“Amethyst.”
A familiar voice.
“Amethyst...?”
He... calls for me.
“Nngh…” Amethyst groans and opens her eyes, she’s back at the clinic, in the whiteness of the ward, lying on her bed.
“Oh! You're awake?” Frank sits on the bedside and leans in closer, she can feel him holding her wrist.
“How are you feeling?”
“How… how are we back here? What happened?” A feeling of sluggishness, and minor lethargy makes her vision and thoughts hazy.
We were at the party… we danced, I met Carol, Friday and Lyra… ate some delicious food and followed Luna…
Oh...
Frank’s gaze escapes to the walls, his previously relieved smile fading.
“I…”
His grip tightens around Amethyst’s wrist, her armor transfers slightly more pressure against her skin.
“I believe Luna was- is, an Intergalactic agent.”
“H-huh? Really?” The shock along with the shaking of her head clears her mind.
“I… that’s...”
Frank looks around, the room is totally empty except for the two of them.
“She must have been after you and your blood on their orders. I surmised as much from her call I overheard.”
“How are we here? Where’s… Luna now?”
“She used some sort of anesthetic on us and Pioneer founds us.”
Frank’s hand brushes against his neck, where a small red mark is on his skin, slightly elevated into a hill.
“She was going to take you away, take us both to stars know where. Do, who knows what to us. I… please understand, I had no other choice…”
“No choice…” Amethyst trails off, her mandibles drooping along with her demeanor. She asks again afraid of the answer.
“No choice but to do what?”
“Than to... shoot her.”
Amethyst’s eyes become rounder, and her mouth opens slightly, struggling to process what she’s hearing.
“She’s still alive.” Frank quickly adds. “Just… barely…” He looks away ashamed.
“Apparently, Carol and Friday had to do an emergency surgery a few hours ago, but she’s stable again. Though, she’s been unconscious ever since they found her.”
“That’s… terrible.”
“I’m sorry, Amethyst, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to, but-”
“I… I was scared, Frank. Terrified of how I messed up, how I might not ever see you again. In that moment… I knew something was wrong. You just... did what you had to do.”
Amethyst says but doesn’t look at Frank.
“Thank you for saving me… but…”
“I… I know. I hope Luna survives too, even after… everything. Even if it might be hypocritical of me to say, given my part in all this...”
That look in Amethyst’s eyes...
I had never seen her look so… shocked?
Disgusted?
Heartbroken?
It tears Frank's heart apart and presses it into a dense ball, that weighs in his chest like a newly formed white dwarf.
As if feeling physical pain, Frank squeezes the tuxedo jacket’s rim hard, like it could relieve it somehow.
Amethyst tries to sit up on the bed, but the nausea forces her back down. Frank looks back at her and she looks away for a few seconds, before meeting his eyes.
“I’m sorry... for my inexperience… my… arrogance. I… I was so sure… I just couldn’t see it.”
I swore I’d never get tricked. Never manipulated again.
After everything Grent did to me… put me through, I was sure…
But I was just being naive and stubborn.
The… things she said… they made me… feel so good, so right.
It all made sense, even if I didn’t want to believe some of her accusations, I couldn’t fight back…
She was just so… different... than anyone I had met before…
“I’m so sorry for treating you badly and all those awful, awful things, she… Luna said. I’m sorry for doubting you.”
Frank’s head turns towards Amethyst, his face looks like he can’t believe his ears. Though almost immediately after, his lips turn into a warm curve, and his eyes narrow.
He wipes his eyes to the back of his hand.
“It's... fine, I'm just... glad you see the truth now. And I’m sorry too, for not always handling it the best, it was a chance for self-reflection for me as well.”
She straightens her right arm to the side, the elbow blade clonks to the metal bedframe below and gives the floor a nasty gash, but it just about fits underneath the bed at this angle.
“Amethyst… what are you doing?” The bedside sitting Frank asks clueless.
“Do I… have to say it?” She carefully taps the newly created free space on the bed, with her other hand blade, space barely wide enough for a human to lie down on their side.
“Isn’t that a bit tight…?”
“I’ll hold you, you won’t fall.”
Is this really happening…? She’s so… bold now…
Is this how she feels…?
It should be clear to me, how she sees me already… shouldn’t it?
But… as long as neither of us has said it…
It’s still possible to misunderstand.
Frank looks straight at Amethyst trying to read her expression.
They gaze at each other's eyes, some of Amethyst's eyes look away and she purses her lips together for a moment before the stray eyes return to look back at him, with newfound determination.
She taps at the bedside again and closes her eyes momentarily while smiling.
Does she really know what she’s doing? What she’s implicating?
Well... I suppose based on how she's been acting lately...
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Amethyst doesn't seem to mind his hesitation.
“Alright.”
Frank shuffles higher on the bed and lifts his legs on the bed. For a second he debates which way to face, away from her, or…
He catches how Amethyst looks at him now that he agrees; all of her eyes take in his every move, their pupils dilated.
Her cheekbones, which she apparently has, have risen higher, her smile radiating warmth. Between her closed lips, the sharp mandibles are sticking out cutely, like four playful tongues.
It’s like she shines brighter than the electric lights of the ward itself, which cast rays of light, making her silken purple hair gleam.
Frank lays down on his side, snugly against Amethyst’s body, and lays down his head on her chest.
The armor is soothingly cool, strong, and resolute like a stone foundation against his cheek and ear.
