Between the constant noise of the twins and Lyre fumbling with the fishing pole, we didn’t catch any fish. But when we returned to our neighbors, I offered them a story for some of their previous catch. And I told them about a world where there was more land than water, with narrow streets crowded with people and huge alien statues with blank faces; a place with technologies they couldn’t imagine on Nibiru—clocks built into flesh, and comms so small they could be worn around a finger. I don’t think they believed half of it, but they laughed and laughed, and gave us the fish.

And when we got home, Momma was waiting. The twins ran screaming to greet her, followed by Lyre with one of her rare smiles. I stayed where I was, forcing a smile until the little ones disappeared. Once they were gone, I broke into relieved tears. Corvus stayed with me until they passed, wiped my face with his sleeve so Momma wouldn’t see, and we went inside together.

A sharp turn jolts me awake. For a moment I can almost hear the waves, taste the salt-tinged winds. But then the current situation catches up with me and a familiar sour taste rises in the back of my throat. We’re back on Gaia. I sit up, wincing at the growing pressure in my head. Any hints of a pleasant buzz have left my system, leaving nausea and a pulsing headache.

The first thing I see is Lyre, green in the face and clinging to a cargo crate. Pol sits atop a box with a wide grin, his hair blown wild by the wind. Drom is pushing the clunker to its top speed, but thankfully for us and our cargo, it’s not really all that fast.

Ahead of us, the Gaian capital city of Levian looms up, metallic and shimmering. But all around us is…

“What the hell?” I lean over the side to get a better look. I grew up on the outskirts of the city, not far from here. We’re flying over what should be Gaia’s scraggly farmland. Last time we were here, this harvest seemed like it was going to be the best Gaia had managed to produce to date, with tall fields of black corn and dark expanses of budding orchards. Momma grumbled about Leonis’s initiatives being bad for business.

But now, we fly over barren land. The fields are empty. Not just the one directly beneath us, but all of them as far as I can see in every direction. I squint at the dry soil.

“What’s this about?” I yell over the wind, turning to face Lyre.

“No idea,” she yells back. “Maybe they harvested already?”