Whenever we fly out to Abraxis to check on our rental property we fly through The Belt, and Sasha invariably wants to swing by the battlespace to view the ruins of Ezekiel again.

 

As usual, her mother says “Come on, honey. It’s not a good idea.”

 

Also as usual, I shrug dismissively. We could tell her the truth. We should. But we never do.

 

“Let’s go,” says Sasha. “I want to see the wrecks!”

 

So Sasha’s mother turns our ship into The Belt and then, when Ezekiel looms, shattered and

enormous among the other scraps and blasted hulks, she steers toward it but hovers at a safe distance.

 

I always watch my wife’s face when we come here. We both know Sasha can’t understand what really happened at a site like this. I usually say nothing. The closer we get to the truth, the more likely my wife will leave abruptly to avoid it.

 

“Tell it again, Mom!”

 

“Sasha, you know the story. We’ve been here too many times. Technically it’s owned by the military and we shouldn’t even be out here.”

 

“Then I’ll tell it. You were part of a team — there were twelve of you — and you had to jump onto Ezekiel while it was firing on your transport, so you were super scared. That must have been so cool.”

 

I look out at the great black hole in the center of the destroyed ship where living people had once worked and lived.

 

“You might as well tell the story. Don’t let her get caught up in her fantasies.”

 

She touches me briefly on the hand.

 

“Ok. But quickly. And then we’re leaving.”

 

Maybe she gives in to Sasha’s insistence because she herself needs it to be told. I can’t help because I wasn’t really here.

 

“Ezekiel was the largest ship in the Collective’s fleet, but it didn’t have a lot of firepower. It had originally been built for science instead of war, so it was protected by a handful of destroyers. Someone at the top decided it needed to be boarded and some of its research facilities liberated in order to put a dent in the Collective’s research agenda, which was turning out new and better technology than we had.”

 

“So they assembled a strike team and you were in it!”

 

“I was in one of the strike teams. There were four. As well as a covering force of fighters that sacrificed themselves to keep the Collective fire away from us. Most of those fighters were destroyed. You can still see pieces of them here.”

 

She knows that Sasha is craning her neck to see if she can recognize the fragments as the fighters they had once been.

 

“Once we boarded there were firefights and we lost …some people. But we kept going.”

 

“Because the mission was too important to lose sight of! Because you had to get that research.”

 

“Yes. We had to get that research.” She pauses. “And so we completed the mission and got it done. And when we got out I didn’t look back. And now Ezekiel is still here, just like she was the last time I stepped away from her.”

 

Sasha watches the outline of the wreck as we slip past. “I heard that some grownups have nightmares. Do you have nightmares about Ezekiel?”

 

Her mother looks at me, but I am looking out another window, remaining, as I always do here, separate from my wife’s thinking.

 

“No,” says her mother. “No nightmares. I left some things behind, like everyone did. But I know I did something important so I’m at peace with it.” Then she smiles. “And I wouldn’t even think about it if you didn’t ask all the time!”

 

Sasha grins. “As long as you have me you won’t forget anything!”

 

We pull away finally, once again putting distance between the wreck and the rest of the truth.

 

Sasha leans forward between us and rests her cheek against my arm. “Do you ever wish you had fought in the war, Dad?”

 

“Your father served on a research ship, Sasha. You know that.”

 

“I know, but—”

 

I touch her cheek with my free hand. “I was glad to do the work I had to do. I would have made a terrible soldier.”

 

Sasha grins. “That is right! Isaiah Bryant: Private First Class. You would have been awful!”

 

Ezekiel is disappearing behind us now, the blue vapor that still lingers from the battle marking the wreck as a violet smudge against the stars.

 

“Just think,” says Sasha wistfully as she leans back into her own seat behind us. “If you hadn’t fought on Ezekiel and liberated those cloning facilities, we wouldn’t even have clones today. I can’t even imagine what that would be like.”

 

“Me neither, sweetie,” says her mother, and I know she is remembering those lost people whom she won’t tell Sasha about. Her Isaiah had been so young, and some people say there are ghosts in these wrecks. Perhaps, all in all, it would be nice to have the chance to be a ghost.

 

I continue to stare out the window, wishing in a pointless way that I could have known that other Isaiah, lost in a battle to save the cloning facilities.