He places his hand on her chest, lower, accidentally landing on her biggest crystal. Frank’s hand recoils reactively.
“It’s okay. You can touch me there.”
After a moment of hesitation, Frank carefully covers the crystal with his palm.
It’s smoother than anything he’s ever felt, the surface like covered with soap, a stone that’s so polished, it has lost all friction
It’s dry, but warm, not at all scorching like her crystals were back when she carried him and took to the skies of Metropolis for the first time.
Instead, its gentle sultry temperature reminds him of the warmth of the earth, lying on the grass on a summer’s day back at Metropolis.
How the grass feels cool at first, but then the ground’s own stored heat rises from below, warming comfortingly.
Despite the differences between the passionate sun in the sky, and the clammy soil of the earth, both of them still graced him with their toasty warmth eventually.
Frank closes his eyes, and a familiar scraping of the floor sounds, as Amethyst’s arm returns, he feels her hug him, just above the waist.
“Don’t worry. I’ll hold onto you, and never let go.”
It was a peculiar feeling, to lay a head on a person's chest without a pulse that could be felt, without touching their skin, without hearing their heartbeat.
But in this moment, she felt so, so, very alive.
They embrace each other in silence, a feeling that didn’t need words, a belonging that couldn’t be described.
Only the faint uneven sound of the air conditioner proves time has not stopped.
Frank feels Amethyst’s chest start to tremble rhythmically, and her arm shifts in place.
He manages to crack his eyes open, nearly having dozed off himself, breaking the spell of sleep.
Squinting up at Amethyst’s face; her antennae shake slightly, and her grimacing lips part periodically like gasping for air, the mandibles shake from this force that's overtaken her, too.
Her eyes are closed, but a droplet of liquid breaks off and trails down her cheek.
Frank closes his eyes again, readjusts his head against her armor, and runs his hand off the crystal.
The journey of his fingers goes across her armor until they reach the other side, his arm now stretched across.
He grasps and holds her, and in response, Amethyst squeezes him a little tighter.
Her trembling subsides, and a sincere feeling overtakes Frank.
They remain silent for a few more moments until Frank feels the urge to pass on a sentiment.
“You know, Luna might have spewed a lot of lies, but she did have her moments of truth, too.”
“Just like someone else I know, too.” Amethyst comments aptly.
A wholesome smirk spreads on Frank’s face, as he continues talking: “Maybe so, but there's at least one thing I know to be true that she said.”
“What was it?”
“I… I’d rather not quote it directly actually…”
Frank thinks for a moment.
“But I might summarize it as… act true to yourself. Listen to your feelings, even if it feels contradictory with your reason.”
Not sure if she actually meant any of it in hindsight, but… it was still solid advice.
“Hmm…?” Amethyst muses silently. “Is that so?”
Amethyst pets Frank’s side with her arm.
“By the way, how did you find me and Luna? And… you said you shot her… why did you have a gun with you to begin with?”
“Well… I followed you two and…” Frank squirms but Amethyst locks him firmer against her side.
He laughs nervously. “Well… I had a hunch… and… it’s a long story...”
“We’ve got plenty of time on our hands… So, please tell me exactly how it all happened.”
Frank sighs. “Alright…”
----------------------------------------
After the initial operations and one emergency procedure, Luna’s condition was stabilized, though her situation remained precarious.
For now, there was nothing more to do, than to monitor the situation.
As her status hadn’t changed for hours, Carol, for all intents and purposes—wrestled—Friday away from Luna’s side, dragging her to take a break.
Leaving Grent to keep watch on her, alone.
Friday and Carol sit in the dining room’s chairs, with bread and some more delicious condiments fetched by the staff from the party.
“How can we be here eating, when Luna is wasting away!” Friday slams the table and the empty plate before her clatters, before settling back down.
Carol smiles and sips some steaming tea, from a white porcelain cup. “We have done all we can, Luna is taking a break now, so we should too.”
“I know… but how can you be so calm? I just got to know her… and I might already have to say goodbye…” Friday frowns and leans on her hand, looming over the desk.
“You know, five years ago, while I was still working surgery and had been a senior doctor for a while, I thought I was over it. It was sad of course, whenever a patient died.
No matter if they were a decrepit old man or a young sprightly child. But it didn’t weigh me down.”
“What are you getting at?”
“If you cling to each loss, every patient, it will eat you up inside very quickly. We have to see them as persons, appreciate them, and do all we can. But when the time comes, we have to let them go.”
“Carol…?” Friday looks at her like she’s a total stranger.
“How can you just forget them? They are- were, people with families, dreams, and aspirations, too! And I- you failed them in the end?”
“No. I remember everyone I have lost. There is a difference between remembering and wallowing in guilt and sadness.”
Carol pauses and looks at Friday.
“Now back to what I was saying, back then, I thought I had it all figured out, that I was unshakable, that I could push through anything. But then one fateful day, my mother arrived in the emergency ward to prove me wrong.”
“You had to operate on your mother?” Friday covers her mouth with her hands in horror.
“Yes. And regardless of my efforts, no matter what I tried or did, I couldn't save her. I thought I could see her loss as another patient, at least to get through the rest of the day...”
“Y-you shouldn’t have to do things like that…”
“But I do. And you have to, too, if you wish to truly practice medicine, to save lives.”
Carol pauses for a second, but Friday doesn’t object.
“Though I empathize, my biggest trial came after a lengthy career under my belt, while yours has arrived much sooner.
