sleeve.

He lingered in her airspace longer than necessary, circling without calling it that.

Her gloved fingers brushed his a moment before he let his arm fall back to his side.

Jyn cleared his throat. “These coordinates, do you know who sent them?” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Did they send anything else?”

“No, it’s just the coordinates.” She didn’t know how much she should say. He was here, he’d offered to come. He wouldn’t leave now if she told him the truth.

They were surrounded by it now, endless white in every direction. Foil caught between her teeth, it tasted like aluminum.

It made her want to give him something true.

“I lied—before. I don’t know who sent them. I just… know.” A thread of mist twisted through her hair, its touch cool against the exposed skin at the base of her neck. “It came in pieces, like the signal had been broken somewhere in space. I only just got the last of it.” Half-truth.

Ahead of her, Jyn tensed. He didn’t turn.

“It sounds stupid, I know.” Peri looked down at her feet. “When you told me the planet was habitable, I thought—”

“You thought you’d find a loving family waiting with open arms after a quick jaunt through space?” The edges of his tone were biting.

She flinched.

His tone so rarely had teeth, it hurt. She wrapped her arms around herself, didn’t think about how long he’d felt this way. Had he only come to dry her tears if this ended with nothing?

Like he’d felt it, the sway of the bridge changed as his steps slowed, as hers were forced to.

He sighed. “I’m sorry. My family has always been—”

“Present?” she snapped, the barbed edges of it dragging over her tongue.

Still, his head bobbed on a nod, pace resuming. “Yeah.”

They’d been present for her, too—she couldn’t forget that. They cheered for her in equal measure, pinning on her wings at graduation with the same watery, proud smiles they’d given him.

Guilt gnawed her ire, made quick work of it.

“They’re pretty great,” she murmured into the silence, her breath stirring the mist that had only creeped in closer.

She could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “They are.”

Comfortable silence smoothed out the wrinkles, just the tinny tap of their careful footsteps between them.

Somewhere above, a creature cried, its calls echoing through the unseen walls of the chasm.

Peri looked up, eyes straining against white for the hope of a shadow.

I wish I could see it, she thought.

Like an answer, the cry came again—closer. The flap of what could only be wings and the rope under her right hand shook, then settled.

She turned, felt Jyn turn, too.

Behind them was a creature of flight.

Covered in milky white fur it looked like a chip of mist. It had landed on the rope, feet a zygodactyl structure, pale talons curled firmly around its circumference. It perched there easily, even as the rope swayed.

For a long moment it regarded them with eyes like pearls; a golden luster, like dewy mornings planetside. Then the creature shook, wings fluttering. When it looked at them again, it blinked, inner eyelid retracting to reveal vibrant yellow eyes.

Peri gasped, delighted.

It cried once before taking off, gliding smoothly under the bridge before disappearing.

Jyn leaned cautiously over the side to watch it go, murmuring, “Gorgeous.”

The wind picked up, insistent.

Resuming their careful steps over the planks, Peri looked up, thought, Thank you.

A single, quiet beep sounded from the display on her suit’s sleeve—a proximity alert. On it, two green dots moved in a steady pace, the geographical lines around them hazy, glitching.

The line dead ahead was blinking out, only to come back different, like a ridgeline that kept changing its mind. But it was the shape beyond that snagged Peri’s gaze. Yellow, it looked like a triangle with a rounded bottom.

It reminded her of an egress on a schematic.

She pressed it without thinking.

Lat: -30

Long: 113.01

Her heart jumped.

Unconsciously she thought, Are you here?

There was a hiccup—a hesitation. The symbol fell away slowly, blinked back once before fading again. The mist twirled around her ankles as she stepped from plank to plank. All around her, she could feel it trill. It was electric—excited.

A whisper rode the breeze. I am, I am, I am.

It could have so easily been her ears playing tricks on her, but something tightened in her chest. The voice felt dangerously familiar.

“You are what?” Jyn asked, half turned.

Peri caught the next plank with just the tip of her boot, slipped. She landed on her knee, her hands grasping the ropes to break her fall. In a heartbeat Jyn’s hands were on her elbows, pulling her to her feet.

“Are you alright?” he asked, breathless.

Peri bit the inside of her cheek, shook her head. “Clumsy,” she said, lamely.

“Why don’t you let me—”

She held up a finger. “Ah, ah. No. I don’t need you to hover like I’m a toddler learning about gravity.” Peri nudged his shoulder. “Go on, mother hen. I’ll do my best not to die without the crutch of your ever watchful gaze.”

Jyn rolled his eyes. “Fine. Don’t fall to your death, I don’t want to drive.”

Peri waited a moment, watching the invisible tether between them unspool, matching his steps when it pulled taut.

It felt like they were climbing uphill now, the strain in her legs shifting from back to front.

Submerged in white, it was disorienting. Fathomless. She thought of old school pilots who flew metal cylinders through cloud cover because they couldn’t get any higher. She had to really put her mind to unclenching her jaw, remind herself that this was worth it.

