Sleeper, Wake Up

“Bliss let you have time off?” you ask in disbelief. 

Lem shrugs, a crooked smile on his lips. 

“To come all the way out here?” 

“She’s no shipyard foreman,” he points out wryly. “She’s got a soft heart. The fact that I gave her a drawing of Bun-Bun Mina made for her in the very same cycle is a complete coincidence.”

You both cast your eyes over to where the tiny girl is sitting beside Riko — quiet and curious as the botanist explains every step of her work in a soft, thoughtful voice. 

Lem’s warm, calloused hand slips into yours. 

“Any updates?” he asks you quietly. 

Your processors pulse with the dread that has tugged on you in the background of all this work. You wish you had better news to give him. 

“Riko seems to think she found something,” you say. “But she also said she doesn’t want to get our hopes up until we know for sure.”

“When will that be?”

“Soon,” you reply, though you can’t be certain. 

Lem worries at his lip, his hand tightening. 

“Growing mushrooms takes time,” you tell him. “Not to mention their analysis.”

Whatever that entails.

“I know, it’s just… I want you home,” Lem whispers. “I know I’ve got long hours too, but those in between shifts…”

He laughs wistfully. 

“I mean, we could always work together in Bliss’s bay. Commute together. Rent a pod… together,” he clears his throat. 

“But for how long?” you point out.

“Not long enough,” he relents. 

“So that’s why I’m here,” you insist. “I want more cycles to do exactly that.”

Lem huffs a tired laugh, “Long commutes, long hours?”

“Yes,” you say. “So long as they’re with you.”

He finally gives you a real smile — albeit a tired one. 

“Sleeper, I…” 

He looks down at your joined hands, squeezing so tightly that his organic flesh and bone is pale and taut. 

“I love you,” he murmurs. “And Mina loves you. You know that?”

In a universe full of uncertainties, it’s the one thing you do know for certain. 

You tell him that.

You don’t kiss — not in front of Mina and the others working in the lab. But you wish you could. 

He tells you more things. More mundane things. 

It’s wonderful. 

And then Mina is there in Lem’s arms between the two of you, her breath short and face buried in his chest. 

You look around for the source of what’s got her spooked and you see Maywick in the doorway. He has exchanged his black tactical gear for some lab outfit from the Hypha Commune, but it doesn’t change the scarred and disconcerting presence he has in the room. 

And he doesn’t look well. One of his eyes is faded and flat, and his already pale skin looks dry and translucent. When he walks, it’s with a limp. 

“Sleeper,” he greets you listlessly. “Riko.”

He eyes the strangers including the fearful Mina, and you jump to introduce them. 

“This is Lem and Mina,” you tell him. “My…”

‘Friends’ seem to be not enough. ‘Family’ seems too presumptive. 

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” you admit. “You look well.”

Lem smiles. It’s true — there’s a healthy color and softness to his cheeks, his eyes are bright with the bags beneath them somewhat faded, and his hair is combed and neat. He moves easier, too, no longer wincing as he stands or favoring his right shoulder as you have seen many times before. 

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he sets a conspiratorial gaze at you. “But I started a crazy, amazing job up in the Hub. Pay is honestly still shit, but I get to fix up ships without the weight of it on my back.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Word has it that I was recommended by a prominent figure, here on the Eye.” 

You feign a curious hum at that, but then you freeze at the sad smile twisting upon his lips. Lem finally moves down the length of the couch to sit beside you. 

“Listen,” he says softly. “I know it was you. I knew it as soon as I walked — floated — into that bay.” He chuckles, eyes shining at you. “Who else would have oddball friends like those in such high places?”

You smile back ruefully, taking another bracing sip of girolle. “I thought I might have overstepped.”

Lem sighs. “I won’t lie — I did think so at first. But at the time I had the shittiest work week, and I couldn’t afford to ignore a new lead for something different.

“The commute was a bit crazy, but I only needed to take one trial shift with Bliss before I knew it was worth making it work. So did Bliss, I guess. She hired me for real before the end of the cycle,” he recalls wryly. “She never said your name, but she couldn’t help but talk about you, you know? Especially with Moritz. They would go quiet whenever I was within earshot.”

“I’m glad it worked out,” you manage to say. You take in the sight of his face, his presence, his weary smile. 

“Me too,” he whispers. You pull your eyes away, moving to refill both your glasses. When you settle back down, you realize sheepishly how much closer you are to him. Warmth radiates off his body and the arm draped across the back of the couch, and you want nothing more than to lean into it in a way that was once so familiar… 

“Can…” Lem looks down at his glass, smile fading. “Can we talk about the Sidereal?” 

You knew this was coming. Your heart falls, but you nod, draining your girolle and pouring another for yourself. Lem takes a sip before setting his glass down. 

“You didn’t have to tell me about the deal,” he says softly. “You could have just let it be. Let things go as they would’ve anyway, since I already knew we weren’t picked for the drawing. Maybe I could’ve lived with that. But just… it hurt worse knowing we did have a chance.”

