Nova by Margaret Fortune

the hub, with twin tracks running along either side of the platform. Sliding doors at the end of the room match the ones on Level Five. The familiar looks help ground me, and I answer his question with an affirmative.
    “Shall we go?”
    At my nod, he leads the way through the sliding doors. I follow him, assuming the chamber on the other side will be some sort of residential version of the hub.
    I couldn’t have been more wrong.
    Gone are the cargo bays and corridors, the dull walls and metal deck plating, the lift station and the bustle of military personnel. Gone are any indications that we are on a space station at all, and in their place?
    Paradise.
    Lawns, sidewalks, streets, buildings—I would think I was planetside if I didn’t know better. The manmade structures are neat and well-kept, with greenery of all kinds adorning the area. Ivy and other vines twine in decorative whorls up the building walls, and flower beds create artistic clumps of color in red, violet, yellow, and orange. Trees, too, have been planted along the walks and streets, creating the illusion of the outdoors as well as granting shade from the lights above. When I glance up, I cannot even see the ceiling, just the bright light of late afternoon.
    I step slowly along the cobblestone walk, feeling like I’m in some sort of dream. No, not a dream. A memory. A memory of home.
    As if guessing my thoughts, Michael speaks. “It’s a lot like home, isn’t it? Aurora, I mean.”
    “Aurora,” I repeat. Images surface in my mind of a place that looks much like this, a place with a park full of white flowers where a boy named Michael used to push a girl named Lia on the swings. Michael’s right—it
is
a lot like home. Just not my home.
    I wonder if I even have a home.
    “It’s beautiful,” I tell him, and I mean it. Perhaps underneath the flesh and blood I’m only a machine, but even I can appreciate this place. The open spaces, the greenery, the profusion of color. Even the atmosphere holds a soft quality, the air in here so fresh that the sour-sweet scent permeating the hub has faded into nothingness.
    Michael notices me sniffing. “It even smells like home, doesn’t it? A fresh, earthy sort of smell. I think it’s the nutrient mist they pump into the rings all the time.”
    “Nutrient mist?”
    “It’s like pumping fluoride into the water to keep your teeth strong, only through the air instead. It’s supposed to keep everyone healthy by supplying vital nutrients that are missing from the artificial station air and food. They don’t bother doing it in the hub, though, since everyone lives in the rings. That’s why the air in the hub always smells so sterile.”
    I nod, off-handedly wondering if that’s what accounts for the difference in smell between the two places. Craning my neck, I glance between a couple houses to spot what might be a park. I wish I could see more of this place, but the buildings and trees prevent any long-distance views.
    “Is there somewhere we can see it all?” I ask.
    Michael grins. “Your wish is my command.”
    He leads me down a couple streets and along a park, the way a slight but steady climb. We are almost to the end of the street when we reach a squat apartment building. We take the stairs all the way up, pushing through a door and out onto the roof. As far as apartment buildings go, it is relatively short, though still tall enough to lift us up over the trees and give us an unrestricted view of the ring.
    Huge curving walls enclose the habitat on each side, the upper slopes disappearing into the bright ceiling. Tiers of farms have been built into each wall, like gigantic steps with pathways cut into them to allow workers access to the beds, while the city lies nestled in the lower curve of the ring itself.
    I turn away from the walls and look down the length of the city. In the distance, the ring stretches out in one long, sweeping curve, the buildings and farms sloping steadily upward with the