Far away from here, and many thousands of years in the future, a young girl by the name of Coletta von Nestershaw walks through the empty rooms of the station. Its formal name is very long and tedious, as names of things tend to become when the same organizational scheme has been used to assign them for over a thousand years. It all ends in a number—893. Thus, its three occupants call it Station 893. Coletta is twelve and has many strict ideas about all sorts of things. One of these is her annoyance over the fact that some things have multiple names. It seems redundant, hampers communication, and makes everything harder to learn. So, while she is not satisfied that the station has multiple names, she accepts it. She is also very fond of her home. She has lived here since she was ten, when her father—Venya von Nestershaw—was assigned to the planetoid in which the station is embedded. The planetoid has no name, it’s just a seemingly endless series of numbers and letters, so Coletta calls it “the rock” or, more often, “planetoid” because there seems to be no reason to give it another name. It is brutally cold outside, and as far as Coletta can see vast planes of ice recede into the distance. It glitters at sunrise, although the star for this system is very distant. The light will sometimes refract in hues of purple and blue. But now the short day is done, and the sun is hidden. The station is anchored into the ice—it’s shark-tooth shape sunk deeply in through force and heat. She never tires of the vast emptiness of the rock, but she loves it most of all this time of year. Because she is only days away from Kriznas, and the cold and Kriznas go together. “It is time to sup, Coletta,” says Nan, the ovoid comfortdrone who has raised her since she was very little, after her mother expired. “Very well, Nan,” Coletta sighs, stopping the game of leapscotch she was playing in the game room, and bowing her head slightly. A smooth tube slides out of a recessed panel in Nan’s side and attaches itself to the center port in Coletta’s nexum, a cluster of natural ports that all humins have evolved. A puree of fiber and nutrient-rich suspension shoots through the tube, past the center port’s tasting ring, and directly into Coletta’s system. Coletta smiles appreciatively. “Mmmm. What was that? I liked it very much,” Coletta said. Nan chirped, pleased with herself. “It is a special mix I’ve been thinking up. It’s called ‘Rain in the Woods,’ If you like it, I can add it to the regular rotation,” Nan said. “Yes, please. Are you planning a new taste for Kriznas?” “Perhaps. If you are good.” With that, Nan floated away to attend to other duties. Nan had many bodies throughout the ship, all working simultaneously, so she was never far away. When Coletta’s father was away working, Nan was more than just her comfortdrone. She was the keeper of their residence. Venya operated a large rover and did his scientific work over long sojourns over the ice. The weather on the planetoid was too violent for aircraft. Even the formidable traction of the rover wasn’t enough when the weather was at its worst. So, it was a slow and tedious business, and he was usually gone for months at a time. “I hope he’s home for Kriznas,” Coletta said, stopping by the nativity on her way to the Kriznas tree. Nan was not physically present, but her warm intelligence permeated the station. Coletta would often speak to her, just to make her thoughts known, without expecting a reply. The nativity was a traditional one, although other families had trendier-looking ones. At least, that was her impression from the shows and commercials she saw on the viewer. They were well out of regular broadcast range, but they got data bursts every six months. It was expensive, because of the raw power needed to send the info, but it kept them at least marginally in contact with civilization. They were due another a few days before Kriznas. In any case, Coletta had always favored the more traditional set-up for the nativity. Three walls of plantone mimicked ancient wooden walls. Shaved plantone sticks represented the hay. In the center of all this was Mahre*E, the most holy birthing chamber, recreated down to the most minute detail by artisans working in precious metals. Within the birthing chamber was the traditional glowing green egg, made of a spongey, bioluminescent fungus that was meant to mimic the look and feel of the real thing. “May the light of Josu Kriz, still but a spark in Mahre*E’s womb matrix, guide papa home, safe and sound, on Kriznas morn,” Coletta intoned reverently. Tucked within the green fungus was a genestruct of Josu Kriz, ready to be “birthed” at the appointed hour. He’d emerge from his protective cocoon, deliver the traditional Kriznas speech, and be generally available for play for about a day or two. Then the genestruct would dry up and shrivel, the way all genestructs