Prologue

“Missus Midal, I write merely to question the efficacy of such an expenditure–not to doubt your investment, of course, but as a consultant, I believe it my duty to provide feedback on all financial decisions. I hope you do not take me for a doubter, for that I am most certainly not. I only hope the company sees returns on the vessel. The Reutah Company sends its deepest regards.”

-E-message from Reutah Rep., sent December 1st, 2432

-–

The windows of the Ericsson were tinted a deep, dark shade of grey to block out the light from the star-sized head it pulled in its wake. Leonard had his crew paint over the reinforced glass with the oily residue from the burners. This had not been a swift decision. Many sleepless nights were endured before the Commander himself relented. A crew under psychosis would not be as productive, obviously.

The Ericsson was shaped like an oblong sausage, the biggest ship of its day. Much of its space was devoted to living spaces for its crew, huge chambers full of inorganic plant life, to mimic the nurturing environment of a past Earth. Expensive, to be sure, but an expense that was necessary for what would hopefully be a long and fruitful voyage. Unlike any of its contemporaries, the Ericsson was not a cargo vessel. It had one purpose, and one purpose only; to find sentient, non-human life. 

The colossal, glowing head indicated some degree of success.

The living spaces were only one communal area. Surrounding them, on all sides of the gravitationally distributed sausage, were the private chambers of the crew. The sausage narrowed near what amounted to the nose of the vessel. Right below the bridge was the slightly more spacious Commander’s cabin.

Leonard sat in the Commander’s cabin, chewing on his nails and spitting them out onto the ground. They grew back ten minutes later, and he went through all ten again. Chewing, and spitting. Chewing and spitting.

A buzz sounded from the entrance. “Enter,” Leonard said. 

The door slid aside at the tap of a button, and Sandro came inside, hands tucked behind his back, an everpresent regal look to him. 

“Commander, I’ve come to inform you that by Lewin’s calculations, we’re projected to reach home in approximately thirty-two days.”

Leonard chuckled. “Home. Funny word, now.”

“Beg your pardon, Commander?”

“Sandro. It’s been fifteen years. I think we can drop the titles by now, don’t you think?”

“Beg your pardon, Leonard.”

Leonard raised his hands up in mock fear. “Whoah! Slow down there, pal. Pretty soon you’re gonna start calling me Lenny, or Len.” Leonard paused. “Mother used to call me Len.”

Sandro did not seem to know what to make of this information. “You were saying…about home?”

“Oh, right. Home. I suppose home for you is quite different than it is for me.”

Sandro seemed to think about this for a moment. “Yes, I imagine summers on Ra-1 are quite different from on Mars.”

Leonard whistled. “You can say that again. There is no summer on Ra.”

“Perhaps I’ll visit someday.”

“With the checks Midal’s giving us? You could definitely afford it. Especially after Mashina sees what we’re hauling. In fact, I’m thinking we ask for double. I sure as hell wasn’t expecting to return with, well–whatever the fuck it is.”

Sandro nodded. “The Midal corporation has always taken out loans on… risky ventures.”

“Yeah. Risky’s one way of putting it.”

Sandro nodded, again, then looked off to the side, at the trash dispenser coated with spittle and fingernails. “The crew has started calling it a space moth.”

Leonard scoffed. “Heh. I guess that works. Better than what the slaves are calling it, I’m sure. What’s Lewin calling it?”

“An anomaly beyond human understanding.”

“I should’ve known better than to get a straight answer from a science officer.”

Sandro produced a sound that could’ve passed for a chuckle. Leonard stood up and stretched. His head was roughly five centimeters away from hitting the ceiling. He was exceptionally tall. He had a thick beard, and an even thicker frame, giving him a beastly look that intimidated most; Sandro was a firm exception.

Leonard liked that about him. He came close to smiling at his second-in-command, then stopped, and frowned. 

“Sandro, tell me. What’s the first thing you’re gonna do on Mars? Besides purchasing passage to Ra, that is.”

“That is a good question, Commander. I suspect we won’t have much time to ourselves, unfortunately. The world is going to want to know what we spent the last fifteen years doing.”

Leonard smirked, and put a hand on Sandro’s shoulder. “Mostly just drifted through the vast vacuum of space, right?”

Sandro returned a knowing smirk–a rare sight. “Yes. Mostly just that.”

Leonard thought for a moment. “Sandro–what are you calling it?”

“The head?”

“Yes, the head.”

Sandro squinted slightly. “I’m calling it la polilla.”