I wouldn't have been able to handle it well then either, being as young as you are, but I believe this is that moment for you.”
“What if it is? Are you saying we have to become unfeeling—inhuman—beings? To forgo our empathy?!”
“No, that’s not what I was saying at all… I’m just saying, we have to control our feelings…”
Carol takes a deep sigh.
“That day, after I had lost my mother, my shift was only starting.
We didn’t have the capacity, I couldn't just go home and mourn her. I needed to push it inside, hold it in even if I’d explode, until the day was done.”
She sets the teacup on the table and grabs her right hand before Friday can see it trembling.
“I couldn't do it. The very next operation, I made a fatal mistake due to my thoughts being consumed by my mother.
Haunted by thoughts of what I could have done differently, what I should have tried, and how I failed...
The grief consumed me.
It made my hands shaky, and my will weak, I couldn’t keep it together. And these- those shaky hands resulted in the death of a patient.”
Carol hides both of her hands underneath the table.
“He could have been saved, he had a family, a wife that loved him, and two children that depended on him. Relatives that will miss him dearly, who will never meet him again...
I took him away from them all.”
Friday is silent, her mouth zipped shut with compassionate forlorn.
“After that, the same people preventing me from leaving earlier, forced me out.
Surgeries and patcher treatments had to be postponed, while they did what they would have needed to do in the first place, order help from other facilities, call up if anyone else could come to work…”
“That wasn’t your fault! I-it was management’s!” Friday's hand forms into a fist on the table, and she looks straight at Carol's green eyes with defiance.
“Perhaps, but it was still me, my feelings, and the lack of control I had over them, that took the life of another.
Not even mentioning those that may have died due to the treatment schedule running behind because of me, either directly or indirectly.”
“But there was nothing more you could have done! It wasn’t fair...” Friday's fierce expression dies down, as her words fail her.
“Thank you for saying that, but I don’t see it that way, nor does Metropolis…
A weary smile curls on Carol’s lips as she wipes her eyes, even though they are completely dry.
“Do you see my point now? You have a vital break now, use it to find peace inside, to be ready for any outcome. To be prepared and rested for when we are needed again.”
“I can’t accept that…” Friday takes a chocoffee-chip cookie from the weaved serving basket and slowly starts munching on it. “But maybe... you’re right.”
Crumbs fall onto her empty plate, as she closes her eyes and ruminates on Carol's words.
----------------------------------------
Silence has fallen into the lab, the medical graphs show grim tidings, telling of Luna's struggle.
Grent’s head nods up and down, the sense of falling waking him up periodically back to his vigil, before falling back asleep on his soft office chair.
Luna lies on the table, breathing assisted by a machine, fogging up the clear mask. Her hands and fingers twitch, and her eyes rapidly move underneath her closed eyelids.
A faint wail of agony is muffled by her medical muzzle and her trembling hands grip the plastic sheet beneath.
Beeeep…
The long and loud lamentation of the medical equipment starts to play in the background.
Despite things looking grim for her on the outside, there is even greater turmoil brewing inside...
----------------------------------------
There’s a common expression: “Some people just shouldn’t be allowed to have kids”.
If I didn’t know better, I would have surmised my parents to be its origin.
Day in, and day out, I heard it spoken with hushed voices in the shadows, cafeterias, and gossiping groups that dispersed when they saw us coming.
Those voices surrounded us, laid siege to us when the vultures thought we, or I, couldn't hear them.
At first, I fought them in my head, argued against them, and even confronted the disrespectful — awful people.
“What have we done to you?”
“Why do you say such terrible things?”
But the more time passed, I started to see their point. They were right about them, right about me.
They said I was the first child to be born on the space station. To be raised there.
A borderline criminal organization’s main headquarters – what better place for a kid?
Though, to actually raise a child, you would have needed somebody to make an effort—to be present—no?
I won’t lie that I wasn’t secretly happy when on the appointed end date of one of their missions, they just didn’t return.
Soon, word was passed to me, that they both had perished.
I felt empty and confused. Shouldn’t this news be devastating for a little girl? That’s what kids did best; love their parents, right?
Shouldn’t I feel sad for them?
Unexpectedly, people come up to me to express their condolences. I faced them with fake tears, tantrums, and desperate cries of injustice.
That is what was expected of me, right?
They seemed genuinely apologetic, but wasn’t it a little too late for regret?
Now that my parents were gone, their tone had changed; now they cared?
The sad, sad Sola, finally worthy of their pity. So I gave them what they wanted.
I wore the sadness and grief on my face like a mask, as easily taken off, or replaced with another feeling on a whim.
On the inside, the excitement of dishonesty—the thrill of lying grew.
What if they realized, I wasn’t sad at all?
That each time somebody brought up my parents, I really just wanted to laugh?
To say “Good riddance! I wish they had died sooner!”
But nobody saw through me, my lies, acting, and deception were flawless.
I realized nobody wanted to know how I really felt, everyone just wanted me to act according to their expectations.
My parents had made this fact evident, but this was the first time I could put this principle into words, to see it with clarity.
Life was finally starting to open up with their passing, nobody was holding me back anymore.
I began to notice that everyone really didn’t know better.
They were that gullible, it was that easy to manipulate people.
All of our old enemies were just clay in my hands, I could mold and shape them as I wanted, as long as I played my part right.
A grieving orphan girl, innocent and pure, who could tell me no?
I couldn't believe, just how stupid everyone else really was.
