by Grace Bridges -
Ave rested against the wall with the little ones piled on and around her. Their slumbering breaths formed a restful haze in the dimly-lit service corridor.
A vibration in the floor brought Ave to full wakefulness. She tensed, and the children around her shifted in their sleep. They knew the drill.
Ave listened a moment more, then burst into action with a shake that roused all the babes. Within seconds they sat upright, watching her for instructions.
“E-38. Go!” The tousled heads hustled away towards the prearranged meeting spot. Ave made sure they were all out of sight before she tucked herself into the tiny niche behind a support pylon.
The footsteps grew louder. She still had to concentrate extra hard to make them out; the visitor intended stealth. Ave’s heart hammered. She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. Then, like the turn of a page in an old book, peace washed over her with the silent song of a whale from the red planet far below.
She drew herself up to full height, breathed slow and deep, and opened her eyes just in time to spot a smallish shadow pass her hiding place. An orphan from one of the gangs? She was bigger. She could take him.
Ave darted out and grabbed the impostor from behind. Pinned at both elbows, he squealed and struggled. She dragged him back to the nearest light source, a small panel of blinking diodes. “What are you doing here?”
As she roughly turned him to face her, she realised he was hugging a bulging sack. Her eyes found his face. “Gavin!”
He relaxed in her grip. “Ave. Don’t hurt me. I brought food.”
“For us?” Ave boggled at the sack.
“I know you need it. The whales told me. I can get it.”
Ave gulped. “You’re not stealing from the wizard, are you?”
“No, silly. Spiner knows.” He laughed, then peered up and down the empty hall. “So where are your kids? Isn’t this your night zone?”
Ave looked away. “Not any more.”
Showing posts with label Ave Oceansong. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ave Oceansong. Show all posts
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Monday, December 26, 2011
Anthem
by Fred Warren -
“Let’s review. Little ones, what’s your job?”
Three hands shot up. “Begging!”
“But we have to be polite,” said Jeremy.
Molly nodded. “No grabbing or screaming.”
“Tears and sniffles are okay,” Pip chimed in.
Smith clapped his hands. “Excellent. Stay where you can see Kate, and do not leave the marketplace with any of the marks, even if they promise to take you home and adopt you. If they tell you that, bring them to me, and say I’m your guardian, understand?”
“Yes, Smith.”
“That’s my clever poppets. Now, Charlie and Cecile. Your turn.”
Charlie shoved his hands in his pockets, looking bored with the whole affair. “I take the near side and Cecile takes the far side. We stroll around and stay casual. Look for the big’uns.”
Cecile fiddled with a lock of blonde hair and recited her part: “When we find a mark, we lift one thing and take a roundabout path to drop it in Kate’s bag.” She scowled at Charlie. “One thing. Last time, you got greedy and nearly got us all caught by the Enforcers.”
“Did not!”
“Did so!”
Smith waved them down. “All right, that’s enough, you two. Charlie, she’s right. The marks are smarter these days, and some of them are just waiting for us to dip a finger in their pocket. Make sure they’re distracted, then in, out, and away. As for you, Cecile, I need you to concentrate. Sometimes it seems like you’re really shopping, not just pretending to.”
The hair-twisting accelerated. “I’m sorry. There are so many interesting things. It’s hard not to look. I’ll try.”
“Good girl. Kate will be at the center with the drop bag, playing crier for the fishmonger. As for me, I’ll be working the margins, the standoffish folk who can’t decide if they’re too good to mix with us rabble. If there’s any trouble…”
Five voices replied in chorus. “Bolt for the safe spot!”
“That’s right. Everyone’s on their own then. No heroes. If Kate and I can help, we will, but I want the rest of you to scuttle out of there like prime racing beetles and never look back.”
Kate plucked at his elbow. “It’s time, love.”
“Very well. Let’s keep our wits about us. Be light-fingered and pitiful. Tonight, we feast!”
#
Smith would have preferred a larger raiding party, but there’d been more Enforcer presence of late, and one of the beetle-meat vendors had missed the carcass they nicked last time. Some of the merchants, like the fishmonger, were friends and allies, but a few wouldn’t hesitate to turn Smith and his entire brood over to the authorities if there was any profit at all in it.
