Blackbridge, Pomorum (Just Shy of 60 Lightyears from Sol) - February 9th, 2554 CE.

The datapad shoved into her hand moments ago displayed a messenger app. Line after line in the DM was nearly identical- Message Deleted (Not Delivered)- differentiated by dates that placed them months apart. Above those cobwebs, the last message received was years old.

Marfisa, her tired eyes and tangled hair illuminated by the dim glow of the pad, knew those weren’t the messages her friends wanted to show her. They had explained in a rush, and she was barely awake, but she thought the context could be useful. She scrolled to where a new message, received unprompted, began the exchange she was intended to read.

M3MicaMesa: Hey, Kiran! Still alive out there?

KiranDromeda: What the fuc.k are u?


M3MicaMesa: Yeah! Sorry it's been so long. I physically could not reach out. Got a brief chance to, just now! I kinda went out of my way for this.

She noticed that the next message was sent minutes after the last. Kiran must have put a lot of thought and care into its composition.

KiranDromeda: ok. sure. why now? what'sup?


M3MicaMesa: There's something that I want to tell you! Can youuu promise me not to freak out?


KiranDromeda: no. if u say some shit about love Im freaking out and not texting u back


M3MicaMesa: Kk, it's not that. Promise? <3

KiranDromeda: its 5 am here


M3MicaMesa: Yeah, and you texted me back right away at first, so I know you were up this late again~.

KiranDromeda: fuck. fine

Marfisa hadn’t been up this late. She looked up from the datapad, across her flat from her seat on the bed in which she should be sleeping at this hour. Across was a strong word for the distance she drew her gaze, given the size of the hab made up in total about the square footage of one decent kitchen. Her friend Kiran, whose frame managed to make the place look even smaller, laid on the floor as they rested in a daze. This was far from the first time they had come by in the middle of the night with one emergency or another. The worst of such episodes often required not just Marfisa’s counsel, but the support of another shared friend. Or, family. Or whatever their mess should be called. This whatever, Acre, shifted uncomfortably on the hab’s chair, marking this as one of those episodes. Seeing him so disheveled was rare, and anyone who knew her close knew it was akin to seeing a wounded animal who was struggling too much to hide its injury. Back to the message log, to see what was falling apart this time.

M3MicaMesa: Okay. Respond after this so I know you got it. That freighter I signed on with got picked up by the Affini Compact. I didn't get the chance to text, but I'm okay now.

KiranDromeda: ??

M3MicaMesa: ?

KiranDromeda: im not sending you money, idc if ur lying or someone got ur pad info for this

M3MicaMesa: Kiran, please. Ask me things I would know. You literally always talked dirt about time travel plots and said you'd believe me. I know you didn't block me anyways, bet you're way too bored to ;)

Marfisa turned from the screen, still too bright in a dark hab. “Time travel,” she groaned through a mouth that still tasted of morning grit; the first words she had gotten in edgewise since being woken up. No response came, and she looked up to see Kiran blank-faced. She knew the way they dissociated far too well, including the panic only ever allowed to seep through their façade for the close friends they had present now.

Acre took notice, kicking their rib to secure their attention. “She’s at the part with your sex life.”

“Probably not that far, I actually stopped at the time travel part, like you said.”

More aggrieved than embarrassed around these two, they slunk over to pull the datapad aside and scrolled past a prodigious length of texts. Marfisa was allowed to read again.

KiranDromeda: alright. I guess I believe u. lets say I believe you. how did u get away?

M3MicaMesa: [a single emoji with a truly impeccable, impenetrable expression.]

KiranDromeda: ????

M3MicaMesa: I didn't, mate! And I'm okay, like I said. Actually better but I thought you might believe okay!

KiranDromeda: maybe. gratz, i guess. i. am I supposed to do. anything? is that all? ur more ok than dead?

M3MicaMesa: You're just supposed to listen. I can't say a lot more, but I got permission to reach out, because...I wanted to tell you something else, and it would go a lot better for you if you don't freak out!

KiranDromeda: .

M3MicaMesa: Sooo, I saw you're still on Pomorum. The Compact is landing there soon, and that means you'll be okay soon! Just don't freak out. Keep away from navy or security or whatever. You're gonna do great :)

Marfisa paused. She had to reread several texts already, but she couldn’t seem to parse this. Couldn’t stop scanning over it nor get her still-awakening brain to keep hold of it.

The Compact is landing there,

Pomorum.

The Compact is landing there,

don’t freak out.

The Compact is landing there.

She bristled with anxiety. She had been brining in anxiety, but that was the constant twinge that normally accompanied her, agitated by the knowledge something was wrong and needed fixing implied by her found family’s nocturnal visit. Sadly, the new, concrete, utterly overwhelming anxiety that dropped her heart through her stomach with a cold chill did not scare off her regular variety, and they seemed to coexist perfectly well as they ravaged her mind in concert.

The Compact is landing there soon.

She looked between her friends, searching for answers.

“Did you finish?” Kiran asked, now attentive.