Finally, I understood; the space station itself had always been my real father, my real mother. Providing me with shelter, sustenance, and everything I might need to grow up healthy.
My only ally and compatriot in this spiteful Galaxy.
I began to plan in secret, to one day, take control of it for myself.
To free it.
However, a week after my parent’s passing, once I had made my mind up to commit to my plot, the station’s owner, our leader, approached me.
I thought at first, he saw right through me, that he was here to oust me, that he knew my plans.
Here to finish off the competition.
I could see him evaluating me with eyes of intelligence, I had only seen before in mirrors. He did not betray any sign, no word or gesture that he knew what I was planning.
With overflowing authority, he spoke of another matter entirely.
He had sought me out to tell me that my parents had prohibited him, from offering me missions, jobs, or training, as their way of looking after me.
And as they were dead, that no longer applied.
I couldn't have been more angry.
For the first time I could remember, I let my true feelings show.
They were never present, what right did they have to make decisions for me?
To rule over what I could and couldn't do?
Control my life?
My parents had truly been weak, in mind for their idiotic decisions, and in the body too obviously, to have died pathetically in their mission.
Our leader said he understood me and wished to make use of me.
I agreed, after all, I needed to be stronger for my plans to succeed.
Maybe, he had been my real parent all along, he had made the space station after all.
But, like every parent should be proud of their child, every child, should surpass their caretakers.
I sunk all my effort into training: fighting, using specialized equipment, target practice, and piloting.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Climbing the military corporate ladder, by any means necessary, taking on various jobs that suited my talents.
It felt right, finally I was doing something, accomplishing things on my own.
It was all so thrilling, so… real.
Soon, I began to idolize our leader, glorify his status and his accomplishments.
Even felt… some sort of attraction.
I had never met anyone else, who was even remotely on my level.
With my mind and plans in conflict, I worked to make him proud, to accept me, to have a place to belong to.
Aspire for his praise and affection.
All the while the other side of me called this hubris, unnecessary, an affront to everything I stood for.
As I continued to rise in the ranks through the years, his value continued to fall in equal measure.
Just like my parents grew to be weak, disgusting mongrels, our leader was quickly losing his shine too.
His golden days of being a threat to the whole galaxy were behind him.
A decrepit body, battered by time and experiments, was beyond saving, no matter how much he convinced himself otherwise.
The other side of my mind won, but really, had there been any doubt?
There truly was nobody in this world like me. Nobody who could understand me.
The prospect was laughable.
I decided.
I would kill him.
He was no longer fit to have Intergalactic, to have my home.
When that day would come, I’d rub his failure, his shortcomings to his face.
Force him to realize what an idiot he had been, how I played with him, used him all this time.
For not realizing my schemes, for sparing the child when he had the opportunity to be rid of me all those years ago.
I would press the cold caress of a metal barrel against his wide decaying forehead.
As fright would possess his eyes, stammering with a slacked jaw, he’d beg me to spare his life.
Claim that I’d need him.
That it would be a mistake to kill him.
With trembling hands he’d cling to my feet, groveling before me, crying the tears of fear.
I would grin my ultimate victory, maybe even laugh, sneer at this once great man.
Kick him, grind him underneath my boot until I was satisfied.
Once he’d become a whimpering, bloodied mess, too pathetic to bear...
I’d blow his head off.
…
No…
Let me back...
I wasn’t done yet… let me finish my fantasies...
The source of this debilitating pain...
Is it my dying body, the fading memories, the realization that I failed?
That I really was, a daughter of my parents?
...
No, no!
None of that is true!
I didn’t fail, it was... Luna!
“No, it wasn’t my fault, dear.” In the tenebrous nothingness, in the lightless space of Sola's mind, Luna appears, smiling radiantly. Swiping her long dark hair, she looks around.
“Hey, where’s Amethyst? Did you let her go?”
She grins a sickening smile, purses her lips, and then courtly covers them as she snickers.
“Oh, right... how forgetful of me.”
If it wasn’t you Luna, then who…?
Vola? Did you cause our downfall?
A man appears, bearing feminine features, straight-backed, and with a royal composure. His long hair is concealed inside a tall tophat.
Wearing a wooly plaid vest and straight, creaseless black pants, which cascaded on top of his shining leather shoes.
“Alas, the fault lies not with me. Hitherto, I have been rather assiduous in my retirement.” His voice is masculine but sounds a bit off.
He unbuttons his vest and begins to sit down on nothing. Immediately, an old and elegant chair appears which catches his fall.
Taking off his vest, a dark wood coat rack materializes, where he hangs it.
A faded white dress shirt revealed from underneath; it’s just about see-through enough to reveal the faint features of a tight beige bra flattening his chest.
“Since ‘twas not I, may I suggest trying another chap, Merla, mayhap?”
“A chap? You’re the only ‘chap’ ‘round ‘ere!” A girl with a wide, toothed smile appears from thin air, her hair long flowing blond.
She stands legs far apart, with proper boots on her feet, as well as countryside-like apparel. Her cheeks are puffy and a wide-rimmed hat adorns her head, which she tilts backward.
“Yer hootin’ up the wrong fowl if ya think I dunnit.” Merla playfully tilts her head to the side, and the light brown hat drops, which she frantically catches mid-air, with fumbling hands.
After she finishes her impromptu juggling show, she continues: “That is to say, we're runnin’ out of desperados. So, J’la-”
“Do not speak my name. Only our sacred leader has the right to address me.” A harsh voice spits out, and a woman with identical hair to Luna’s appears, even down to the red underneath the curls. She stands with her sleek body sideways, her head turned, looking away from everyone.