“Salt-Cod-Ohhh! Fifty the kilo!” Kate’s voice trilled over the market’s hubbub, bringing a smile to Smith’s lips. He could think of only one sound he liked better. Best not to dwell on that. He tugged on his cap and scanned the crowd. No Enforcers on patrol today, thank heaven. The little ones, with tearstained faces and outstretched hands, intercepted customers who’d just made purchases and were struggling with the change.
Meanwhile, Charlie and Cecile were threading their way among the shoppers crowding the aisles between stalls. Charlie paused to pull something from the pocket of a corpulent man who was arguing with a cloth merchant. Smith was relieved to see he didn’t double-dip but moved smartly along. Only a practiced eye would have noticed anything amiss. Cecile was focusing on the womenfolk, tapping a succession of purses and waist packs, twirling along like a ballerina. She had promise, that one.
Suppose I’d best earn my keep, or I’ll never hear the end of it. Smith sidled up to a well-dressed gentleman who was perusing a counter stacked with colorful insect shells. “Fine selection here, Guv’nor. Needin’ something special for the lady of the house?”
The man didn’t even look at him. “Yes, confound it. My Joanna is simply mad about these shells. It’s the latest fad. Her friends use them to serve party favors and appetizers. Rather disgusting, to my way of thinking, but she won’t be denied.”
“They do add a spot of color.” Smith leaned over to whisper in the man’s ear, simultaneously reaching for his back pocket and the wallet bulging there. “But if you’re looking for the best price, you ought to speak with Miz Whitman, four stalls down.”
“Indeed? Why, thank you. I’ll do that.”
“Happy to be of service. Enjoy your…” Smith frowned. Something had caught his sleeve. From the corner of his eye, he could see a thin, pale man standing behind his mark. The fingers that were holding onto his shirt shifted to grasp his forearm. The grip was strong. Inhumanly strong.
Gritty ash. The twit had a Frank watching his back.
The cyborg tapped the gentleman’s shoulder. “Master, this man tried to steal your wallet. I’ve sent a message to the Enforcers. Shall I restrain him until they arrive?”
“My wallet?” The man fumbled at his back pocket, then turned to glare at Smith. “Thief!” He backhanded him across the face, drawing blood. “Stinking low-deck trash! Hold him tight, Sixty-Three.”
Smith tried to bolt, but the Frank wouldn’t budge. It was like being handcuffed to a post. He hoped Kate was sending the children out of the market. She wasn’t shouting out her advertisement for fresh fish any more. No one else in the crowd seemed to have taken notice, but he knew the Enforcers would arrive in moments, and his heart sank as he writhed in the cyborg’s steely grip.
Then he heard something strange—and familiar. The market’s babble stilled. Every eye sought the ethereal music, children’s voices wafting through the air, raised in song.
A pilgrim race, we wandered long
Through endless night and barren space
’Til whale’s eye and angel’s song
Revealed you here, our resting place
Arise, Avenir Eclectia
Stand firm, Avenir Eclectia
Be strong, Avenir Eclectia
Live on, Avenir Eclectia
There, at the entrance to the marketplace, stood Ave, surrounded by a ragged choir of orphans, their faces tilted upward, eyes closed, countenances radiant.
They sang the anthem over and over again, as the crowd listened in reverent silence. A woman standing near Smith wept, her hands pressed to her face. Even the Frank was transfixed. His grip on Smith’s arm slowly relaxed, then released altogether. Smith leaped to one side, shedding his coat as the cyborg snatched at it, too late.
As he sprinted for the exit, Smith took one final, backward glance at Ave.
Their eyes met, and she smiled.
“Let’s review. Little ones, what’s your job?”
Three hands shot up. “Begging!”
“But we have to be polite,” said Jeremy.
Molly nodded. “No grabbing or screaming.”
“Tears and sniffles are okay,” Pip chimed in.
Smith clapped his hands. “Excellent. Stay where you can see Kate, and do not leave the marketplace with any of the marks, even if they promise to take you home and adopt you. If they tell you that, bring them to me, and say I’m your guardian, understand?”
“Yes, Smith.”
“That’s my clever poppets. Now, Charlie and Cecile. Your turn.”