“I shouldn’t have decided for you,” you assert. “Even if I still had to beg on my knees for you to stay… I should have given you that choice.” 

Lem purses his lips, but nods. 

“That just about sums it up,” he admits. “It… it means a lot that you’ve been thinking about this too.” He looks away from you, out the window. “Do you think you were right?” 

You were so happy to have Lem near you again. But now you want to be anywhere but here. 

“Not about deciding for you. But if you’re talking about the whole program as a whole… I don’t know,” you whisper. “The person who made the deal for us wanted to track the ship by using me as surveillance. I like to think that gave me a hunch about what I’d be enabling, but… on top of that I think I was already scared.”

“Of what?” Lem asks, but not as a challenge. 

“Of being trapped,” you say. “I was afraid you or Mina might never see the outside of a ship again. You might not ever get a chance to feel rain after all. And I was scared… because if you and Mina had gone ahead into the ship, I don’t actually know for certain if I would have followed. Maybe I could have. But I don’t know if that would be me being brave or me running away from my responsibilities here. I didn’t want to be used as someone’s tool, yes, but… maybe I’m also afraid of change. I have so much yet to do here — people who rely on me. I was afraid I’d run out of stabilizer just a couple months into the journey and leave you both alone.”

Lem looks at his hands. 

“Stabilizer… right,” he grimaces. “How are you doing on that?”

You think about those five precious vials, clinking gently inside of that box small enough to fit in your pocket. At the time you received them you kept a brave face, rationalizing to yourself you could stretch it for months, but that would only be if you stayed in your apartment; half-aware in stasis, waiting for the end.

And that’s not how you’ve been living. That’s not how you ever wanted to live.

“My cycles are ticking down,” you admit. “But it should be time enough to find a solution. Sabine — the doctor — they gave me some leads on where to look.” You take a preoccupied sip of your girolle. “Although… I have a sneaking feeling they were just trying to give me hope. So until then, I can patch myself up with scrap to help the stabilizer last longer.”

Lem eyes you dubiously. “You don’t seem upset about that. Aren’t you?”

“I’m… not. And I don’t know why,” you huff a laugh. “Maybe after everything that’s happened something is broken in me; keeping me from panicking like before. But I like to think that maybe… maybe…” 

You swallow, realizing you haven’t said this aloud to anyone else, or fully admitted it to yourself. 

“...maybe I’ve accepted that the end will come soon. And if it does, I have people who won’t let me be alone. A hug from Tala, a hot meal from Emphis, some good laughs from Bliss and Moritz…”

You trail off, avoiding Lem’s eyes as the obvious omission goes unsaid.

“It sounds like you’re giving up,” he says quietly.

“Maybe I am,” you shrug. “But I got what I needed — freedom, purpose, friends… some answers.” You sigh, taking another sip. “I’m honestly afraid to expect or ask for much more, so I’ll treasure what I have while I have it.”

Lem seems to mull that over, his brow furrowing unhappily. And then, after some hesitation, he takes your hand, squeezing it gently between both of his own.

“Listen, Sleeper. This whole time we’ve been here, I thought that all Mina and I had was each other,” he says softly. “I had no other connection to this place. I hated it. I felt trapped here and worse that Mina would be trapped here too. But then I met you.” His smile is wistful. “You were a true friend. Mina loved you. I didn’t even consider that you wouldn’t come with us. I didn’t consider you had your own universe too.

“Sleeper, I grieved for that future. But now I realize I haven’t lost anything at all. We have all we had before. We have more, now. I’ve got a sweet gig, Mina just loves her school. I guess the only thing certain in this life is uncertainty. If here is where you want to be, then here is where we’ll be too.”

Why? You want to ask in disbelief. He can't have possibly forgiven you...

Before long you have both drained your glasses, and she pours another couple fingers before adding some water. The actions already take on the quality of a ritual as you both drink simultaneously.

Eventually, your friend tucks her feet up onto her stool, sitting nearly cross-legged. She grins to herself, her eyes turning wistful and she takes another sip, looking down into the glass and swirling the liquid thoughtfully.

“Chit for your thoughts?” you offer.

Tala chuckles, looking up at nothing in particular. “I think I told you before, but my dad opened this place,” she says. “It was his attempt at making a life for us when we got to the Eye.

“So I was just thinking about something my dad told me, while he was painting those plants all over our apartment,” Tala gestures vaguely upwards. “When he first set this place up he wanted to call it ‘The Bantayan,’ but he was afraid it’d scare off the customers so he translated it from Tagalog. Hence, ‘The Overlook.’

“And these past few cycles, when I’ve been in here, I’ve been thinking that I should rename this place.” She finally looks at you with a small smile. “The Bantayan. What do you think?”

You raise your grass to her. 

“I love it,” you say earnestly. 

“You love it? I’ll take it!” she grins, picking up her own glass again. “That settles it then — to the Bantayan!”

You both clink your glasses and drink up.