Decorated laser pistols holstered on both sides of her black leather belt, combat armor laid with dark fabric covering her upper body, with tight slops, appearing heavy on her legs.
She crosses her arms and glances with a hateful and disappointed frown on her lips at Sola, her red eyes piercing through her.
“You’re all a disgrace to Intergalactic.”
“Sheesh!” Merla shouts and slaps her knee. “That’s a bit harsh, lass!”
“I think that’s her way of saying: ‘You’re off your rocker if you blame her’, perchance?”
Vola lifts his gaze off a thin paper, top-secret blueprints of intricate machinery, which then disappears from between his fingers.
“Or maybe she’s just really shy and that’s her way of showing affection?” Luna smirks and winks at her.
“Fuck off.” J’lena scoffs and sits down, a pilot chair appears underneath her. She slaps a stick jutting out of its side, which spins it around fast, facing her away from them all.
But…
It has to be one of you!
Underneath this scrutinizing gaze of their host, Vola stands up, grabs his vest from the rack and his furniture disappears. Hastily, unbecoming of his refined form, he dresses back up. A mahogany door appears behind him and he grabs its knob, ready to leave at a moment's notice.
The commanding gaze falls to the next person.
Who failed me!?
Merla looks to the ground, her hands together, tapping her index fingers absently, she sneaks glances and averts her gaze as she’s still being looked upon.
“I ain’t done nuthin’, just me job…”
J’lena’s chair remains facing away, no movement can be seen from her.
It was you Luna after all, wasn’t it? You were my latest…
You caused this!
“Get a grip. Who do you think we are?” Luna grins triumphantly and spreads her arms towards the non-existent black sky.
Vola opens his door, but stops at the threshold, looking back with frustration: “We. Aren’t. Real.” and disappears inside. As the door slams shut, it fades away like smoke.
“Or are we? We kind of are, right?” Merla holds his hat in her hand and scratches her head. “I mean, I certainly like to think I was real… Oh, I wonder if my beloved still longs to hear news of me.
He’d be upset if I wasn’t real, to begin with, and what of my animal friends? I mean-”
“Fake to the bone.” J’lena’s hand extends to the left, a laser pistol held in her firm grip.
She pulls the trigger and a red laser pierces Merla’s head, who fades away instantly with time to scream only a single vowel more.
Spaceship gauges and meters appear before J’lane, and she grabs the steering sticks pulling them back. Her invisible ship shoots soundlessly into the darkness.
“Sola…”
Luna, the only one remaining says.
“Oh, Sola, how pitiable you are. How can you be this dense?” She knocks her head with a fist.
”Think about it, what did they all have in common? What do we all have in common?” Luna pats a manifested Amethyst’s armored arm and hops on her lap.
She flies off, princess carried by her object of obsession while waving down at Sola.
...
What did they have in common…?
I...
I liked being them.
Much more than being myself.
They were much more real, more normal people than I could ever be.
They had things, I could never possess.
Friends…
Allies…
Those they could truly trust and rely on.
Hobbies and distinct personalities…
Passions, grievances, and even lovers.
And in their communities, they are admired or feared...
Perfect characters to play their roles.
While, I’m just me, Sola. In reality, I have nothing.
I am nothing.
It’s really J’lane who’s part of the Enforcers, too… who everyone knows at Intergalactic.
Sola’s the one who hasn’t existed, just a name my parents came up with.
A hollowed-out shell with a void inside—a planet without a core.
Only her four deceitful moons to keep her company, orbiting, prowling like pantherwolves, waiting for her to crumble, so they can begin their celestial free-for-all, to become the new planet.
...
Those aren’t the reasons why I failed...?
Are they?
Why do I feel, I missed the point…?
Sola holds her head, it feels like exploding from the inside.
A wave of pain, of nausea, hits; a feeling of fading.
A feeling stronger than she had ever felt before, even when she was fighting against her alter egos to not manifest in inopportune times.
Against them coming back after their missions had concluded, though, sometimes Sola just gave in to them. It was easier that way.
But this was different.
What… is this...?
A laser streaks and explodes through Sola’s chest, almost too fast to see, splattering blood like a grim shower.
The crimson fades in the dark, the stains remaining only on her clothes. The intact wing bone of Amethyst appears before her and then shatters.
The shards whistle and shoot into her, puncturing her skin one after the other. As her body is peppered with purple shards of bone, the rest of it falls through the dark ground into the abyss.
Bleeding profusely, she falls to her knees.
Wobbling, she limply falls forward but the ground never strikes her, instead, she falls through, like hurtling down from the side of a cliff.
Soaring and spinning through the darkness, she holds her chest, burning with pain, as she gasps for imaginary air.
The unbearable agony tries to cramp her body into a fetal position, but no matter what position she took, whatever she did, the suffering wouldn't end.
Ah- ahh!
W-why…?
I was this close to enrichment…
Vola, Merla, J’lane… Luna.
Help… me…
A trail of tears is left behind her fall through the void, squeezed through her closed eyes, ripped out by the wind.
Why did you leave?
Come… back…
Please…
It wasn’t my fault!
I swear!
...
I’m not ready to die… all alone...
----------------------------------------
Carol’s communicator on the table rings into life, the display reads: “Mr. Scientist.”
