Point A To Proxima Centauri B (46169 words) by d00m_d4ys
Chapters: 22/39
Fandom: Original Work
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Characters: Original Characters
Additional Tags: Original Fiction, Science Fiction, Semi-Dystopian, space travel technology with no space travel, Imprisonment, Poverty, class warfare, War, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gun Violence, Physical Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Minor Character Death, Parenthood, Mild Gore, Blood and Injury, Explicit Language, References to Miscarriage, references to pregnancy/childbirth, Cross-Post, and now for the themes!, the reasons people might leave earth vs the reasons people might stay, Class Differences, wrongful death and guilt it incurs, the ways that resources will be hoarded in a space-travel setting, how flaws and agency are often denied to the dead thus denying them their humanity, how we romanticize the idea of 'the one' or 'soulmates' and let these concepts obscure and diminish the genuine connections we have with other people, what if being each other's 'everything' isn't enough? what if your concepts of the word differ on a profound level and can't be reconciled? what then?, and other deeply upsetting questions!, now with original character portraits drawn by the author
Series: Part 1 of Point A To Proxima Centauri B, et al.
When Mal was returned to the orchard, she beelined for the back of the giant room in a dead sprint, trying to get as far away from everyone else as possible. In the trees, she slowed to a jog, feeling her heartbeat throb through her bruises and prickle down her fingertips, legs aching at the sudden exertion. Just short of the far wall, she found a chestnut tree to lean against, eyes falling shut as she unraveled a candy and tucked it into the pocket of her cheek.
The defining burst of sugar chased by hints of strawberry was starting to lose its charm. It had been long enough that she was pining for the wild strawberries up north, warmed by the muggy air and leaving traces of tart and sweet under her nails, the puckering taste enhanced with a canteen of cold water. The inside of her mouth felt tacky and overly hot — water was another thing she desperately missed.
She gently rubbed the tender mark bruised into her cheekbone with a sigh, and leaned down to massage the scar tissue tightening up around her calves. She had spent the car ride back hiding in her thoughts while she projected a weepy and cowering exterior, but she was hitting a wall in planning an escape. Render's patience was certainly wearing thin by this point, and she needed to have an exit plan for when she became more trouble than she was worth, but Tai-Song was the one who could see both the big picture and the minute details, the one who could think on his feet and make fast decisions, not her. Every half-baked scheme she could come up with would fall apart in seconds, and knowing that her plans would fail didn't translate to knowing how to correct them.
She dug her fingers into the dead nerves on the inside of her calf, pressing in until she could feel the pressure on the bone. She needed Tai-Song, and naturally he was still nowhere to be found. No one on the twelfth floor would even admit to knowing his name, and with the workers closing ranks to protect each other she couldn't get close enough to exploit the weaker links. The only one she hadn't spoken to was the war-drone, a thought which threatened to suffocate her with a sticky, tar-like dread; thankfully, the matter was out of her hands, seeing as the drone was equally averse to the idea. She doubted there was anything to glean from the drone, anyway: Tai-Song's creations were typically limited in scope, like Goose's, and there was a good chance that this one couldn't even speak.
She straightened up with another heaving sigh, and tapped the back of her head against the tree to ground herself. Judging by the wafting smell of off-tobacco and the fact that the tension in her chest had suddenly vanished, Gwenh was hovering nearby, waiting for Mal to acknowledge her presence. With eyes still closed, Mal decided to let her stew a little longer — she crossed her arms with a gusty sigh and grazed her tongue along the candy still in her cheek, shifting her feet to get more comfortable as she savoured the tiny burst of sweetness.
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