Troubadour
A shrill beep drew Julianna from her writings. She read over her song one more time to save it to memory, then brushed her dust scribbles off the blank panel of hull. Then she leapt off the wall and somersaulted across the capsule, past her little endurance garden, and landed both feet on the console. She found the flashing light among the many dozens of buttons.
It was the navigation beacon! The capsule’s computer would reach out every hour into space, and search for anyone to respond. Something had responded. She grabbed the navigation computer. She didn’t understand all the numbers but she knew how to open the star chart, find the little blinking dot of the other navigation computer across space, and tap it so the computer took notice.
The walls hummed around her as the capsule’s radio powered up.. Her hands shivered in excitement and the rest of her body shook from the hum. She found the radio headset and pulled it on. She had to tighten it all the way, then tie her belt to hold it.
“Hello?” she said. What had she found? Was it going to be another dormant probe? Or was someone there?
“Hello?” she said.
She grabbed the camera and pointed it. Over 138 days of cycling through space, she’d learned to enter a point on the nav map and let the camera aim there. She found the dot of the ship broadcasting there and entered the coordinates. The camera swung around, found the other dot of a computer out there and telescoped to see it.
It was a tumbling sphere with antennae hanging off it. A dead probe, she thought as her heart fell. Just someone’s lost garbage. It had a big red A on the side, fading in the constant radiation exposure. That meant federal Armada.
The Armada hated her clan. They were always stopping their ships and demanding safety inspections. She and her friends Marne and Xiran had tried doing a flower dance for one of their faceless armored soldiers. The soldier had started clapping along, metal gloves slapping in time with their pattering feet, only for the officer to slap their helmet and make them refocus.
She studied the probe for too long, counting the 12 antennae and the 127 visible hull plates. She looked at the stars around it and named a few of them too. Eventually a beep on her camera told her the probe was drifting out of range.
She retracted it and bounced backwards. She cornered off her bed, and flung herself to her garden.
The capsule had come with a self-sufficient terrarium, just put the dirt block in the inflatable bubble. It grew nice belon berries in 32 days. She’d been through 4 generations. That meant about 128 days, right? No, 138 because she was 10 days into the next cycle. She picked 6 and bit into them. Their flavor was sweet, and the juices burst in her dry mouth. She grabbed a tube of the awful, white and spongy nutrient paste and ate the rest of her daily nutrients.
Then she went to the tiny bathroom and recycled everything back into the capsule’s water supply.
The capsule had come with a jumpsuit that had shrunk to fit her little body. She stripped it off and grabbed the clothes she’d come aboard with. A white fluffy jumpsuit and a fine red cloak. Half a dozen little bells knit into the fabric chimed as she twirled. She was supposed to have red confetti she flew. When all her classmates danced for the poor, sad stationbounders in carnival they made a storm of red.
She had no audience of tired spacers marveling at her clan’s performance, throwing credit chips around or blowing them on the games. Her only audience was the stars. She danced anyways. She’d made up a new one, twirling around in a steady twinkle of bells, She kicked her legs out, swinging her around faster and faster while zero gravity never brought her down.
She burst into giggles as she varied the angle of her kicks and wobbled herself like a top. She’d been working on this for a while. She stretched her arms over her head and spun faster, then lowered them, slowing herself to a gentle rotation.
Maybe one day she’d have another carnival.
She threw up her arms. That was a solo move, calling for the spotlight on stage. For someone who was grown up and made the big money on the stage and wrote their own songs. Since she might be the last person in the clan, she was a soloist, and she had to write.
“The fires rise higher. And we burn. Bright as the sun rising. Together we flee.”
She raised her arms higher, and opened her hands like mom did. Mom had worn red and black face paint. Her role was the somber act, after the jesters did their turn.
“The fires rise higher. And we burn. Bright as the sun rising. Together we flee.
All our lives, they burn away to ash. It won’t take, we will rebuild together.”
She practiced until her voice went hoarse. There was a clock that didn’t matter because there was only night, and her voice. She’d used up her voice. Now she’d wait until it stopped rasping, then sing again.
The capsule had a blue sleeping harness meant for an adult. Julianna was small enough to curl up at the feet area and sleep in a warm little ball and drift off to slee[
The flames flickered ahead, separating her and mom from the main performance floor. Over the crackling flames and popping electronics, she heard the screams. Wasn’t there supposed to be a fire alarm and white foam?
