Rain
35 Years Since the Jump | 21 Years Until Landing
“I remember the rain.”
Baba Yelena always talked about the rain when she got to feeling sentimental. And now, even at the end, she rasped that oft-spoken monologue that was part stream of consciousness and part pure escapism from the metal and plastic of the colony ship, the Zvezda. It was almost like a prayer.
“I remember,” she began tremblingly, “the way it smelled. Ach Bozhe moi, it smelled like home, I tell you.”
Mitriy Nikolaevich’s mother sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair next to the hospital bed, her tears glistening like starlight as she listened to her mother speak what would be her final words. Despite the old story, no one dared interrupt the old lady.
The silence was dreadful.
Baba Yelena coughed, then continued. “When I was a girl, I used to hate the rain. Always had to stop playing in the courtyard because mama worried we would get sick. And of course, being indoors meant we had to go back to our schoolwork. I never liked having to sit quietly in that old apartment…”
Baba trailed off, a distant expression on her face. Mitriy wondered what it was she was seeing. The apartment? The courtyard? He had seen photographs of their housing block back on Earth, tall concrete structures looming over the city like oppressive sentinels.
“I spent so long wishing for the rain to stop. I even wished that it would never rain. That the skies would dry up, for good. And now I would give anything to experience it one last time…”
Her voice was thick with bitter memory and regret.
Baba Yelena was only seventy-two, but mod sickness had caught up to her fast over the last few years. The cheap cybernetic implants of her generation had destroyed what little was left of her immune system. Even the slightest cold could turn deadly. But it was not a cold that was killing her now. It was exhaustion. It simply was not worth going on.
Even her grandson, a boy of only six, could tell she had reached her limits. She moved oh so slowly, in a way that reminded him of how the ship’s repair drones would slow down as their batteries neared zero. She had simply run out of battery.
He wondered what that felt like.
Baba Yelena had signed the papers for the neatly named Final Directive that morning. By tonight, what was left of her would be feeding the mushrooms in the complex biologics recycling units. A dignified end indeed, yet she ran to it with open arms, driven by fear of what might happen if she did not. All Mitriy knew was that this would be the last visit. He would never see his grandmother again, and when he asked why, he was only ever met with sad expressions and non-answers.
There had been so much arguing in the weeks leading up to today. Shouting. Angry gestures. Unfulfillable threats that filled the air with desperation. Stubbornness seemed to run in the family. Zoya Rodionova had fought just as hard to keep her mother from signing the papers as Yelena had fought for the right to sign them. That was at least one good thing to come from this: the two would no longer keep the other patients awake with their arguments.
In the doorway, a hospital orderly stood with a face fixed in an almost permanent expression of apology.
“Visiting hours are over,” she reminded the assembled family gently.
Zoya nodded in acknowledgement and whispered something to Baba Yelena, who smiled sadly in response. The two embraced as the younger woman’s shoulders began to shake. Mitriy’s father, Kolya, placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder in some effort to show support, but there was no acknowledgement of whether it helped. It was as if the man did not exist here, or rather that he was an interloper.
After what felt like a very long time, Zoya finally withdrew, wiped away her tears, and turned to her son.
“Mitriy, it’s time for you to say goodbye to your Baba Yelena.”
Mitriy tried to find some excuse not to, but he could not bear his mother’s grief-stricken expression any longer than he had to. He approached the hospital bed. Had Baba Yelena always been this pale?
The old woman smiled as he approached. She was stick-thin, the skin of her face stretched over bone like canvas over the metal supports of the temp shelters they practiced assembling every few weeks. She snaked her fingers around his hand. They were so cold, like she was already gone.
“Ba-”
There were no words he could think to say. What comfort could he offer to the already dead? What words could he, a kindergartener, say that would lessen her suffering?
Before his panic ran too long, she broke the silence for him.
“Dear Mitriy,” she began, “you don’t know how lucky you are.”
“I don’t feel very lucky right now.”
His voice shook as he felt something iron constrict in his throat.
“Just trust me, you are. You get to experience the end of our journey. Your parents will too, God willing, but I am far too sick to finish out this mission. I… I need you to promise me something, Mitriy.”
She squeezed his hand.
“What do you need me to do?”
The lump in his throat made it hard to speak. Whatever she asked, he would do it.
“I want you to remember the rain, dear boy. Remember the rain.”
The Zvezda had set out on a journey of truly epic proportions. One of the first colony ships berthed inside the massive hangar of the FTL Collective ship, it had arrived in the new galaxy Elysium after a “brief” but unanticipated three-year jump. Its mission was to find Earth-like planets and settle them. Surveyor drones had determined that a planet orbiting a Sol-like sun offered the best chance of survival, but first came the bidding. Claim prices soared. It became a brutal battle to secure colonization rights to a world with the best living conditions. It left them utterly broke. In light of that, they called the place Nadezhda. Hope. It was the only thing they had left.