Charlie shoved his hands in his pockets, looking bored with the whole affair. “I take the near side and Cecile takes the far side. We stroll around and stay casual. Look for the big’uns.”
Cecile fiddled with a lock of blonde hair and recited her part: “When we find a mark, we lift one thing and take a roundabout path to drop it in Kate’s bag.” She scowled at Charlie. “One thing. Last time, you got greedy and nearly got us all caught by the Enforcers.”
“Did not!”
“Did so!”
Smith waved them down. “All right, that’s enough, you two. Charlie, she’s right. The marks are smarter these days, and some of them are just waiting for us to dip a finger in their pocket. Make sure they’re distracted, then in, out, and away. As for you, Cecile, I need you to concentrate. Sometimes it seems like you’re really shopping, not just pretending to.”
The hair-twisting accelerated. “I’m sorry. There are so many interesting things. It’s hard not to look. I’ll try.”
“Good girl. Kate will be at the center with the drop bag, playing crier for the fishmonger. As for me, I’ll be working the margins, the standoffish folk who can’t decide if they’re too good to mix with us rabble. If there’s any trouble…”
Five voices replied in chorus. “Bolt for the safe spot!”
“That’s right. Everyone’s on their own then. No heroes. If Kate and I can help, we will, but I want the rest of you to scuttle out of there like prime racing beetles and never look back.”
Kate plucked at his elbow. “It’s time, love.”
“Very well. Let’s keep our wits about us. Be light-fingered and pitiful. Tonight, we feast!”
#
Smith would have preferred a larger raiding party, but there’d been more Enforcer presence of late, and one of the beetle-meat vendors had missed the carcass they nicked last time. Some of the merchants, like the fishmonger, were friends and allies, but a few wouldn’t hesitate to turn Smith and his entire brood over to the authorities if there was any profit at all in it.
“Salt-Cod-Ohhh! Fifty the kilo!” Kate’s voice trilled over the market’s hubbub, bringing a smile to Smith’s lips. He could think of only one sound he liked better. Best not to dwell on that. He tugged on his cap and scanned the crowd. No Enforcers on patrol today, thank heaven. The little ones, with tearstained faces and outstretched hands, intercepted customers who’d just made purchases and were struggling with the change.
Meanwhile, Charlie and Cecile were threading their way among the shoppers crowding the aisles between stalls. Charlie paused to pull something from the pocket of a corpulent man who was arguing with a cloth merchant. Smith was relieved to see he didn’t double-dip but moved smartly along. Only a practiced eye would have noticed anything amiss. Cecile was focusing on the womenfolk, tapping a succession of purses and waist packs, twirling along like a ballerina. She had promise, that one.
Suppose I’d best earn my keep, or I’ll never hear the end of it. Smith sidled up to a well-dressed gentleman who was perusing a counter stacked with colorful insect shells. “Fine selection here, Guv’nor. Needin’ something special for the lady of the house?”
The man didn’t even look at him. “Yes, confound it. My Joanna is simply mad about these shells. It’s the latest fad. Her friends use them to serve party favors and appetizers. Rather disgusting, to my way of thinking, but she won’t be denied.”
“They do add a spot of color.” Smith leaned over to whisper in the man’s ear, simultaneously reaching for his back pocket and the wallet bulging there. “But if you’re looking for the best price, you ought to speak with Miz Whitman, four stalls down.”
“Indeed? Why, thank you. I’ll do that.”
“Happy to be of service. Enjoy your…” Smith frowned. Something had caught his sleeve. From the corner of his eye, he could see a thin, pale man standing behind his mark. The fingers that were holding onto his shirt shifted to grasp his forearm. The grip was strong. Inhumanly strong.
Gritty ash. The twit had a Frank watching his back.
The cyborg tapped the gentleman’s shoulder. “Master, this man tried to steal your wallet. I’ve sent a message to the Enforcers. Shall I restrain him until they arrive?”
“My wallet?” The man fumbled at his back pocket, then turned to glare at Smith. “Thief!” He backhanded him across the face, drawing blood. “Stinking low-deck trash! Hold him tight, Sixty-Three.”