Both of them shoot up from their seats, bumping the table, the cutleries and plates shake and shingle and a few pastries jump out of the basket.
Friday’s chair falls backward and clonks onto the floor, but she doesn’t stop to lift it back up.
Carol hangs up the call mid-run, and she dashes first through the door, Friday right behind her.
They weave across the lobby and arrive at the lab’s door, which whirs open painfully slow. Carol and Friday force their way through before it’s even fully open.
“What’s the situation?” Carol asks without even really expecting a response, she scans the room to see for herself and goes to check the graphs and current values.
Wordlessly, Friday dashes to Luna, next to Grent, who holds the defibrillator pads in his hands. “I tried to restart her heart…”
Friday receives the defib’s mittens from Grent and gives it a try herself, but regardless of her effort, the heart monitor continues to sing its continuous wailing melody.
Carol and Friday dash around the room, in coordinated chaos, shouting out orders, ideas, and things they are doing, and what the other one should do next.
Grent stays out of the way, as they do their utmost.
“No help from traditional resuscitation.”
“Adrenaline shots… no effect.”
“Yet another try on the defib, no signs of improvement.”
Gradually, they both slow down, out of ideas, Carol finally turns off the beep of the machine.
“No, no! There must be something… something we can still do!” Friday says, hiding her abject horror in a calm tone of voice. Despite trailing off, she doesn’t continue.
It could have been nearly anything, Luna was so injured that countless things could have gone wrong with her internal organs, even if it all looked fine on paper and from the outside.
“There is nothing more… we can do… I’m sorry, Friday.”
“It’s not right… why… why did it end up like this?”
Why aren’t there some emergency hospital spaceships on stand-by all around the Galaxy, ready to come to the aid of those in need?
Why doesn't Pioneer have one like that…?
I think… we could have saved her…
Why does it always end like this?
Slowly, Carol approaches the downcast Friday and locks her into a tight embrace. “You did well… You’re much stronger than I was…”
Friday sniffles. “So… can- c-can I cry now?”
“Yes.”
Like on command, the young nurse starts to bawl her eyes out against her shoulder.
Sobbing and gasping for breath in between her outbursts, her fingers grip Carol’s back tightly. Her runny nose stains Carol’s white jacket, but she doesn’t care.
Carol holds her tight and pets her brown hair slowly, pressing her head on top of Friday's, and closes her own sad, arid eyes, devoid of mist.
----------------------------------------
The door to the ward opens and Grent peeks inside.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything…” He trails off, seeing the two sharing a bed.
“Uhh… No…?” Frank doesn’t make an effort to get up from lying next to Amethyst, despite Grent showing up. “I think we’re about done, right Amethyst?”
“Yeah.” Amethyst beams and loosens her grip, then looks at Grent puzzled. “What is it?”
“I just came to tell you that… Luna is dead.” He speaks in a matter-of-fact tone, though his face isn’t able to stay as neutral.
“W-what!?” Amethyst’s arm lets go of Frank, and he gets off the bed.
“What do you mean dead?”
“Dead, means dead. She died from her wounds and probably the complications caused by them, what more do you want me to say?”
Grent shrugs and leans on the doorway with his shoulder.
“She’s dead…?” Amethyst trails off and stands up from the bed too, she sways slightly but steadies herself successfully.
“Not you too… You know what, if it’s so hard to believe, why don’t you come and see for yourself, then?” Grent leaves the doorway, leaving it open.
Frank and Amethyst glance at each other, with forlorn expressions and then go after Grent.
Their short journey to the lab is silent, only the sobbing of somebody growing louder as they draw closer to the open door.
Grent presents the inside of the room to them like a theater director pulling the curtains on his next show, presenting it with the gesture of both arms, before stepping to the side.
Next to Luna’s bed, Carol hugs Friday from behind, as the newbie has her face buried in the bedsheets.
Her brunette locks splay on the bed and her head that’s against Luna’s side, is hidden by her crossed arms and hair. The fierce grip of her fingers threatens to tear the fabric.
Pioneer stands in the left corner, leaning to the wall and gritting his teeth, with a firm hand placed on his face.
And on the bed, Luna lies, her body covered from the shoulders down with the white sheet.
Motionless, her eyes closed, arms lying limp on her sides, visible as outlines through the bedsheet. Her face is neutral, if not for her lips with a faint grimace, and her brow like still bent from pain.
Her cheeks and the sides of her head have faint trails of dried blood staining them, not fully coming off after being wiped.
She still wears her earrings, the large necklace, and the sparkling purple dress faintly visible on her shoulders.
The realization is a cruel inevitable force, that threatens Frank’s balance, mind, and composure: Luna is dead because of him.
“I’m sorry Amethyst, I… I didn’t mean to kill her.” His panicked eyes, meet Amethyst’s, a tear is trailing down her cheek.
“I-I had to shoot her. She-she was talking about extraction. She was going to take you away!”
Frank speaks quickly and stammers over his words.
“D-do something horrible! T-take you to Intergalactic maybe. But I-I didn’t mean for her to die!”
Frank turns to Amethyst and touches her shoulder.
“I… I understand, I’m sorry too, Frank” Amethyst hugs him, and Grent moves away from Amethyst’s elbow blades extending wide.
“I’m so glad you were there to help.
I… I...
This was my fault too...”
But… I’m not sure… if she deserved to die.
I could sense something good, within her as well.
Underneath it all, was a familiar feeling, a far-away kinship.