40 Years Since the Jump | 16 Years Until Landing
The barrel-shaped Zvezda had been built for practicality, not beauty, which was made all the more obvious when one had the opportunity to view her jagged and irregular exterior. Her interiors were sterile, mostly long stretches of hallway broken only occasionally by rooms large enough to function as meeting spaces.
Still, at least one aesthete had slipped onto the architectural team, because hidden among all the humdrum corridors was the emerald jewel upon the cheap steel-wire crown: the Hanging Gardens.
Built across multiple deck levels, the Hanging Gardens made up the largest open space within the relatively cramped colony ship. It was strewn with oxygenating plants, lush ferns, mosses, and sprawling vines, like a little pocket of Earth’s nature had simply been dropped into place. At the center, in the place of honor, stood a rather sickly but still living oak tree grown from a seed planted just before the Jump.
Most of the space was dedicated to crops, but care had been taken to allow room for aesthetic choices too. One of those choices was the design of the artificial rain system.
With the already well-plotted irrigation network embedded throughout the beds, there had been no practical need to build the rain apparatus. It would have been more efficient to send water directly to the soil and control its timing according to plant conditions. And despite that, like clockwork every five years, the waterworks engineers would prepare the unconventional irrigation system for the hour-long shower.
They would not be the only observers. The Rain always drew a crowd.
This would be Mitriy’s first Rain that he could remember. He had been too young the last time.
His residential block’s school had only just let out when his father, Nikolai Sergeivich, came to collect him and find a good vantage point in the Gardens. Ever since the divorce, Zoya only ever came by on weekends. She would be missing the Rain anyway. She had not been at the last one either.
They were hardly the only group heading early to the Gardens. Even the widest hallways had become packed as people made their way from homes, schools, and work from the farthest reaches of the ship. The high, excited voices of children floated above the murmur of the adults. To attend a Rain was an event.
As everyone filed into the Gardens, the atmosphere became oddly quiet. There was a strange sense of reverence, broken only by the overstimulated laughter of children too young to understand why it mattered. Mitriy’s father finally found a place among some of the other dads from school. A few hushed greetings were exchanged, and then the silence returned.
Now at a better vantage point, Mitriy could appreciate the sheer size of the Gardens. Large enough to hold what looked like a sea of people on the lowest level alone, and tall enough to feel as though the ceiling stretched into the stars, it made him feel tiny.
“Weeeeeelcome, everybody, to the eighth Rain since the Jump!” the Head Waterworks Engineer boomed through the announcement system.
The crowd began to murmur. The reverence gave way to tightly wound excitement.
“We hope you brought your waterproofs because it’s about to rain in… five…”
“Four…”
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One!”
The echo bounced off the walls and faded.
It became stone silent.
The crowd waited in anticipation, faces tilted up, down, all around in expectation. Mitriy almost thought the system had broken when a wave of exclamations came from a group a few meters ahead. Then he felt it.
A series of droplets hit his upturned face and rolled down to the mossy floor. He flinched involuntarily. He had not expected it to be cold.
As the Rain built, he could hear the soft sequence of plat, plat, plat around him. So this was what rain sounded like.
He lifted a hand into the air, catching the heavy drops and watching them run down his arm before dripping onto the floor below.
Plat, plat, plat.
He was not the only one reaching for the Rain. Many of the adults stretched out their hands, wonder on some faces, contentment on others. To the left, a small circle of adults and children broke into dance. Below, a line of other kids shrieked and laughed as they chased each other through the legs of those watching.
It was as though, for once, the magic of the fairy stories Baba Yelena used to tell had become real and captivated nearly everyone on the Zvezda.
Remember the rain, dear boy, she had told him. Promise me you will remember the rain.
How could he ever forget it?
It was official. There was now only a little over a year left until the colony would reach its place in orbit around Nadezhda. “Only one more year until Landing!” became the common greeting. Talk of plans and dreams was everywhere. Everyone wanted to be the first to discover or build something on the new planet. The survey drones’ first pictures had been fuzzy, but now that the ship was within range to scan with its own telescopes, the planet’s features became clearer, and with them, the shape of the colony’s future.
55 Years Since the Jump | 1 Year Until Landing
Three more Rains had come and gone.
He had only had two left with his father.
If he had only known that the water boiler was going to explode that day, he could have warned him. At the very least, he would have tried to be better to him than he was. And now, this would be his second Rain without his father by his side. Luckily, it was hard to tell tears apart from rain.
Mitriy had taken a job in Waterworks just like his father before him. He was no Rain engineer, but it was work, and that was all it needed to be. Some days were better than others.