Julianna didn’t get to see. Mom grabbed her up under her arm and ran, and ran. The flames chased them over the old, greasy conduits. The carnival robots shriveled and melted behind them.
She awoke to her stomach rumbling. She sighed, and crawled her way out. There was a small window in the capsule. For 140 days now it had shown a steady starscape. The stars had changed a bit but she didn’t know which ones were which. She’d given them all names after her friends. The bright twins were Marnie and Xiran.
She got to spinning like a top again, practicing all her moves. Except, she’d been spinning for weeks now. She needed to do something more. Maybe if she were a backup dancer she could just spin, glow rods in her hands and shining on the leads. Except she was a soloist, and she needed to do more than just repeat the cool spinning over and over.
She looked up at the window and tried to position herself between Marnie’s star and Xiran’s. Then raised her arms, and twirled. She kicked her leg up over her head and spun so far her ponytail grazed the ground.
She bounced around, alternating legs, flipping to the ceiling and bouncing her feet off the cold window, before coming back down.
It was the same motion all again. Same theme, right?
She sat down on the window crosslegged, and put her face in her hands. She stared between her legs at the twinkling stars. Billions and billions of kilometers away, the stars were smiling back at her. They must love her performances since she was still sitting here.
“I’m sorry, my singing voice isn’t so good,” she said. Her voice croaked along. “Grrr.” She sounded like a gutter toad. The bulbous aliens that filtered their water on the caravan. “Grrrrrrr!”
She burst into giggles. “Grrrrrrrrrr!”
She imagined the stars flickering and laughing back at her. She had to try singing. Or speaking and just doing words.
“The fire rises higher. Together we burn. Bright as the rising sun, together we burn.”
“In your light I grow.” She paused.
Most of the songs they learned were happy.
Our clan brings joy to all these poor workers. That’s not our passion it’s our career. So our songs are about happiness for them, mother had said to her class. Mom had been the lead soloist of the entire clan. That’s why she got red paint on her entire face instead of dots like Julianna had.
We also steal from the rich, she’d said. The class burst into cheers.
Mother’s brow had furrowed, exposing a patch of pale skin beneath her red facepaint. Julianna had gone silent, knowing her frustration.
Yes, we steal from the rich. We entertain them, but we steal from them too because they have more to give. We give them all happiness too.
“The fire rises higher, together we burn. Bright as the rising sun, together we burn.
Yet our ashes fly free and we rise. To the stars we fly, and then we return.
We will be free together in the stars. Our dust will come together, and we will be reborn.
Rise up together.”
She thought it over. Mom would have a million little corrections for her. But maybe she’d smile her little smile whenever she was impressed with her performing.
“The fire rises.” She tried to sing and her voice scratched.
She ate another few belon berries and some nutrient paste. She had years of nutrient paste. It was slimy and had no flavor, but it had everything she needed. As long as she didn’t find a way to spill water out of the hull, she could keep writing songs for years.
She curled up at the feet of her spacebag and closed her eyes.
“Mom, you’re sick aren’t you?” Julianna said. She clung to the front of the bag. Mom’s breath was acrid and hot, and stank like a sewer. She hadn’t sung in 2 days now.
“Yes. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m not getting any better,” mom said. “I’ll just have to stay here and watch you perform while I recover.”
“But it’s only fun singing with you!” Julianna said and hugged her around her neck.
I’ll watch you and critique you, okay? You’re practicing for me, she said.
Julianna’s eyes fluttered open.
The stars were still smiling down on her.
Then the entire world shook. She was thrown against the padded chair, her arms and legs all tangling up with the straps.
A clang rang out, followed by a hiss. A still, toneless mechanical voice rang out. “Survivor, there is a hull breach. Please seal it.”
She struggled against the straps holding her. No, slow down. This is a puzzle. A hand here, leg slipping back there. Seconds ticked away as she worked and the air slipped away.
She unfurled into open space and tumbled in the air. She looked around. The console was flashing red with warning lights all over. They’d hit something tiny and very fast.