Apeiron. Apeiron.

She swallowed.

The word formed in her head like some distant memory. It pulled at something. She grasped for it, but it slipped through her fingers like silt.

Apeiron.

“That’s a little dramatic, no?” Jyn asked, briefly slowing to look over his shoulder at her.

Peri flinched. “What?”

“From the Greek,” he continued. The bridge bobbed with their steps. “That which is unlimited, boundless, or infinite. Apeiron.”

A breeze lifted her hair playfully.

Apeiron.

“We haven’t been walking for that long, Peri.” Jyn chuckled, oblivious to the way her steps faltered, then stilled. “If you wanted to not walk, we could have flown. You made this choice, remember?”

He turned, hand reaching for her, only to meet empty air. He frowned at her.

Before he opened his mouth, she said, carefully, “I didn’t say anything.”

Confused, he regarded her for a long moment.

In the silence, Peri couldn’t help but notice how the mist, too, had stilled. Tendrils like fingers seemed to have paused halfway from reaching her. She couldn’t help but feel like she was moments away from spilling a secret that wasn’t wholly hers to share.

Finally, she shook her head, watched her feet as she stepped carefully from plank to plank, closing the distance.

“Forget it,” she said, schooling her features. “This endless white is making me go cross-eyed.”

Jyn grunted, studied her for a moment before saying, “I take back every time I complained about a long mission. At least there was occasional debris.”

Despite her racing heart, she laughed. “Me too.”

The steeper the incline, the more the mist seemed to press in around them. Their pace slowed, the planks blending into where a sea of white circled below. Jyn paused before putting his weight on the next, waiting for the tinny tap, tap of his boot on hard material to echo before trusting it.

It felt like they were walking on air.

In its weight, images, like memories, appeared in her mind. It was a planet like she’d never seen—vast and lush. Gold tipped rolling mountains, forests of trees, branches heavy with plump fruit, shining bronze in the light of a strange sun.

Her mouth watered, like in another life, she knew the taste of the spirit it made—that it tasted better fresh, in the peak of spring when it was underripe, not yet pure gold.

Peri shook herself, gritted her teeth.

From the corner of his eye, Jyn looked at her. Unease was etched in the firm set of his mouth, but he didn’t say anything—his gaze on the next step in front of him.

Tap, tap.

As if it was amused they didn’t trust the step in front of them, there came a cool tap, tap on the tip of her nose, a whispered tap, tap echoing a second later in her head. She could have sworn the tone was mocking.

Out of nowhere came the crunch of loose stone over hard ground.

They both paused, staring at the toe of Jyn’s boot, the pale gray rock barely visible through the haze.

“I really didn’t think that bridge would end,” he muttered under his breath.

Peri jabbed him lightly in the side.

They both stepped from the bridge. All at once the mist seemed to take a step back; stilling like it was waiting for her to see something exciting.

Stone crunched as she stepped forward.

In front of her was a door.

Something tugged in her chest, a steady pull like the attraction of atoms, a buzz in her veins like inevitability. She took another step forward.

Mist rolled toward the gap, unable to resist, as she was. It shifted to gold as it moved through the threshold, shimmering as it touched new light.

Beyond, illuminated in starlight was a rolling mountain range. Two stood tall above the rest—snowcapped, their peaks like hands reaching to cradle the moon. Their names rolled over her tongue; familiar, but she did not speak them. The smell of woodsmoke and something briny drifted to her on a breeze.

Aion.

She nodded, knew the truth of the word.

It was the home in which she came from, the half of herself that had been missing. As a whole, Apeiron.

Everything in the cosmos was made from Apeiron and then destroyed by going back.

Peri looked to Jyn.

Tears rolled freely down his face. She wasn’t sure if he understood, if he saw the door and the boundless world beyond, but he knew it was her choice.

“Peri,” Jyn whispered, voice rough. The plea made her think this hadn’t been the first time he’d said her name. He stuttered on an inhale, took a small step in her direction.

Her gaze drifted back to the door.

Sea air tickled her nose, meat roasting over flame. Her mouth watered. For so long she’d yearned for this.

She tilted her face to the sky. The atmosphere was thin here, in the space beyond the mist. Veiled, but still pulsing in their steady way.

Would the sky still look as she’d always known it if she crossed that threshold? Would she find out too late that it didn’t? She didn’t know if she had the space in her heart to tattoo another universe—another sky. The one above was hers. Could she leave it?

Peri closed her eyes, reached blindly for something inside her that would tell her which step to take. Two tethers rooted her like gravity. She pulled the one that shined the brightest—that held fast the strongest.

The feeling of atmospheric drag in unstable orbit, finally near decay.

She sucked in a breath, chose collision.

Peri crashed into Jyn, his mouth warm on hers. He smiled into her, cheeks wet, like he thought she may not choose him, when they were nothing if not inevitable.