The biggest question at work was, “Are you going to stay onboard after Landing?” After all, the Zvezda’s work would not merely end upon reaching Nadezhda. There would still be vital orbital systems to maintain. They would need waterworks engineers. But he would not be among them. Mitriy had been one of the first to sign up to go down the well. As far as he was concerned, his time with the Zvezda would end the moment his feet touched real ground.
This would be the last Rain before they could experience actual weather on an actual planet. Waterworks promised the tradition would endure after Landing, but no one really believed a later one could mean the same thing. This was the last Rain.
There was a semi-nervous energy at work that only grew as the hours passed. How many workplace accidents would happen because everyone’s heart and mind were elsewhere? How many teachers would fail to hold their classes’ attention? How many people, like him, were waiting for one more chance to remember the dead?
The Zvezda had been built decently enough, but fifty-five years into what should have been a thirty-eight-year mission, she was showing her age. Replace one stretch of pipe and another leak would appear in the same sector. Each passing year the loss percentage crept up as the engineers squeezed another year out of systems never meant to last this long.
After the longer-than-anticipated Jump had burned through supplies, there simply had not been enough money left to buy a survey claim any closer than Nadezhda. At least they had found Nadezhda.
There was always work to do. Pipework leading to the agricultural sections clogged with growing media and plant matter. Illegal grow operations kept being discovered in forgotten corners during otherwise routine checks. But today was not exciting. It was just a full shift of patch-and-find until the End-of-Shift bell finally rang.
Mitriy was gone before the shift manager finished saying “that’s all for today.”
If he wanted a good spot in the Gardens, he needed to move.
The hallways were even fuller than he remembered from childhood. Had there always been this many children on the ship? Adults young and old chatted excitedly as they walked. The air itself felt charged.
Like always, that chatter crescendoed all the way to the Gardens, then settled into reverent silence as people entered. This time, Mitriy thought he understood why.
The Rain had always been a social event. It united every resident of the Zvezda. Rich, poor, old, young, everyone had experienced it. In this one hour, the entire ship could be found rejoicing in the same small miracle.
The Rain was celebration.
It gave people something to look forward to.
The Rain was resilience.
It gave people a reason to keep going despite the sameness of the corridors and the monotony of the days.
The Rain was memory.
It gave people a reason to stop and remember those they had once stood beside in previous years.
Mitriy watched as the Gardens’ main floor filled for what would be the last time. Despite the excitement and joy, there was a twist of sadness in the thought of seeing the place empty at the next five-year mark.
Still, like everyone else, he turned his face upward in anticipation.
“Weeelllllcome everyone!” the announcer screeched through the PA system. “To the eleventh Rain since the Jump, and our final Rain before Landing Day!”
There it was again, the excited murmur. Ritual mattered.
“Get your waterproofs ready! We’re about to rain in five…”
“Four…”
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One!”
And there it was again. That soft plat, plat, plat.
Almost imperceptible at first. Then louder. Then all around him.
The cold water that had once seemed so shocking felt refreshing now. It washed something tired and brittle out of him. It felt cleansing. Uplifting.
So this was why the adults had loved it so much.
So this was why they had danced.
Mitriy raised his hand once again and watched the drops run across his skin in tiny crooked paths. This time he noticed another detail he had missed as a child. An earthy smell rose from the plant beds.
I remember the smell of the rain, Baba Yelena had once said. It smelled like home.
Earth had been home, once.
Soon, Nadezhda would be too.
The Zvezda hangs in orbit over the blue-green ball they call Nadezhda. White clouds swirl above it, a sure sign of life and water. Green and sandy islands dot a deep indigo sea. Everyone on board is hard at work preparing to land. The mood is almost intoxicating. “I can’t believe we’re really here.”
56 Years Since the Jump | 1 Day Until Landing
They had really made it.
They were really here, above Nadezhda.
The dream of decades ago had finally become real.
If only Baba Yelena, or his father, were here to see it.
Mitriy could hardly sleep. His mind raced with all the things he could do and see on a real planet. But of course, first there was the rain.
He tried to imagine what actual rain would be like. Would it smell different? Feel different? Was there even such a thing as warm rain?
All the necessary gear had been packed. As part of the first Landing Group, he would be helping build the infrastructure required for the rest of the colony. Water purification. Solar panels. Temporary shelters. It would be exhausting work, but all he felt was anticipation.
Morning came too slowly.
The Landing shuttle had been checked and double-checked. The expedition leader handled IDs and seat assignments. Everyone strapped in. Above them, a viewscreen showed the landing site highlighted in red.
They were landing on one of the larger islands. Preliminary scans showed sparse trees but great fields of tall green grass broken by bright flowers that swayed in the wind like colored sparks.
The shuttle shook as the engines powered on. Then it fell away from the Zvezda.
Weight vanished.
Then the drive kicked and weight returned all at once.