She found the tool kit sunk into the floor directly opposite the window and yanked it open. She’d had 140…150…158 days to explore every nook and cranny and try to read every manual. It was easy. The red bottle was glue and the plastic panels would mould to the hull.
She had to find the puncture though.
Then she saw her garden. The bubble had ripped open and all the green inside had been torn up and slammed into a spot on the wall. It was like a vacuum had sucked up a massive dust bunny and gotten clogged halfway. All her plants had been shredded by the roots and the self-contained sphere breached.
And it was still shaking as slowly, they were worked out.
She bounded over. Everything was already dead. It was too late.
“I’m sorry little sprouts,” she whispered and pasted the glue right over them. Then she shoved the panel over it. A pop rang out and vegetable matter vanished as it was sucked away. Then silence. And dizziness. She checked the console and it had solidified into a warning yellow.
She realized she was panting so hard her breath rasped through the capsule. She couldn’t stop. Her hands were shaking.
Her little sprouts were dead. She had nutrient paste to keep her going a little bit but without those magnificent berries, she’d be running low.
Her toes slipped off the wall and she drifted into the middle of space. She spun on the spot slowly like a top, watching the stars flash by, then the ruined garden, then the open tool box, then her sleeping bag. Then the stars staring at her from far, far away, knowing they’d never hear her properly.
“Mom where are you,” she said as tears welled up.
She hit the wall and bounced off. Then put her hands over her eyes and curled up into a little ball. She kept breathing deep, and kept getting dizzy. Until she was crying and gasping together.
Until, through the tears she realized; the capsule was a recycling system like her survival garden. Except the garden was dead and she’d lost some of her air. The pod definitely had its own air system like their clan ship, but she was losing air by the breath. She tried to swallow her sobbing and that only made her burst into coughing until her chest hurt. She kept coughing until she slammed back-first into a wall and it shocked her into painful silence.
She grabbed the camera and looked around space. There were thousands of stars twinkling and nothing else. She wished she knew how far she’d drifted since they’d fled. Mom had known nothing of navigation. She hadn’t tried and instead focused on singing.
“I’m sorry, mom, and all of you,” she said. She thought. She only had so much air. But she had to finish something. “I think I can get one song finished.”
She rehearsed until she was tired, and she kept rehearsing in case if she went to sleep, she wouldn’t wake up. Eventually, she took a break. Then, suddenly she was pressed to the window at the top, the light making pretty shapes as it shined through her hair.
She breathed in deep as she could. Dizziness fluttered and she stopped. Then, she breathed in again anyways because she had to make sure.
Yeah, dizziness. She grabbed some nutrient pasted, then fished through the browning slivers of her garden. She came up with a single, deep red belon berry and ate it.
She took a deep breath. “The fire rises.”
Her voice came through clear. At least that was back.
“The fire rises, and together we all burn. Bright as the sun, our bodies have become.
Our ashes rise together and soar through space.
You and me we will be together forever.”
That sounded good for an opener. She paused to catch her breath. The capsule’s yellow warning lights glowed on her white costume, washing out the glow from her stars. She fiddled over the lights, turning various things on and off. None shut the frustrating warning lights off. Hopefully the stars could still see her.
She slept again, ate some more awful paste, then turned on the radio and rehearsed the second verse.
“Our dust will drift in the stars with our dead ship. Like nebulas we will shine across space.
But even nebulas come together and shine once more.
Among the stars we will shine together.
We will rise up together.”
She threw her arms up. “Rise up together my loves. We will be together.”
She bowed. 2 verses, a chorus. She wished mom was around to tell her all the things she’d done wrong and help her write it.
She rehearsed it over and over and tested every tone. By the time exhaustion came for her, it sounded perfect.
She was awakened by a shrill beeping. She untangled herself from the sleeping bag and launched herself to the keypad. Was it a bigger spacerock, come to finish her off?
No, there was another computer out there. She pointed the telescope at it.
It was another satellite. A long, thin tube with a solar panel on one side and a broken arm on the other where an asteroid must have hit it. One end had a long dead engine, the other was covered in broadcasting dishes. Maybe it could blast her song out for the stars to hear properly.
She hailed it.
Connected, the computer announced.
Hello, she typed.
The navigation computer beeped. They were drifting out of range.