Smith tried to bolt, but the Frank wouldn’t budge. It was like being handcuffed to a post. He hoped Kate was sending the children out of the market. She wasn’t shouting out her advertisement for fresh fish any more. No one else in the crowd seemed to have taken notice, but he knew the Enforcers would arrive in moments, and his heart sank as he writhed in the cyborg’s steely grip.
Then he heard something strange—and familiar. The market’s babble stilled. Every eye sought the ethereal music, children’s voices wafting through the air, raised in song.
A pilgrim race, we wandered long
Through endless night and barren space
’Til whale’s eye and angel’s song
Revealed you here, our resting place
Arise, Avenir Eclectia
Stand firm, Avenir Eclectia
Be strong, Avenir Eclectia
Live on, Avenir Eclectia
There, at the entrance to the marketplace, stood Ave, surrounded by a ragged choir of orphans, their faces tilted upward, eyes closed, countenances radiant.
They sang the anthem over and over again, as the crowd listened in reverent silence. A woman standing near Smith wept, her hands pressed to her face. Even the Frank was transfixed. His grip on Smith’s arm slowly relaxed, then released altogether. Smith leaped to one side, shedding his coat as the cyborg snatched at it, too late.
As he sprinted for the exit, Smith took one final, backward glance at Ave.
Their eyes met, and she smiled.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Rose
by Fred Warren -
I would show Rose Maylie in all the bloom and grace of early womanhood, shedding on her secluded path in life soft and gentle light, that fell on all who trod it with her, and shone into their hearts.
Smith’s palm light flickered, and he knocked the device against his knee to restore its pale glow. The energy cell was failing. He’d need to steal another tomorrow, but it would last long enough for him to finish. He flipped the final page in his tattered copy of Oliver Twist.
Kate brushed away a few bits of litter, sat down beside him on the floor of the corridor, and leaned back against the wall, wrapping her skirts around her legs, her breath fogging in the chill air. “Moppets are tucked away for the evening, and the guard’s posted.”
“Thanks, love.”
She peered over his shoulder. “Thinking on Ave again?”
“How did you know?”
“When she’s on your mind, you read that last chapter over and over again. Surely you’ve memorized it by now?”
“I want to remember her as she was. Kind, sweet, and sensible—if I’m the Artful Dodger, she was Rose Maylie.”
“And yet you parted ways. You’ve never told me why.”
“She fell ill. Fever, pain, delirium. After she recovered, she began going off by herself, down to the deepest levels of the station. She told me she’d had a vision—there were angels on Eclectia, and they’d chosen her for a great mission. She needed to stay as close to the planet as possible so she could hear their instructions.”
“Is that all? Hardly the most eccentric behavior we’ve ever encountered.”
“She became obsessed. Before, it was just me, her, and the other orphans, living one day at a time, getting by. I hoped...I even dared to plan for the future. Our future, together. After the fever, she started talking like a revolutionary, saying things needed to change, humming that idealistic old colonial hymn everywhere she went. We argued. She took the half the children to wherever she goes to commune with the angels.”
“I caught a glimpse of her a few turns in-station from the passenger terminal last week, sending her moppets to beg, same as us.” Kate shrugged. “If she’s planning a revolution, I think she’ll need larger soldiers.”
Smith sighed and slid the book back into his pocket. “The children still worship her, even the ones who stayed with me. I’m afraid one day she’ll lead them all on some foolish crusade to right all the wrongs of Avenir, protected only by their pure hearts and her angels. She’ll get them all killed or turned into little wind-up dolls for the aristocrats, just like Wallace said.”
Kate surveyed the filthy, corroded corridor. “She’s a mite older than you—perhaps the weight of responsibility weighs heavier on her shoulders. Can’t say I disagree about things needing to change around here.”
Smith shook his head. “The only way to save them is to help them survive to adulthood and steer clear of the gangs. They may have to work the mines or hunt beetles, but they’ll be able to make their own choices and fend for themselves. In the meantime, a few...the smart ones, the pretty ones, the lucky ones...might become Olivers and find themselves a real life where they’ll never be cold and hungry again.”
“Fewer ladies or gentlemen of means venture down here each Founding. I think we frightened off a couple of likely marks during our last raid. Poor timing, that.”
A soft whistle echoed down the corridor, followed by two more, louder each time.
