Most people were afraid of space, of the idea of drifting into eternal emptiness. But only when Hepsa looked over the rails of the Odessa did she feel like she wasn’t drowning. There really wasn’t anything bad about space. The dragon lung kept the air near, and every sailor who worked on the upper decks wore a tether around their waist.

Behind her, the chart officer raised his oil lamp and placed a suitcase at her feet. “You ought to be wearing your suit.” Devad placed his hand on her shoulder and she felt his dragonskin suit against her olive skin.

Hepsa groaned and pushed him away. “It’s not cold enough for it,” she said. “Besides, the Odessa’s eye shields us from the Sickness.”

“Well, I’ll be burned. Too good for precaution, young lady?” He pressed his voice to sound sterner. “Nova Quattor alone is one of the brightest stars in the Cluster. Should the dragon’s eye fail, the ship’s hulls will not avail bare skin against the light. Speak nothing of the Sickness.”

Hepsa drew a sharp breath. Five decades she had spent aboard the Odessa, and though she spent most of it preserved in Sleep, she had hoped the passing years meant Devad had led the captain astray. She looked at the old man. Sailors could spend as little as a month awake during a decade of sailing. Devad was in his mid-sixties and had spent “his entire adult life” on one ship or another. His body must’ve survived centuries.

“Did you come on your own, or did the captain name you my sitter today?” She asked as she stripped off her pants, pulling the dark red suit up her legs and over her back. The dragonskin stretched over her corset and clung to her tightly, at least making it simple to wrap her tether back around her waist.

Devad laughed. “Your father always expects us to look after you. And why not? We’re happy to do it.”

The planks beneath his feet croaked as he led Hepsa back down to the crew quarters. “You should be glad to see a planet soon. Space is no place to raise a girl.”

“I’ve had sixteen years,” she replied.

“And how many of those have you had with people your own age? How long has it been since you were in school?”

Hepsa scoffed at the idea of those two things. Peers and school had done nothing but drive her from her home, or the places she thought could become a home. And for what? A lack of faith?

“Don’t give me that,” Devad said, his old eyes still experienced enough to read the impertinence of her expression. “I thought so too, when I was a boy. It took years for me to learn otherwise, that a man can do little if he does not have the knowledge for it.”

Hepsa shot him a challenging look. “I can—” Distracted, she grunted as she hit her head on the deck above the stairs. “I can do arithmetic and algebra, and I can read a star chart as well as any sailor.”

“Maybe so, but there’s more to the Cluster than summing numbers and tacking a ship along orbits. Your father wants more than a sailor’s life for you.”

His words only made her feel more adrift. Whatever that life was, she could not imagine it. Ever since the Inquest, the Odessa was her only constant home.

She had scarcely entered her cabin when the ship began to lurch. The sudden motion was the first Hepsa had felt in years, and though it was a light thrust, her legs nearly buckled.

“Fasten down,” Devad commanded her, though she didn’t need to be told twice. Even from inside the ship, she could see the glow of the dragon wings as the boatswains ignited them with stardust. Though the bones of the star dragon had been greatly carved and reshaped to fit on the side of a galleon, each was still as wide as the ship was long and left a spreading gold trail behind them as the Odessa moved into orbit around Nova Quattor.

And so, knowing the power behind the wings, Hepsa jumped into her flight seat, a firm wooden bench with dragonskin belts, so that Devad could be assured and secure himself. She closed her eyes and steeled herself for the weight that would come.

It had been postulated by natural philosophers that even light had limits to its motion, based on asynchronous reports of supernovas. The only objects to ever seem to come close to the motion of light were the star dragons born from such novas. If that were the case, then Hepsa could only imagine the kind of force it could apply. For orbital manoeuvres, they needed only a fraction of the wings’ power, but even a fraction was incredible.

By the time the wings folded, allowing the ship to cruise along at their set speed, Hepsa felt a sizeable impression left on her suit where the dragonskin strap had held her in place. It was worse than her first time, but even now, she envied the sailors who were allowed to take the Dragon’s Sleep during orbit entries.

Her chest felt like it had been crushed by a dozen hammers, only for her heart to make her feel as if it was near to bursting.

“Captain wanted to speak with you before you take the Sleep.” Devad walked out of his cabin while she was still recovering. Despite being over sixty, the old man hardly seemed fazed.

Hepsa snorted. “To remind me to behave myself when we land, I’m sure.”

“Would that be so difficult? To not throw a fit in church?”

“I don’t throw fits!” Hepsa bit her lip after she heard herself. “I don’t see why I have to watch my tongue. It’s not like anyone on this ship keeps the faith.”

“Oh, but we do,” Devad shrugged, “well, ‘least when church bells ring and the Inquest comes a-knocking. Maybe they’re right, maybe they're wrong, but I’m not going to be the one who blasphemes against Novoastrianism, especially not in front of a Watchful Sister.”

He then smiled and placed his hand over her shoulder. “Come on, give it another go. Shore leave’ll do you good, even if it’s only for a few months.”

Hepsa almost gasped, imagining spending months under a Watchful Sister’s eyes, being caned by the lectoress, and listening to a pastor every Middle Day as if any of what they said was true.

Footsteps walked in from the other end of the cabin deck. Before she even turned, Devad’s quick salute told Hepsa who it was. She turned to face her father.

“Safe as houses, Itham,” Devad said with crossed arms.

Her father, a man of forty, nodded. “See you in port. Sleep well.” Devad gave a courtesy salute and returned to his cabin.

“The boatswains took their doses already,” her father said as soon as they were alone. He produced two vials filled with a fluorescent red fluid, dragon’s blood, and winked at her. “We’ve some time before we’ll need to take the Dragon’s Sleep. How about a game of darts before we Sleep?”

“If I win, can we keep sailing afterwards?”

Her father gave her a solemn chuckle. “We’ll be in orbit for a year before we reach Delta Phi. Let’s just take our mind off of it.”

Hepsa’s voice sank with her mood. “As if it’s that easy.”