do, and be pitched in the recycler. But for a couple days she’d have her very own pocket god. It was always very exciting. “Nan, may I trim the tree?” Coletta asked, as she entered the main hall of the station. Here, the enormous holographic projection of their Kriznas tree slowly turned, hovering above the circular gift pit. The tree itself was also traditional, a crystalline lattice of sharp green spikes emanating from a central, rotating cylinder. The facets of each spike cycled through video memories, stretched and semi-translucent over the length of their surface. The memories were from the collections of all the Van Nestershaws going back hundreds and hundreds of years. The distortion of the shards rendered the memories somewhat abstract, but all were selected for their happiness and nostalgia quotients. “Yes, my dove,” said Nan as a panel in the wall slid open and one of her ovoid forms glided gracefully next to her. “Would you like me to sing, or would you?” “Oh, you, please. Your voice is so beautiful.” Coletta raised her hands up to the Kriznas tree, and Nan began to sing. Guide my hand / Oh Josu As I shed / The past into Crystal limbs / Vibrate the call Reveal the gifts / For one and all Coletta swiped gently at the jagged crystals near the top (you had to start at the top, it was a rule) and they fell away and shattered into nothingness. You did this a little each day leading up to Kriznas, until finally the base of the tree was swept away, and the gift pit was revealed. This reminded Coletta that she needed to finish and wrap her gift for her father so Nan could place it in the pit. Her father was not a sentimental man. So Coletta had wracked her brain for most of the year trying to think of something practical he’d enjoy on his long sojourns. She settled on a radiation detector, and had Nan add it to their last shipment order—they got shipments only once a year—in secret, using her allowance funds. Coletta had painted it in her favorite colors—purple and blue—and affixed a small picture of herself on one end. It was practical and sentimental, so she hoped her father would like it for one aspect at least. Oh three-headed god / we wait for you In your cloak of man / Sweet Josu The wrath-head God / And Gentle Sonu Ghost-head Spirri / All are you Sweet Josu Sweet Josu Coletta had tears in her eyes. So great was Josu Kriz. She couldn’t wait to play with him on Kriznas morn. Weeks passed, and Kriznas grew closer and closer, and the tree was nearly half gone. “No word from father, yet?” Coletta asked Nan. It was long past her bedtime, but Nan had allowed her to stay up later as a treat. “No, my dove. Not yet. But the storms have been terrible lately,” she replied. Coletta knew this, of course, because beyond the constant weather map that was projected in the communications room, she also could hear the winter storm battering the walls of the station. Months could go by without hearing from her father, especially when he was on the far side of the planetoid as he was now. The thought that he was on the sunny side of the planetoid made her happy, somehow, as she stared out at the dark, blizzard-obscured night. Although she hoped he was headed back to her. She wanted to give him a hug. It was like hugging a stone, at times, but it gave her comfort when he was near, especially if her loneliness had been severe. Then, the entrance bell chimed. This was impossible, of course. But it still sounded. “Was that the outside entrance?” Coletta asked expectantly. “I’m sure it’s just some sort of malfunction. Your father isn’t due—well, if he is going to be able to make it back, he’s not due for at least another week,” Nan said. Coletta felt like Nan was acting very odd. The entrance bell chimed again. Coletta ran to the nearest screen and turned on the entrance camera. There was a man, hunched over, with black cracked skin, wearing a ragged blood-red hooded cloak. His eyes burned like cinders. Coletta was delighted and ran for the entrance. “Now, Coletta, hold on one—sigh,” Nan said, as even her hover engines weren’t fast enough to keep up with the girl. Instead, another of her bodies activated near the entrance. “Hello, mysterious stranger!” Coletta said into the microphone once she reached the entrance. “Hello little girl! It is I, Cinder Clod! Come to reward the good little children and mercilessly punish the bad! Which are you, little girl?” said the man, who was clearly her father in disguise. Nan and he had conspired to surprise her, although apparently, he was earlier than expected. “You’re supposed to know!” Coletta crossed her arms and acted unimpressed. “Where is your great data cloud, that collects all children’s thoughts and deeds?” “Oh, good point,” said Cinder Clod as he touched one finger to the cracked black skin of his temple. Smoke hissed out from between the cracks. “Ah, yes, here’s the data. I have the d