The girolle isn’t at all the same as stabilizer. In fact, too much of it can have quite the opposite effects of the drug. But sharing these drinks with Tala brings you healing you once never thought possible while you existed in this body.

Each sip, each freely-spoken word is a reminder that Essen-Arp doesn’t own you anymore. They can’t, because this place, its people, and their dreams own you. They are what makes you get up every cycle, inspiring you every day. 

The two of you don’t talk much more as you finish up your dinner. You drop some chits into Emphis’ box and he grunts in thanks before you and Ethan take off for the evening. It occurs to you that you have no clue where Ethan lives, or why you are being so courteous as to walk him wherever he’s going next. He seems amused by this fact.

“May and I stay in our ship where we’re docked,” he explains unprompted, glancing towards the docks. “The docking fees are a bitch, but it’s better than holding up in a shipping container, eh?”

‘May’ and ‘our ship…’ you almost wish you were close enough with Ethan to tease him about the way he casually throws around the words — especially as a small, fond smirk creeps onto his lips.

“I think that’s close enough, both of you.”

Maywick emerges from the shadows, nodding at you in greeting. “You shouldn’t be seen together,” he reprimands them without much heat.

“He’s jealous,” Ethan rolls his eyes at you. “Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite sleeper,” he drawls at Maywick before peeling off. “I’m gonna take a whizz. You two assholes go on and catch up about whatever robot shit you’ve got to talk about.”

Maywick sighs as the blond man leaves, before turning to you and beckoning you to join him in the shadowy corner. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “I thought you said we shouldn’t be seen together.”

“I just wanted to get rid of him,” Maywick shrugs. “I did want to talk with you… sleeper to sleeper.”

“Alright,” you humor him. “You have my attention.”

Maywick seems to mull over his words before speaking, his voice still distorted and croaky.

“I’m glad I didn’t succeed in killing you,” he says quietly. “You are the best of us.” 

You scoff reflexively. 

“I’m just another pawn in all this,” you insist, but Maywick waves you away. 

“Of us. ” He gestures to himself. “Among sleepers, I imagine very few are capable of what you have done. The things you have endured to prevent this station from collapsing upon itself…” 

He smiles tightly at you. It contorts the scars upon his face and neck as he swallows, weighing his words carefully.

“Sometimes,” he hesitates, “I wish I were one of those other factory sleepers. Despite everything that happened to all of you, you had each other.” 

He looks at you. “I was private military before I willingly entered the program. But I was dying from a terminal illness, and Essen-Arp thought it would be such a waste for me to grow feeble and let all that talent die. So when they offered me more time to live? You bet I took it.” 

He slips off a glove, studying his own hands. “But when I woke up, I wasn’t whole. I woke up and immediately knew I had lost the things that made me human — memories of family, food… they built me to look more human than others, but I could never pass as one of them. I wanted to be like them, and I hated the parts of me that weren't. 

“I found pleasure in hunting sleepers like you — sleepers like us. I liked the satisfaction of watching the light of their eyes extinguish. Like a star blinking out of sight forever. It helped me think that I was not like them. 

“So long as I was out on a job, I could be human. I could be whatever I wanted. But whenever I was back among other hunters, I’d be reminded that I was nothing more than a ghost. I was always alone, and I thought I liked it that way.”

He looks over towards where Ethan is clambering into a ship and cracks a smile. Ethan pauses before he enters, removing his cigarette to blow a stream of smoke out before dropping it unceremoniously to the floor.

“I never would have divided up the finder’s fee with Ethan,” Maywick states matter-of-factly. “He was a loose end to Essen-Arp and an inconvenience. So when we first saw each other again, he was ready to kill me. And I was ready to kill him.”

“Yeah…” you eye their ship. “So how does this work?”

Maywick chuckles, and it’s a choked, gravelly sound. 

“Isn’t it obvious, Sleeper?” he drawls. “It’s my charming personality and devastating good looks.” 

“Well, that’s not right,” Yannick chides you, reaching over to pat your shoulder with a bony hand. “In such a short time, many within Yatagan look up to you. I hear that both within and outside this ward, you command respect.

“Knowing that, does that give you meaning, Sleeper?” he asks evenly. 

You nod, flashing the old man a smile as your diagnostic concludes. 

“It has,” you say softly. 

The man pats your arm again. 

“Good. Then Yatagan is still the Yatagan of a much younger, more idealistic man, where even just one person can find sanctuary, community, and purpose on this damn Eye.”

He attempts to remove his hand, but it spasms and shakes as he withdraws it. 

“Meds,” he grumbles, and an aide is already at his elbow. He rolls up his boss’s sleeve as Yannick’s shaking hand administers the medication into his own arm. 

You smile sympathetically before looking away out of respect — and discomfort. 

The vial looks an awful lot like your stabilizer. 

Perhaps this is another reason why Yannick might be working with Essen-Arp? Like you, does he also depend on them for the substances that keep him alive? It would make tragic sense, here on the Eye. When everyone is at the mercy of the corporations and unions that feed them, house them, and keep the station spinning…

What are principles, in the face of survival?