Smith stood up and dusted himself off. “Poor timing all ’round. Blasted Enforcers picked a fine night for a random patrol. Wake the babes, Kate. Two levels down, four corridors outward ought to be enough.”
She scurried away as Smith began to gather their few possessions. And what of us, Ave? he wondered. What will our fate be?
No matter how many times he read the ending, the Dodger landed in prison.
Alone.
I would show Rose Maylie in all the bloom and grace of early womanhood, shedding on her secluded path in life soft and gentle light, that fell on all who trod it with her, and shone into their hearts.
Smith’s palm light flickered, and he knocked the device against his knee to restore its pale glow. The energy cell was failing. He’d need to steal another tomorrow, but it would last long enough for him to finish. He flipped the final page in his tattered copy of Oliver Twist.
Kate brushed away a few bits of litter, sat down beside him on the floor of the corridor, and leaned back against the wall, wrapping her skirts around her legs, her breath fogging in the chill air. “Moppets are tucked away for the evening, and the guard’s posted.”
“Thanks, love.”
She peered over his shoulder. “Thinking on Ave again?”
“How did you know?”
“When she’s on your mind, you read that last chapter over and over again. Surely you’ve memorized it by now?”
“I want to remember her as she was. Kind, sweet, and sensible—if I’m the Artful Dodger, she was Rose Maylie.”
“And yet you parted ways. You’ve never told me why.”
“She fell ill. Fever, pain, delirium. After she recovered, she began going off by herself, down to the deepest levels of the station. She told me she’d had a vision—there were angels on Eclectia, and they’d chosen her for a great mission. She needed to stay as close to the planet as possible so she could hear their instructions.”
“Is that all? Hardly the most eccentric behavior we’ve ever encountered.”
“She became obsessed. Before, it was just me, her, and the other orphans, living one day at a time, getting by. I hoped...I even dared to plan for the future. Our future, together. After the fever, she started talking like a revolutionary, saying things needed to change, humming that idealistic old colonial hymn everywhere she went. We argued. She took the half the children to wherever she goes to commune with the angels.”
“I caught a glimpse of her a few turns in-station from the passenger terminal last week, sending her moppets to beg, same as us.” Kate shrugged. “If she’s planning a revolution, I think she’ll need larger soldiers.”
Smith sighed and slid the book back into his pocket. “The children still worship her, even the ones who stayed with me. I’m afraid one day she’ll lead them all on some foolish crusade to right all the wrongs of Avenir, protected only by their pure hearts and her angels. She’ll get them all killed or turned into little wind-up dolls for the aristocrats, just like Wallace said.”
Kate surveyed the filthy, corroded corridor. “She’s a mite older than you—perhaps the weight of responsibility weighs heavier on her shoulders. Can’t say I disagree about things needing to change around here.”
Smith shook his head. “The only way to save them is to help them survive to adulthood and steer clear of the gangs. They may have to work the mines or hunt beetles, but they’ll be able to make their own choices and fend for themselves. In the meantime, a few...the smart ones, the pretty ones, the lucky ones...might become Olivers and find themselves a real life where they’ll never be cold and hungry again.”
“Fewer ladies or gentlemen of means venture down here each Founding. I think we frightened off a couple of likely marks during our last raid. Poor timing, that.”
A soft whistle echoed down the corridor, followed by two more, louder each time.
Smith stood up and dusted himself off. “Poor timing all ’round. Blasted Enforcers picked a fine night for a random patrol. Wake the babes, Kate. Two levels down, four corridors outward ought to be enough.”
She scurried away as Smith began to gather their few possessions. And what of us, Ave? he wondered. What will our fate be?
No matter how many times he read the ending, the Dodger landed in prison.
Alone.
Friday, September 30, 2011
The Window
by Grace Bridges -
Ave crept along a Level 14 service corridor, and hoped she wouldn’t meet a cyborg. Unregistered persons were not allowed in service areas, and she didn’t like being chased any more than the chip-controlled humans liked chasing her.
Ave came alone, slipping away from the small children who liked to cling to her, so she could move quietly above all else. Perhaps this time, too, she would reach her goal, a curiously-built gangway that led nowhere except to a true anomaly—a window.