Wait, there was a way to control this. Mom had showed her on day…6? 10? She grabbed the joystick. Then hit the green button. Then the blue one.
Guided autopilot engaged. Please select your destination.
She poked the flashing dot on the screen.
Stand by, survivor. This appears to be a communications satellite with an active computer code. You can use the emergency broadcast to access it for free and broadcast a distress call.
She nodded frantically. She didn’t have a distress call. She just wanted the stars to hear her.
The capsule thrummed and the lights flickered. Julianna closed her eyes and waited. If she died here, she was too terrified. She didn’t want to think about space claiming her. It was so vast and empty and she’d be lonely forever.
When she didn’t die, she opened her eyes. The stars had swung around. Various yellow lights glowed on the console.
She tested her voice a bit. It was fully recovered. She inhaled to her lungs, and let out a shrill scream from her chest. She screamed until her ears buzzed and she drifted off all dizzy.
Ready. That was the last thing the clan did before docking at a new anchorage and opening the door. They got all the kids and willing grown ups together, and they screamed. It was really funny and everyone got all giggly. Julianna always tried to get mom to do it, but she’d sigh and turn up her nose. The lead soloist didn’t scream.
She rehearsed a little before, in a quiet whisper, like mom did, to save her voice. She ran through the lyrics in her head. They were all there, none had fallen out.
The satellite appeared in the window. It looked old and worn out like their clan ship. Tough old soul.
Connected.
She grabbed the microphone. “Hello, can you hear me?” she said.
A beep replied.
Survivor, you are broadcasting on open frequency for all to hear.
Shallow breath, that wouldn’t make her dizzy. A second shallow breath because she was scared.
“The fire rises higher, together we burn. Bright as the rising sun, together we burn.
Yet our ashes fly free. Together we rejoin the stars in the sky. And we will all see.
Our bodies are gone, but our songs remain here. Our joy, our tears, its all right here.
And one day we will rise up together in the starlight.
Rise up together.
Rise up together.”
She kept going. Radio waves moved at almost the speed of light, right? So eventually they’d reach the stars.
“The flames rose high and swallowed us whole and I watched our world end.
Yet we began long before the fire. Only our bodies burned away.
We will reignite.
Rise up together.
Rise up together.”
She grabbed the microphone and screamed into the lyrics over and over. Her face grew all hot and she got dizzy, but she kept singing. That was all that mattered to her, that they hear.
An alarm rang out. “Oxygen low. Find shelter.”
She threw her head back and her little frock fluttered around her neck. There were no bells but the rippling fabric was loud in her ears.
“Rise up together, rise up together.”
“Rise up together.”
Slender arms looped around her waist and hands clasped at her belly.
“Rise up together,” mom sang in her high as the sky and clear as a starry night voice. “Higher,” she said.
“Rise up together,” she pushed higher. “Together we will reignite.” She hit the highest C.
Mom sang with her and the capsule shook around them.
Then mom drifted backwards and wrapped her in her arms as they kept singing.
“They hear you,” mom whispered in her ear. “You are so beautiful.”
Julianna kept singing as mom grinned at her.
“I just wish I could be with you as you carry our clan,” she said.
“What?” Julianna said and stopped. She threw her arms around mom. “We’re going to the stars together, right?”
“I am going now to be with the rest of our clan. My love, you must continue the journey alone.”
Julianna wiped her eyes. Then something clamped over her face and oxygen blew in her face. She twisted in a strong grip, and looked around. She saw black hair, an oxygen mask, and worried brown eyes.
Then she was being lifted out of the capsule, into a soft grey tunnel with red lights around it. In the light.
“Is she awake?” someone said.
“Yeah, she’s in shock,” a deeper, harsher woman’s voice said. It came from the oxygen mask in front of her.
The woman took off her mask and grinned. She wore blue paint over her black skin, and had coveralls with a red A on her shoulder. “Hey kiddo, we heard you. It’s okay. We heard you.”
Thank you for reading. I hope you all enjoyed. This story probably took the longest for me to write of all my shorts, at about 3 weeks from first word to completion. I kept doing drafts, then feeling like everything was too clean, and too unemotional. This is supposed to be a story of raw emotion and it took me a long time to make that bleed out of the words on page right. I hope you enjoyed.
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