I could feel it in my antennae, she was broken too, from the inside. Lost and shattered, perhaps like me.
Not everything about her was fake.
Frank returns the embrace, and he cries on her armored shoulder. He feels Amethyst’s cool tears drop onto his head.
“Hate to be the realist here… but I can take care of… her body. So none of you have to.” Grent volunteers with a careful and surprisingly respectful tone.
“B-but-!” Friday lifts her tear-flowing face.
“Especially for your sake, Friday,” Grent says sternly.
“I think that’s for the best…” Carol brushes Friday’s hair with her hand and then uses a napkin to dry and clean her face like a mother would do for her child.
Friday doesn’t fight nor struggle, she just sniffles in silent acceptance.
“I… I should call her first of kin… Before we do anything, they have the final say as to what happens to her now.” Pioneer speaks up from the corner and tilts back to his feet.
“Okay, I’ll store her in the cold in the meantime.” Grent goes to the back wall, and opens up a steel cabinet, like in a morgue, checking on its condition.
A waft of cold mist rises from inside it like smoke; a freezer to store the dead.
“I’ll just… do it soon. I’m going to get some fresh air and then call…” Pioneer leaves the room.
Suddenly, an awfully happy and chipper tune plays and Pioneer dashes back into the room hearing it.
The tune comes from Luna’s satchel, and Friday is the first to act and rummage through the inside of the satchel next to the medical bed.
Friday finds Luna’s ringing communicator and lifts it to her ear to answer it.
“Hello? Who is this?”
Time seems frozen for a moment, as everyone waits for Friday’s next words. Instead, she takes it off her ear.
“They hung up without a word.”
“Who was the caller?” Frank asks with a wavering voice, still in Amethyst’s arms.
“It was just blank, no number, no name or anything.”
The phone vibrates and dings in Friday’s hands. “Huh? A message from… Privacy Protector? Can’t open it though, screen’s locked...”
“Friday! Drop the phone!” Grent shouts and slams the freezer shut, Friday does as she is told, and Carol pulls Friday away from it.
The communicator clonks onto the floor and smoke starts rising from it as the gray plastic covering begins to melt.
It bubbles and flashes a few short-lived flames from its seams, and the large screen cracks.
An electronic crackling sound followed by a loud pop explodes its covers open, flipping the phone-like device in the air a few rotations, splaying some melted plastic on the floor around it, and staining the satchel.
Then as the wrecked communicator lands back on the ground, nothing more seems to happen.
A foul smell of boiling plastic remains, and a faint trail of smoke still rises from the mush of a communicator.
“W-what was that!?” Friday shouts.
“Further proof Luna was working for Intergalactic…” Frank says quietly.
Friday scowls at him and screeches: “T-this is all your fault!”
She bolts out of the room, hiding her face in her hands.
I… I know it is…
“Friday, wait!” Carol runs after her.
“After I call her parents, you two better tell me all you know of Luna and what led to this situation.”
Pioneer says sternly, he had only briefly asked Frank about the events before, mostly to determine the reason for Frank shooting her, but Carol had insisted on letting him rest until further questioning.
“That’s fine, right?” Frank looks at Amethyst.
“Yeah…”
“I’ll just be a moment…” Pioneer says and walks out of the room.
“Frank, can you help me move Luna into storage?” Grent says, as he sweeps the smoldering communicator from the ground with a dustpan and drops it into a small metal box.
“If I have to…”
“Great. I'll just be a moment as I deposit this with the rest of the charred things...”
***
Pioneer walks outside of the cavern clinic and heads up the nearest quarry trail to the forest above. It’s still dark, so he has a lamp with him.
From up high, he sees his staff at the hotel facilities, the lights on in the rooms and some still outside celebrating in the bright lights, regardless of what had transpired.
They had moved through the forest to the clinic, but so much staff suddenly going into the woods hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Rumors were already circulating about somebody having gotten hurt.
Pioneer sits near the edge of the cliff and takes out his communicator, turning off his lantern’s light.
Sitting in darkness, in this peaceful loneliness for a moment. He thinks about how his mother would react if one day she’d receive a call about his death.
Pioneer shakes his head, fretting about something that was likely to happen, wouldn’t do any good.
It wasn’t in his capacity to change, and it was better that way, after all, his mother was very likely to outlive both him and his father too, due to not being a human.
But before they were gone, he wanted to make sure, she’d have a better Galaxy to live in, even without them.
Pioneer turns his communicator on, finds the documents of Luna’s application and from it, copies the number to call in the case of an emergency.
He calls the number and lifts the communicator to his ear; soon, it is answered.
“Hello, have I reached the Mi-Safiljo’s? More specifically, Stella Mi-Safiljo?”
“Yes… who do I have the pleasure of talking with?” The feminine voice is polite but sounds very tired.
“I apologize if it’s a bad time, this is a Galactic call, so I do not know your local time. Anyhow, the one calling you, is Pioneer, the one who employs your daughter, Luna.”
“Oh, is my darling being a nuisance or has something… happened?”
“I am afraid, it is the latter. There was an accident that involved her...”
“W-what happened?”
“All the details are not yet clear, but there was a tragic situation earlier… which led to Luna’s death, despite our medical experts trying their best to save her.”
There’s a long silence.
“Lady Stella? Are you still there?”
“Yes… Sorry… I- I…”
“It’s okay, take all the time you need. All I ask is… to let me know, what you wish for us to do with her… body.”