It was the only place Ave had ever looked Outside. She’d pestered the wizards to tell her what was out there. Now she could recognise the various objects visible depending on the station’s spin: Eclectia, sometimes close and ominous, or distantly seething; Sheba and Quatermain, with their shifting seas of molten rock; the great Whale Star, and its distant Twin.
She reached the final junction and looked left and right—no one was about—so she scooted across into the niche, only to scramble to a halt before a towering man-shaped silhouette. Gulp.
“I won’t hurt you,” said the giant.
Ave calmed her breathing and moved around to the left so the light from Outside fell on him. “Who are you?”
He spread his hands as if it pained him, and Ave caught sight of the power mop leaning against the wall behind him.
She drew in a sharp gasp. “You’re franked!”
“I am a servant.” He turned his face to her. In the Whale’s light reflecting from the ring section, she could see the battle in his eyes as with all cyborgs—he hated his programming. But this one was different. He hadn’t chased her off, for starters. That small rebellion alone would be earning him a splitting headache right now.
Ave wrinkled her brow. “How...?”
“My wife.” He forced the words out, wincing, defying the silence stricture. “Also a servant. Must...must care for her.”
Ave nodded. “You must love her very much to be so strong. What’s her name?”
“Enya.” A light came into his eyes as he gazed out the window, and it wasn’t just from the Whale Star. “My Enya.”
Ave crept along a Level 14 service corridor, and hoped she wouldn’t meet a cyborg. Unregistered persons were not allowed in service areas, and she didn’t like being chased any more than the chip-controlled humans liked chasing her.
Ave came alone, slipping away from the small children who liked to cling to her, so she could move quietly above all else. Perhaps this time, too, she would reach her goal, a curiously-built gangway that led nowhere except to a true anomaly—a window.
It was the only place Ave had ever looked Outside. She’d pestered the wizards to tell her what was out there. Now she could recognise the various objects visible depending on the station’s spin: Eclectia, sometimes close and ominous, or distantly seething; Sheba and Quatermain, with their shifting seas of molten rock; the great Whale Star, and its distant Twin.
She reached the final junction and looked left and right—no one was about—so she scooted across into the niche, only to scramble to a halt before a towering man-shaped silhouette. Gulp.
“I won’t hurt you,” said the giant.
Ave calmed her breathing and moved around to the left so the light from Outside fell on him. “Who are you?”
He spread his hands as if it pained him, and Ave caught sight of the power mop leaning against the wall behind him.
She drew in a sharp gasp. “You’re franked!”
“I am a servant.” He turned his face to her. In the Whale’s light reflecting from the ring section, she could see the battle in his eyes as with all cyborgs—he hated his programming. But this one was different. He hadn’t chased her off, for starters. That small rebellion alone would be earning him a splitting headache right now.
Ave wrinkled her brow. “How...?”
“My wife.” He forced the words out, wincing, defying the silence stricture. “Also a servant. Must...must care for her.”
Ave nodded. “You must love her very much to be so strong. What’s her name?”
“Enya.” A light came into his eyes as he gazed out the window, and it wasn’t just from the Whale Star. “My Enya.”
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Lullaby
by Grace Bridges -
“Sing us a song, Ave!” The clutch of four-year-olds stared at her with demanding eyes, clustering around their ringleader, a tiny girl with blue eyes and golden hair wrapped in a ragged, patched spider-wool blanket.
Ave adjusted her position sitting against the wall, and forced a grin. “What song do you want to hear?”
Felicia frowned, considering. “The one about Avenir, please.” The other little ones nodded.
Ave smiled, for real this time. They always picked that one. She began to hum, and the children hunkered down in their bedrolls. Finally she sang it out, her voice breaking at “Be strong, Avenir Eclectia.”
The words of the song echoed oddly from the conduits of the service corridor. Eyes drooped closed, faces grew slack, breathing grew calm. Ave sang the song through twice more, letting it comfort the inner ache that threatened to burst forth and overcome her just as ruthlessly as a sudden vacuum leak. She must be parent to these children and the rest, even though she had no family herself, knew nothing of parenting. Be strong…it was her only answer, even when she had no more strength.
What must it be like to have a father? A mother? Longing rushed up from a secret place within her, and her face crumpled suddenly. After a lengthy moment, she sighed and flicked a tear from her eye. It was no use wishing for what could not be.
