It doesn’t fit with the normal growth pattern, but Gaians are always fiddling in their labs, so it’s not impossible they developed something to speed it up. I hope not, though. If the crop failed, it could double the profit on our legal cargo.

After the barren fields come the statues. As soon as I spot the glossy black protuberance of one poking out of a bank covered in deep red moss, my stomach flips.

As a child I avoided the Primus ruins, as seeing them from afar was enough to make every hair on my body stand up at once. The first time I saw one up close, I was about five years old, playing a game of tag with Corvus. I ran from him, fast and reckless as I always was, and back then my body was made of knees and elbows and too-big feet. A trip sent me tumbling all the way down a grassy hill, knocking my knee against something hard on the way down. At the bottom of the hill I sat up, head spinning and knee strangely cold, and turned to come face-to-faceless with a huge, tentacled statue. I sobbed the whole way back to the ship, clinging to Corvus’s hand.

I shake my head, trying to push away both the feeling that the statue is staring at me and the memory of my brother.

Once we reach the outskirts of Levian, the architecture gets a lot more human. But unfortunately, it also gets a lot more Gaian. Their buildings are angular and severe, metal glossed to annoyingly reflective perfection. It almost hurts to look at the shiny buildings and the glimmering solar panels lining the rooftops. The windows all have their blinds pulled down to block out the constant light.

Though Fortuna will always be my home, I usually enjoy trips planet-side. I can appreciate the novelty of Nibiru’s endless ocean or Deva’s tangled black jungles, find beauty in the wild frontiers of Pax or the vast tundra of Titan. But Gaia… not only are creepy alien ruins far more abundant here than anywhere else, but my memories of the place flood back regardless of my attempts to drink them away. Memories of an empty stomach and Momma’s long absences, of picking pockets and learning to lie. And most of all, memories of Corvus. Corvus teaching me to hold my breath as I ran past the statues so I’d be less scared, bandaging my hands after I scraped them escaping from the law-enforcers, giving me the last bite of food.

I grimace and bang a fist on the side of the hovercraft.

“Let’s land,” I shout to Drom. “We’ll walk the rest of the way.” I’m eager to get moving. It’ll help get me out of my head, and anyway, flying this thing through Levian’s narrow streets is always a nightmare.