Noa sits at the end of a long table covered in a rich velvet cloth. At the other end, the Statue looks at him warily.
The Statue is made of textured gray stone. Her face is perpetually unsmiling.
She feels more alive to Noa than any human he has ever known.
Though her lips do not move, her voice rings throughout the room.
[[Humans love choices, don't they?]]"How do you mean?" Noa asks.
The Statue doesn't react, of course, but he can feel her disdain radiate from across the table.
[[Your lives are dictated by an obsession with choice.]]"I don't know that it's an obsession," Noa says slowly. This is starting to feel like an interrogation, or like an exam for which he is uniquely ill-prepared. He wants to say the right thing, but has the awful sensation that it's not in his power to know what //right // is.
"Life is just a series of choices, isn't it?" he says, hesitantly.
[[Oh, is it?]]The derision in her tone is obvious. She clearly doesn't think highly of him. Noa tries not to let it get to him, without much success. He doesn't know why, but he wants the Statue to like him.
Maybe //like // isn't exactly the right word. He wants the Statue to find him valuable, the way a perfectly ripe fruit, or a view of the ocean, or a well-timed joke to break an uneasy silence are all //valuable//.
[[Well, then. Choose now.]]Noa looks at the table.
Six items have appeared there, as though by enchantment. He doesn't know how he didn't notice them before.
[[Astrolabe]]
[[Inkwell]]
[[Knife]]
[[Handkerchief]]
[[Pocket watch]]
[[Small mirror]]He picks up the astrolabe. It is a heavy, compact object made of several interlocking discs of reflective metal; its surface is covered in fine lines.
[["A miniature of the universe," Noa says.]]
(set: $relic to "astrolabe")
He picks up the inkwell. The ink inside--deep red--sloshes around.
[["Blood red," Noa says.]]
(set: $relic to "ink well")
He picks up the knife. Both handle and blade are plain, but the knife has a wicked edge.
[["Looks painfully sharp," Noa says.]]
(set: $relic to "knife")
It's luxuriously soft to the touch. Noa almost feels like he shouldn't touch something this fine with hands as rough as his.
[["So delicate," Noa says.]]
(set: $relic to "handkerchief")
It's made of burnished gold. A chain hangs from an eyelet at the top.
Noa works on a ship and under a practiced captain, so he has a good sense of internal time. The hands on the watch face are thin, and their movements are precise.
[["Handy to have around," he says.]]
(set: $relic to "watch")
It fits in the palm of Noa's hand. He inclines it forward, but can't see his reflection.
The Statue finds his confusion amusing. [["It's a magic mirror," she says.]]
(set: $relic to "mirror")
The Statue laughs.
"A miniature of the universe as //humans// understand it," she corrects. "The ancients understood what you appear to have forgotten."
[[Noa wakes.]]The Statue ponders this.
"What's it like?" she asks, in a rare moment of curiosity. "To be filled with...blood?"
Noa freezes. The mood has changed, suddenly. The Statue's attention is focused on him.
He pushes back his chair, moving quickly. Then, [[Noa wakes.]]Cruelly, the Statue replies: "Why don't you give it a try?"
[[Noa wakes.]]It's just before 6AM. Noa has woken before his alarm.
It's chilly inside the cabin. He exhales and sees his breath, a cloudy white plume.
He gets up. Hurriedly he brushes his teeth, splashes his face with water, and pulls on his (link-reveal:"work clothes")[ (a pale green jumpsuit with matching woollen gloves and beanie)].
The door latches heavily behind him. Already, the Gagarin is alive with sound. He ascends towards the deck, nodding briefly to the crew members that brush past. They are each lurching toward their own plans for the day. Thinking already about what lies ahead, they hardly register his presence. In comparison, Noa feels like a breeze: aimless, drifting, not unmoving but still unmoored.
Noa is kept busy most of the day by Dudko, the crabby chief engineer. But before clocking in at the reactor room, Noa must attend to a daily tradition.
The light of the Arctic sun, spreading across the ice sheet, is bold and unyielding. Noa squints until his eyes adjust and then, as with every morning, he marvels at the landscape. Before this expedition, his vision of the Arctic had been dull, monochrome, flat. But the colors defy all expectation: translucent white, deep blue, satin-gold. In some places on the ice, the sunlight strikes at just the right angle and refracts into a million shades.
Captain Vedrov lifts his eyes from the horizon and yells, [["Good morning!"]]When he looks up from the handkerchief, the Statue has moved. She now stands right beside him. Her hand is outstretched.
"Can I feel?"
[[Noa wakes.]]"More than handy," the Statue insists. "Time is everything. You'll soon find out."
Before he can ask what she means, [[Noa wakes.]]"Magic? How?" Noa asks.
The Statue doesn't answer.
The mirror catches some faraway firelight and reflects it back at him. He turns around in the chair but, before he can complete the turn, [[Noa wakes.]]The Captain is a short, barrel-chested man, with thick limbs and enormous, tennis-paddle hands. Noa has thought on more than one occasion that he resembles an old, stocky oak tree come to human life. But though his physical form is solid and sturdy, his personality crackles like stormy weather.
The Captain sits at a little folding table. Noa is surprised to see Desiree Zola, the ship archeologist, sitting with him. They each cradle a ceramic mug, warming their hands through thick gloves. Noa's own mug waits for hiim on the table top, expectantly.
[["Good morning, Captain. And good morning, Dr. Zola."]](if:$relic is "astrolabe")[It's an astrolabe.]Desiree smiles warmly, if a little distantly, at Noa. They don't know each other particularly well.
Noa's people skills aren't great; the only person on board with whom he can converse freely is Captain Vetrov.
With others, Noa struggles to play the social game that is relationship-building. Still, he senses that Desiree would not judge an honest attempt from him, however tortured and ill-formed, at friendship.
[["How is, uh, everything? With the relics?"]]At this, Desiree brightens visibly.
"Oh, we were actually just talking about that! Here, come take a look at this. Habiki took a photo of it with a telescope lens. I can't quite make out what it is."
She unfolds a newly developed photo and spreads it out on the table. Noa looks down curiously.
It isn't the clearest image, but it appears to show an object embedded into the ice sheet, probably half a kilometer away from the Gagarin. Part of the object is covered in patches of ice, making identification difficult. Noa puzzles over it for a few moments. Then, something in his mind clicks into place, and he knows what it is.
{
(if:$relic is "astrolabe")[It's an astrolabe.]
(if:$relic is "ink well")[It's an ink well.]
(if:$relic is "knife")[It's a knife.]
(if:$relic is "handkerchief")[It's a handkerchief.]
(if:$relic is "watch")[It's a pocket watch.]
(if:$relic is "mirror")[It's a palm-sized mirror.]
}
Just like in his dream.
[["This is...out there? On the ice?" Noa's voice shakes.]]Double-click this passage to edit it.