“R-right... I- I’ll need a moment, I will discuss this with my husband and I’ll get back to you…”
“Take all the time you need. Again, there are no words to tell how sorry I am for what has transpired.”
“I… yes. G-good bye.”
The shaky voice ends the call rather abruptly.
Pioneer hangs his legs over the cliff’s edge and sits in the stillness of the night. The stars above, not exactly bright, still showed the beauty of space.
The weight, the smallness of mankind, of sapient life, in this universal scale didn’t help in making his worries seem distant.
Nor did they make them feel insignificant, there had only been one other time when stargazing into the endless, wondrous galaxy, had not made him feel any better.
He had hoped with all his heart, another time like that wouldn't come, but… here it was. As impossible, and unreal as it seemed.
Although he knew, this would eventually pass, unlike... it.
----------------------------------------
Slightly earlier.
At the other end of the line, the woman, the claimed mother of Luna, ends the call. She lays down the communicator from her ear and makes some notes on the holographic keyboard.
Sighing, she mutters to herself: “My talents are wasted on this… couldn't he at least have asked some details to confirm I was who I claimed?
I never get to use any of the fake backstories I make… Like how Luna’s mother is from the Nestora Six planet and it's the height of small hours there right now…”
“Whatever...”
She pushes herself away from the desk on her office chair and stands up, adjusting her pony-tailed hair, brightly white, like it had been bleached.
With a nasal sigh, she pushes the thick-rimmed black eyeglasses further up and picks up a digital note-pad, a thin screen-like device, pressed to her chest with both of her arms.
She flicks around a touch-screen pen with dexterous fingers on her right hand. Walking up to the wide and tall double doors of black wood, she knocks on the right one with the back of her fist.
A light turns green next to the doors, giving her permission to enter, she pushes one of them open with her shoulder and enters.
“Ysale, what is it?” The leader of Intergalactic asks, sensing it would be his secretary.
He is facing away on his lavish black leather chair, its wide and tall backrest capable of hiding his entire being.
Quite a feat, for any chair.
Before it, a wide and thick table stands. Decorated carvings on its light-brown lacquered surface, elaborate swirls, intricate spheres, and waves like northern lights or nebulae.
The room itself is spacious, furnished with expensive carpets and paintings depicting the miracles of space in captivating art styles.
There are no condiments for visitors, no tray of Exodrinks, not even an extra chair.
The leader gazes out of the massive window, the size of the whole back wall, opening up to the great outer space.
Beyond there, could be anything.
Death, hope, salvation.
Redemption.
It was all of it and nothing at once.
He would discover it, find out which it would be.
His goals and ambitions are all so very close, only mere inches away.
If only he could reach out a little further and close his age-ridden fist. To seize what the universe had to offer, what it owed him.
“I’m here to report on Luna- I mean, Sola’s Enrichment mission progress.” She says, assuming that he is listening.
He continues daydreaming, while attentively listening with his other brain.
Andromeda, an entirely new galaxy.
He would be the one to take the biggest, grandest step for mankind.
He would be the first to travel there, to seize and to tame it.
Show it to all, prove it to his family, that he truly was worthy to carry their name.
That he was right.
Ysale doesn’t get a response, so she goes ahead anyway. “This will be my last report on the matter, as it has come to an abrupt end. Sola has died in the line of duty, thus failing her mission.”
He had anticipated good news, what gives? She was supposed to be the perfect fit for this mission.
His breath grows ragged as two of his alien hearts start racing. Uncontrollably, pumping too much blood.
“U-nfortunate.” He gasps as pain saps his chest mid-sentence, deciding to leave it to one word. He hits his chest with a hairy-inhuman hand.
“Indeed, what a shame.” Ysale holds a small pause, in case he has something more to say.
“The details of her death are not known yet, nor if she was interrogated before her demise. It is possible that she has leaked sensitive information. She was inexperienced in the field still by all accounts-”
“She was many things, but most of all, she was loyal. Set the leak risk as minimal.”
“As you wish.” Ysale crosses the box on the death report, then browses her notes of their previous discussions and her assignments.
“Regarding the Tyrchid matter... are we still proceeding with plans D and F now that L has ended?”
“Of course. Set E in motion too, we need it standing by, ready to execute at a moment’s notice.”
“E…” Ysale browses her notes frantically to find any references to this plan. As she finds what it means, she can’t help but ask. “E, was it sir? Are you positive?”
“Yes.”
“Ever since the incident, it’s been cleaned twice a month. If I may be so bold, are you positive it is no longer contaminated?”
She quickly adds: “Not that I assume you wouldn't consider the gravity of an outbreak as a result of its usage. But as you know, I am obligated to ask the question due to protocol, even from you.”
“It has been a decade already… but make its second monthly cleaning happen today. Regardless of the outcome of our plans or external factors, it will be deployed. We will need it.”
“Very good sir…” Ysale turns off the screen and taps it repeatedly with her pen’s rubbery head. “May I… make a personal inquiry?”
“Go ahead, I will listen.” He takes longer to respond, despite the positive answer.
“It’s been a while since…” She shakes her head, “What I mean to ask is; are there any plans to save my bro- I mean, Rocco Crondeston.”
“He will rot his full sentence, may it serve as punishment for his incompetence. Need I remind you, what his part to play in this mess was?”
“That will not be necessary, thank you for entertaining my selfish request all the same.”
Ysale grips the pen and its plastic casing cracks.
“That is all, thank you, sir. I will make sure the plans are executed to the letter...”