On the viewscreen, the island grew until only the grassland beneath them remained. The shuttle rattled as it hit atmosphere. The roar built. The engines thundered one last time. Then, with a jolt, everything went quiet.
“We have successfully made the Landing!” the pilot announced.
Cheers exploded through the cabin.
The expedition leader gave a speech Mitriy was too wired to actually hear. It ended with an emphatic “Let’s get to work!” and more cheers.
When it was finally his turn to descend the ladder, his hands shook so badly he nearly fell. He dropped to his knees in the dirt. Real dirt.
“You all right, Nikolaevich?” someone asked.
Mitriy smiled and nodded. “It’s just been a long journey to get here.”
“All right, crew! Grab your packs and move! We need a temp shelter up by nightfall. There will be time for sightseeing later!”
They walked through knee-high grass for what felt like miles. Small unknown creatures skittered away in response. Strange winged things swooped high above. Small creeks broke up the route. Eventually they reached the chosen site.
The team assembled their temporary shelters in record time. Aboard the Zvezda, the colonists were glued to viewscreens for every tiny update about their new home. The meteorologists studied weather patterns to answer the question on everyone’s mind: when will it rain?
56 Years Since the Jump | 1 Day After Landing
Setting up camp had gone well, but Mitriy was sore the next morning. He had never done so much physical labor in one day before. Today’s assignment was to begin work on the water purification systems. The supplies brought down from orbit were only a starter reserve. The colony was meant to become self-sustaining quickly.
Breakfast was nothing special, but the setting made it impossible to care. No one ate inside the dining tent. Everyone wanted the free air.
Looking out over the grassy sea, Mitriy spotted a knot of dark gray clouds advancing.
That meant rain.
Excitement rose instantly in him. Perhaps today they would finally experience real rain.
The clouds advanced slowly enough to be painful. Hours ticked by. Work dragged on. The storm seemed as though it would never arrive.
He had just stopped for lunch when he heard the first peal of thunder. It sounded, at first, like a ship passing overhead, except there were no ships around save the shuttle. He turned to see the clouds massed above the outer edge of the island. Lightning leapt between them, and then, in a blinding crack, a bolt struck the water beyond the beach.
That got everyone’s attention.
As if by schedule, the entire camp stopped working.
Everyone wanted to be the first to experience real rain.
That same air of reverence settled over the assembled crew as they listened to the sounds of the storm and watched the dark front rolling toward them. A cool breeze swept in, carrying the smell of water and salt. The rain would be here soon.
Mitriy could see it in the distance, falling in silver sheets.
He turned his face upward.
Then the screaming started.
A woman furthest from camp cried out first. She ran back toward the shelters with her hands over her face. Blinded, she failed to see the shipping crates in front of her and fell hard into the mud. Two other crew members rushed to help her.
The leading edge of the storm reached them.
The shouting multiplied.
One of the helpers shoved the poor woman back into the mud and ran.
The second hesitated, wanting to help, but realizing too late that there was no helping this.
Then he ran too.
The woman writhed in the mud, hands finally pulled away from her face.
Mitriy saw white through red.
The rain was eating through her skin.
Understanding hit the camp all at once.
They ran.
Mitriy sprinted for the nearest shelter. Behind him, people cried out in agony as the wall of acid rain overtook them. He made it inside, barely suppressing a scream of his own as he looked back out at what the storm was doing to the camp.
He had been lucky. He had only taken a few small splash burns. Others were not so fortunate. One man crawled through the mud, skin peeling from his arms. Another stumbled toward the water barrels trying to rinse himself off, only for the runoff to turn red.
Outside, the rain hammered the tents.
No longer plat, plat, plat.
Now it was a roar.
The grass that had seemed so green the day before turned muddy brown before his eyes. Everything turned to mud as the storm washed and burned through it all.
A cold droplet landed on the back of his hand.
He nearly wiped it away absentmindedly before the pain hit.
He looked up and saw that a small hole had burned through the tent.
It was eating the plastic.
Mitriy retreated farther inside, desperate to improvise some sort of shield. He grabbed spare rain ponchos and layered them beneath one of the bunks. Then he dashed to a supply cupboard, seized metal baking trays, and stacked them on top. He crawled beneath the whole ridiculous structure and prayed the storm would pass before the tent dissolved around him.
Mud seeped inside.
The water level rose.
I want you to remember the rain, dear boy. Remember the rain.
Another droplet struck his shoulder, burning through shirt and skin. Then another. Then another.
The front of the tent collapsed inward, flinging acid mud across his legs. He bit down on a cry.
The remaining metal ribs began to bow as the storm ate through them.
There would be nowhere to go once they gave out.
A question flashed through his mind: had Baba Yelena felt this trapped at the end?
“I remember the rain,” he said.