“Don’t cry, Ave.” Felicia’s small hand found its way into hers, and she snuggled against Ave’s shoulder.
Ave kissed the top of the golden head and closed her eyes in thankfulness.
“Sing us a song, Ave!” The clutch of four-year-olds stared at her with demanding eyes, clustering around their ringleader, a tiny girl with blue eyes and golden hair wrapped in a ragged, patched spider-wool blanket.
Ave adjusted her position sitting against the wall, and forced a grin. “What song do you want to hear?”
Felicia frowned, considering. “The one about Avenir, please.” The other little ones nodded.
Ave smiled, for real this time. They always picked that one. She began to hum, and the children hunkered down in their bedrolls. Finally she sang it out, her voice breaking at “Be strong, Avenir Eclectia.”
The words of the song echoed oddly from the conduits of the service corridor. Eyes drooped closed, faces grew slack, breathing grew calm. Ave sang the song through twice more, letting it comfort the inner ache that threatened to burst forth and overcome her just as ruthlessly as a sudden vacuum leak. She must be parent to these children and the rest, even though she had no family herself, knew nothing of parenting. Be strong…it was her only answer, even when she had no more strength.
What must it be like to have a father? A mother? Longing rushed up from a secret place within her, and her face crumpled suddenly. After a lengthy moment, she sighed and flicked a tear from her eye. It was no use wishing for what could not be.
“Don’t cry, Ave.” Felicia’s small hand found its way into hers, and she snuggled against Ave’s shoulder.
Ave kissed the top of the golden head and closed her eyes in thankfulness.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Missed Lift
by Kat Heckenbach -
The lift doors shut with a quiet hiss as Robynn watched the man—‘droid?—disappear around a corner at the other end of the corridor. She shook her head and jabbed the touch panel again, angry that she’d gotten so distracted and now had to wait on another lift when someone could come by at any moment and throw a fit about her being where she didn’t belong.
Angrier that Denton and Strand had abandoned her…
Angriest because she knew she didn’t dare say a word to them about it. She needed their protection. They were the toughest urchins she knew, besides Ave. But Ave couldn’t be around all the time to stop them—or anyone else—from picking on Robynn. Better to befriend the bullies than be bullied by them. It was a matter of survival.
Tears burned her eyes and she chewed at her lip. It wasn’t her fault she had no home, no parents. So why did she have to be treated like a stray dog?
The metal wall in front of her hummed, and a ping sounded with each change of number above the door. The lift was close. Robynn shifted her weight nervously from one leg to the other. Hurry up, hurry up…
And then movement caught in the corner of her eye. She snapped her head to the side, expecting to see a grown-up, someone ready to scream at her (filthy little urchin!), and threaten to call Level Security. But it was a boy, crossing past the end of the corridor.
She stepped away from the lift doors just as they opened and jogged along the edge of the wall. When she reached the end, she peeked around the corner.
He snuck along, glancing side to side, like he was playing “secret agent.” His clothes were clean, his hair trimmed, and he’d gained a few pounds, but Robynn still recognized him.
Gavin.
What was he doing here? Ave had told Robynn…well, something. It was always something. Excuses for why Gavin never seemed to be around.
Robynn skulked along the adjacent corridor, following as Gavin rounded the next corner. He stopped in front of a door and she ducked behind a support column, pressing her cheek against the cold metal.
The door opened, and Gavin stepped through. A man’s hushed voice said, “You weren’t followed?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re sure? There were some kids poking around earlier.”
“No, sir.”
A grunt, and then the man leaned his head and shoulders out the door, facing away from Robynn. She held her breath as he turned in her direction. It took everything she had not to gasp. It was him—the ‘droid!
The lift doors shut with a quiet hiss as Robynn watched the man—‘droid?—disappear around a corner at the other end of the corridor. She shook her head and jabbed the touch panel again, angry that she’d gotten so distracted and now had to wait on another lift when someone could come by at any moment and throw a fit about her being where she didn’t belong.
Angrier that Denton and Strand had abandoned her…
Angriest because she knew she didn’t dare say a word to them about it. She needed their protection. They were the toughest urchins she knew, besides Ave. But Ave couldn’t be around all the time to stop them—or anyone else—from picking on Robynn. Better to befriend the bullies than be bullied by them. It was a matter of survival.