“…no, just. The…” She tried, and couldn’t say it. “You’re gonna do great. Just got there.”

They nodded, their face seemingly too tired to get any more somber but the context not lost on them. “Almost there.”

KiranDromeda: i guess ill call out of work. lol.
     i
     .I dont care if I believe you. wtf do I do?

M3MicaMesa: If you wanna take it slow, just don't be a stranger! It might get a little weird, but please don't try to hurt them. And much more importantly, don't try to hurt yourself!
     Oh, but if you want my actual advice!! Say hi as soon as possible :)
     Actually, I'll just send you the coordinates where the ambassador welcoming committee thing for Blackbridge is setting up. The best best thing you can do is probably go there early, as long as its safe! You'll be okay eventually, one way or another, but they can help fastest if you do that!

That last flurry of messages were sent rapidly. Marfisa never knew this particular fling, but the tone kept her on edge, especially after checking it against the years-old messages. She struggled to find any clue how this enthusiasm fit in, and no further rationale was offered. As she scrolled back down, the subject at hand asserted itself in the forefront of her mind.

The Compact is landing there soon.

     So yeah. I bet it'd be really impressive if you showed up before they even announced their arrival tomorrow!!!

KiranDromeda: i cant. i dont even know if this is real
     the messages.
     im probably seeing shit again! gr8 I have to show this to someone
     will this be here if I show this to someone?

M3MicaMesa: Yeah! Just, please only do that if they're cool. No officers, and nobody that would hurt you, okay?

KiranDromeda: sure. ok
     I really hope you're okay

M3MicaMesa: I am. I always will be <3

The pad’s screen refused to pan any lower. The last message arrived 27 minutes ago, scarcely enough time for the journey between habs, two people to read the log, and one half of a conversation to have already taken place.

So, Marfisa steadied her voice. Best option that came to mind to ground herself. “I read it. That was pretty upsetting. Kiran, what can I do for you?” Her friend needed help. That was the problem she knew was real, and the one she might be able to fix.

“I don’t think you can? We figured out it’s not a hallucination or a fucked up dream, so that’s.” They shake their head, ending the thought without elaborating on how it is. “I’m only panicking a…manageable amount. Call it that. What do you think about the…it? The it all. The that.” They wave their hand at the pad, still running on no sleep.

“I think it’s…a lot to take in.” Her head was messily compiling a flow chart, the ways this could have happened, the things that it could mean. She couldn’t tell whether her grounded self or anxieties held her throat tighter, but she was on the verge of choking up. “Were you going to listen to it and go there? Do you think it’s real?”

Kiran climbed up and slumped onto the bed next to where Marfisa sat. “Maybe. No. But I checked with Acre, and she said it’s real, but also it’s probably fake, so I definitely shouldn’t wander off alone.”

Acre, for his part, finally spoke up. “Of course you shouldn’t. I also really don’t think anyone should go. I also don’t think there’s any gods forsaken plants here, and I also think if there were they would be lying and eat you, and I also think that isn’t deterring you.”

“Yeah. I get it. Guilty.”

The room fell silent, in the way that those used to hearing overworked ventilators consider silence, before Marfisa spoke up. “That’s solid. Why did y’all come to me? …unless you brought your backpacks to crash on the floor, in case anything happens tomorrow. I do not have bedspace for either of you, and I’m not keen on trading it. I can deal with a sleepover.”

Kiran, still wearing their ratty sleepwear and dust-caked shoes, gave a taut sarcastic smile and pointed at their hooded and unamused companion without leaning up. Acre glowered in return. “I got their sorry butt to stop by saying I would come with them, but only if I had a vote, and my vote to stay the fuck away cancelled theirs out. So you’re supposed to take my side and tell us to go the heck to bed.”

“But you’re considering this half-seriously? Yea or nay?”

Kiran, not bothering to hesitate, “Yeah.”

Acre, not bothering to hurry, “I guess. I guess I have to. …why?”

“’Cause I’m gonna consider this half-seriously too, then. If your excuse is to use me as a tie-breaker, then I get to say. Let’s just…analyze it. I have no idea how to gauge whether this could really be your, uh…friend.”

“Top. A couple times.”

“Fine. No way to gauge if this is true, either. Or if the weed part is true, and the being okay is a lie. Or, I guess…if the weed part isn’t true, and this guy went and became a pirate or something, and going here is gonna get us jumped by pirates.” A grim pause fell across the room, before one friend after another began chuckling.

“Okay, probably not pirates. They know you don’t have jack shit. If we left our pads here, we’d have nothing worth the weight of taking. …besides us.” Laughter froze. Another grim pause.

“Joke. What the fuck kinda corp would want someone that went for plants as bait? They can just take whatever out of us. Without the pirates. Like they don’t already.” A stray chuckle filled the space, but Marfisa’s mind dwelled on the improbable danger of human captors outside the legal systems and corporate structure. With none of them being cis…

“I really don’t think that’s likely. But like, I guess it could be pirates angling to sell you to weeds.” Grim silence, but the grimness was wearing tired and thin, and her visitors looked at Marfisa in unison as if they could see through the stroke of paranoia still talking.

