It was lights-out.

Except tonight, the crew would retire to the dura-chambers. There they would stay for three months before reaching the first jump-point, and hopefully the first planet.

Russ stressed about these details as she finished tightening the last of the chamber straps. Everything about their journey rested on the theoretical, on formulas created by people like Guin.

Forster helped Guin with her straps, hands lingering here and there. She smiled down at him, a secret smile. Russ looked away.

She hoped the pair of them put a quits to the distraction, before she had to say anything.

Jason had already forced her into an awkward position minutes before by trying to kiss her. Perhaps inspired by Tiptree's lurid story about Guin and Forster, Jason caught her by the elbow  on the way the chambers.

"What?"

He tugged her face towards his, until Russ pushed him away.

"No. Just...what are you doing?"

Hurt flashed across his face, but Jason just shrugged.

"You're basically family. I can't," she said.

Russ thought she sounded full of excuses, but it was the truth. She wasn't keen on making out with a family member.

"Yeah, I know," he said, rushing off before she could respond.

Working on the last of the chamber straps, Russ sighed at the memory.

"Worried about bad dreams?" Jason appeared in front of her, the wet-suit adding definition to his bulky frame.

Though Russ was fitted with a similar suit, she suddenly felt very exposed. The straps held her in place, and now, she felt like fleeing.

"Jason, look---"

"See ya on the other side," he told her with a grin. Then he sauntered to his chamber, stepping quickly into the straps.

Three months was a long time. Russ hoped it was long enough to dispel the awkwardness between them.

Once all main and secondary crew were suited and strapped in, Forster ordered the Control bot to depress the chamber button.

Though Russ knew of the dura-chamber process, seeing and knowing were two different things.

Fifteen particle curtains descended concurrently. As the training had explained, the curtain was a visual barrier, but not a physical one. Sure, it held back dura-fluid, but human limbs, not so much. That's what the straps were for. Any arms, legs, fingers, or heads sticking outside of the field were prone to advanced aging.

Russ's straps were pulled tight, but not uncomfortably so. Still, she checked to make sure every body party was safely tucked behind the curtain. It was.

Fluid poured into the chamber, splashing up at her toes. She cried out, but not because it was cold. Surprisingly, it was room temperature. The liquid swirled with bubbles and specks of nutrients. By the time the rosy-colored stuff had reached her rib-cage, Russ decided she'd rather risk atrophy than go through this again.

When the fill-line rose past her nose, she took a deep breath.

~*~

11 years before

Drip.

The water was a constant.

Russ couldn't remember a time when the pipe in the corner wasn't dripping.

Her best memories consisted of warm croissants and flaky butter cakes. And lopsided smiles. Then, the Storm had taken Russ's mother, and the pastries had stopped. However, she was luckier than most to end up with Jamilet, who did her best. They ate at least once a day, sometimes twice. Even if the pastries had stopped, smiles had persisted in great supply.

"That damn pipe again," Jamilet said, stuffing the few clothes they owned into a dusty knapsack.

"That'd be Jason's patch," Russ said. "He's not as handy as Garly."

At Garly's name, Jamilet cringed, though she tried to hide it. Russ had noticed the reactions, and attributed it to their recent exchanges. Once, she'd overheard heavy breathing from the other side of Jamilet's wall-blanket. She wondered what they did so late at night.

Whatever their deal was, the basis of it was Russ's training. Instead of joining the breeder program like most girls her age, Garly mentored her through the engineering program. After watching Russ in tech class, Jamilet had insisted on it.

"Garly is...a brilliant engineer," she said.

All day, Jamilet had scurried about the dormitory for reasons unknown. Then, she had started packing.

"What are you doing?" Russ wanted to know.

"Things might get bad," was Jamilet's reply.

A series of loud bangs resounded from the entrance-way. Unlike their neighbors, Jamilet seemed unsurprised. If anything, the noise prompted her to pack faster.

Each bang stirred chaos around the dorm. Some cried, others held each other, and some yelled at the door as if to stop the invasion that way. Dormitories were for teenagers without a home, like Russ and Jason, but strays like Jamilet and Garly ended up squatting here. So long as they contributed, adults were allowed to stay.

Russ stood by wide-eyed as the metal door buckled against an invading force.

"Here," and Jamilet shoved a pack on her back, and a sheaf of papers into her arms.

Through a sheen of tears, Russ inspected the papers with reverence. "Your comic book collection?"

"They're yours now, especially if anything happens to me." Jamilet spoke quickly, her voice hard to hear over the din.

What's gonna happen?

But it was the same thing that happened to every adult. Either the Storm or the Green-Eyed, which Jamilet called "terrorists." There were no other endings anymore. When Russ's time came, she hoped it was the Cough and not the other.

"They're almost inside, and you have to do what you can to survive. Be a big girl, and I know----"

One sustained blaring blast, and the door exploded. Bits of metal flung wildly, and Russ watched in horror as a few jagged pieces embedded into the arms, legs, and faces of the dorm residents. Jamilet threw herself on top of Russ, then stilled. Unmoving, she was stiff, and heavy. Pinned to the concrete floor, Russ cried, shook Jamilet's arm, and begged her to wake up. When she didn't, Russ strained, cried, strained, and yelled for help. No one came. After minutes of shifting and straining, Russ slid out from under her torso.

Jamilet wasn't moving because she couldn't. A wicked serrated slice of metal had lodged into her back. Her legs had been cleaved off by a concrete shelf.

No more smiles.

Russ slapped herself, but the tears wouldn't stop. Even as her brain told her to run, she stayed at Jamilet's side, unable to move.

The air was thick with debris and dust. Faint cries flared up, but not many. As the dust slowly settled, a cloaked figure cut their way through, stopping in front of Russ.

Along the darkened recesses of the hood, all she could make out were two emerald eyes, and the hint of a smile. Her heart slammed in her chest. She had heard enough about the Green-Eyes to know the life of horror that awaited. Two hands reached out, but never touched her. The figure collapsed, revealing Garly, armed with a rusted bat. He kicked the invader before grabbing Russ by the hand and hauling her to the entrance. He warned her to keep her head low and move fast. He also promised to take care her.

The man failed in his promise. Instead, he tried forcing himself on her two nights later. When she resisted, her beat her and sold her to a group of men. Russ managed to strangle the group leader and escape. She appealed to the nearest Institute camp. Usually, the application process was arduous, as so many young people had little to do, and little to look forward to. Thus, the Institute had become a beacon of hope, and could only accommodate so many hopes, squashing others in the process.

Initially, Russ started the engineering program, but dropped it. She was reminded too much of Garly, and found that flying suited her much better. In the air, she soared, free from the bullshit anchoring her to the ground.

Weeks into pilot training, she noticed Jason eating lunch in the main mess all. She had never been happier to see her friend from the dorms. They became inseparable.

~*~

Russ imagined Jason waiting at her side. Explosions went off behind her eyes, and the pain forced her to cry out.

She couldn't see the Captain, Jason, or anyone else.

Russ continued writhing, seeking release. All was dark. So dark.

A flash of light beckoned. She peered through a murky cloud, still disbelieving at how immobilized she was. When she issued a command to her hand, nothing happened.

As she struggled to move, bubbles floated across faint words etched in the haze:

DURA-CHAMBER 13

A black figure darted by and was gone. Russ tried to breath, then realized she was breathing in dura-fluid. The ebb and flow of air pockets told her that much.

Abruptly, the figure re-emerged directly in front of her tank. Through the fluid, she couldn't tell who or what it was. However, she had the distinct feeling of being prodded and studied.

The sleeping concoction in the fluid kicked in, and Russ gave in to a fresh round of nightmares.