Tears burned her eyes and she chewed at her lip. It wasn’t her fault she had no home, no parents. So why did she have to be treated like a stray dog?
The metal wall in front of her hummed, and a ping sounded with each change of number above the door. The lift was close. Robynn shifted her weight nervously from one leg to the other. Hurry up, hurry up…
And then movement caught in the corner of her eye. She snapped her head to the side, expecting to see a grown-up, someone ready to scream at her (filthy little urchin!), and threaten to call Level Security. But it was a boy, crossing past the end of the corridor.
She stepped away from the lift doors just as they opened and jogged along the edge of the wall. When she reached the end, she peeked around the corner.
He snuck along, glancing side to side, like he was playing “secret agent.” His clothes were clean, his hair trimmed, and he’d gained a few pounds, but Robynn still recognized him.
Gavin.
What was he doing here? Ave had told Robynn…well, something. It was always something. Excuses for why Gavin never seemed to be around.
Robynn skulked along the adjacent corridor, following as Gavin rounded the next corner. He stopped in front of a door and she ducked behind a support column, pressing her cheek against the cold metal.
The door opened, and Gavin stepped through. A man’s hushed voice said, “You weren’t followed?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re sure? There were some kids poking around earlier.”
“No, sir.”
A grunt, and then the man leaned his head and shoulders out the door, facing away from Robynn. She held her breath as he turned in her direction. It took everything she had not to gasp. It was him—the ‘droid!
Friday, March 11, 2011
Cool, Smooth Metal
by Grace Bridges
Cool, smooth metal met Ave’s fingers as she slid down the wall to sit in the corner. No one would bother her here in this obscure corridor—not for a while, at least. She concentrated, and felt the distant, almost intangible vibrating of the station. Its comfort calmed her, and she hummed to herself, head down, hair shutting out the world and thoughts of Smith. A good kid, but they were both too young—only fourteen Foundings.* And the children—the beggars, the poorest of all beings, who didn’t even have a claim to parents—they looked up to her. She must do right, and not be distracted by an obsession for love, as heady as it was. The time was not yet come.
Ave recognised the tune she hummed, and smiled a little: her name-song, and that of the colony. “Arise, Avenir Eclectia; be strong, Avenir Eclectia. Stand firm, Avenir Eclectia; live on, Avenir Eclectia.” A rousing anthem that gave her the tingles. Her first carer had given her the name of the entire colony: Avenir, though she went by Ave. She placed her hands on the floor, felt her connection to the huge space habitat and the presence of the planet below, and hoped she hadn’t hurt Smith beyond repair. He’d understand, someday. Wouldn’t he?
The beings on the planet called to her and she rested in their mental embrace, sensing only the living station through the cool, smooth metal.
——
Click here for the Eleon song she is humming!
*A Founding being every 15 months, her age is close to 17.5 Earth years.
Cool, smooth metal met Ave’s fingers as she slid down the wall to sit in the corner. No one would bother her here in this obscure corridor—not for a while, at least. She concentrated, and felt the distant, almost intangible vibrating of the station. Its comfort calmed her, and she hummed to herself, head down, hair shutting out the world and thoughts of Smith. A good kid, but they were both too young—only fourteen Foundings.* And the children—the beggars, the poorest of all beings, who didn’t even have a claim to parents—they looked up to her. She must do right, and not be distracted by an obsession for love, as heady as it was. The time was not yet come.
Ave recognised the tune she hummed, and smiled a little: her name-song, and that of the colony. “Arise, Avenir Eclectia; be strong, Avenir Eclectia. Stand firm, Avenir Eclectia; live on, Avenir Eclectia.” A rousing anthem that gave her the tingles. Her first carer had given her the name of the entire colony: Avenir, though she went by Ave. She placed her hands on the floor, felt her connection to the huge space habitat and the presence of the planet below, and hoped she hadn’t hurt Smith beyond repair. He’d understand, someday. Wouldn’t he?
The beings on the planet called to her and she rested in their mental embrace, sensing only the living station through the cool, smooth metal.
——
Click here for the Eleon song she is humming!
*A Founding being every 15 months, her age is close to 17.5 Earth years.
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