“…so pretty low on the flowchart of them being pirates. Gotta cost more to come in-atmo than they could get on a phone scam. Then, other paths…if it’s a prank, just a spent night. If it’s…if it’s really plants, new flowchart. All that one does is pick whether we find out how they eat us tonight, tomorrow, or whenever we stop running.”

The Compact is landing here soon.

Marfisa paused, breathing deeply. It didn’t seem to catch, and she began square breathing until it did. She couldn’t be freaking out more than her friends that needed her right now. Her mind would barely let her focus on the thoughts she spun into concrete words. It was trying to follow the flow chart in so many ways that she had no chance to focus on the tangled roots it formed, miring her in anxieties new and old. At least since she knew that about herself, she could compensate, she lied.

The sudden, soft sensation of an old and well-loved plushie being shoved into her arms helped break her downwards spiral. Acre sat back down across the room. She wasn’t sure whether she wished her face didn’t display her thoughts so prominently without permission. “...Backpacks. Y’all seriously brought them, in case you decided to go?”

“Yup.”

“I…they had one. So, got mine. Why?”

“Lots of reasons why not. Said all the useful ones, probably. Reasons for why, though…worst that could happen probably isn’t that bad, or probably would happen even if we ignored it. Very little chance anything good would happen, that’s basically a nonfactor. But it would be interesting, and neither of any of us is gonna sleep again I bet, and Kiran would go look without chaperones without telling us if we don’t.”

They winced. “Fuck off, dude, I…shit.” They resigned to the ordeal of being known.

In another expected response, Acre fumed, and Marfisa started to worry she might boil over. “I…I love y’all. This is stupid as hell! Kiran, this is self harm again! Going off to some dangerous place where you could get shanked, or way worse, is that!” Marfisa’s heart sank as he wheeled around on her next. “…and you’re good at everyone’s mental health shit besides your own, mostly, but this can’t be the best way to stop them. You do not have a good history of betting your life away on a bullshit scam, either! Your fucking college-”

Marfisa cut her off with an extraordinarily unbefitting glare.

University made a lot go wrong, but that was heading somewhere that really didn’t help any of them right now. Marfisa may have been able to spark her stress into anger, but the anxiety was not clean burning. Simply putting on that face burned her just as much as Acre might have. Already burning. Might as well use the energy.

Marfisa stood up, her footfalls and the creak of a broken bed fracturing the filtration-noise patterned silence.

“I vote we go. If we think something shady is up, we leave, and that has to be good enough for all of us-” her eyes pointed at Kiran, who regained expressiveness only long enough to muster a pitiful face reading ‘Fair, but hey!’

“Don’t bring your pads. Or anything expensive. Just…whatever you want to, in case of anything. How…how about this? If we run into any kind of trouble, follow my lead, even if I can’t talk it down.” Who did she think she was, acting like she could handle herself any better than them to make that kind of promise? “Just a decision tree. Like I said before. There’s a snowball’s chance on Earth that it’s pirates, and if it is, we just give them our shit and talk our way out. If it’s…”

The Compact is coming here soon.

“…if it’s some real weird shit, follow my lead, and if I get eaten you can say ‘told you so’ while you run. Most likely, nothing’s there, we get a weird night walk and a weird story about your weird fucking texts and our weird fucking night.”

Talking her family through was a lot easier than talking to bloodthirsty pirates or bloodthirsty xenos, or herself. She went in for a weird little hug, laying one arm on the prone Kiran and reaching to offer the other to Acre. He took it, and Marfisa lingered, trying to siphon some of the uneasy calm she’d produced for them.

“I could seduce a pirate,” murmured Kiran. “Win his heart, gain favor until I become his first mate. Fuck my way around rest of the ship and stage a mutiny, become the pirate lord. Lord of the pirates,” the largest of the three mumbled. “…maybe I just make the one I’m fucking pirate lord and become his queen, or- ow.”

They cut out with a sharp kick from Acre. Marfisa smiled. Even if she couldn’t steal back the calm she gave her family, she had no choice in letting them share their weird little calm back.

“I still need to pack. Gonna send a couple texts. Grab some water while y’all are here.”

She moved slowly, her focus frayed as she combed branches of the decision tree she had hastily visualized. Only vague notions of likelihood and outcome gave it any shape. Message fake, nothing there; likely, good. Message fake, pirates; unlikely, pretty bad. Message real, message false, plants there; extremely unlikely, worse than worth considering.

She dwelled on the path she hadn’t bothered to say out loud. Message real, message true, the Compact is landing there soon. She had seen more pieces of the plants’ propaganda than your average person that didn’t look it up. She tried to shrink the chance, consider it to be infinitesimally unlikely. She rubbed her eyes, as if she could smudge the outcome and stop thinking about it without committing to a stray thought.

The Compact is landing there soon, and that means you’ll be okay.