tube.
And then she is alone, a woman behind a solid metal mask, with ears calibrated for the solar winds, and eyes that can only see the stars.
* * * *
Marika is kept away all night. Alice has to amuse herself by watching feeds and vids, because her only other options are music, which is too passive to keep her input-starved brain occupied for long, and conversation, which is currently impossible. Jayna is on shift right now, Selene is sleeping, and the caretakers are all busy discussing how to keep her from going even more insane.
They are a shift of three. There can be no replacements.
Alice briefly scans the news feeds, hoping for distraction, and finds that as usual, nothing has changed. The relief convoy from Earth is still on hold, the rebuilding continues to go slowly, and there is still no real information on the mysterious black ships that nearly destroyed their colony ten years ago. The talking heads just keep rehashing all their old theories—that it was aliens trying to drive humans from their first and only extra-solar colony, that United Earth sent the ships to punish the colonists for forming an independent government, that it was the wrath of some angry god, that it was a natural phenomenon that only looked like spaceships, that the colony government bombed its own domes to cover up some unspeakable crime. She’s heard it all before. None of it makes any difference to her. None of it changes her job.
No, the news is no real distraction. Alice pulls up some chamber music and a slideshow of images of happy families that she has made over the years, culling pictures from news stories, from magazines, from movies. Some are real families, some fictional, but she cherishes each and every image just the same — the pigtailed blonde laughing on her father’s shoulder, the teenagers tossing a ball back and forth under the lights of the main colony dome, the little baby curled up in its mother’s arms.
She touches the mask. It’s worth it. For them.
And then she sneaks a peek at the tiny, pixelated picture that Marika doesn’t know she has. It’s the only image she’s been able to find of her. She’s young in the picture, in high school, posing with the rest of the track team under an undomed sky that can only be on Earth. Marika is in the back row, so all Alice can make out are broad, tanned shoulders, a mane of dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a brilliant smile. But it’s enough. It’s something.
She can never tell Marika that she has this. They’re supposed to be faceless for each other. Marika insists on it.
Marika.
She shudders.
No, this isn’t helping either. A movie will distract her until Marika returns.
Alice searches the mainframe for a film she hasn’t seen. So few get made anymore. The economy can barely support the basic needs of its citizens, and entertainment is a luxury that is rarely indulged. But all she can find is something called Love in a Time of Bombardment .
No. She will not relive the attack. The attack is not entertainment. It can never be entertainment.
She tugs at her feeding tube to try to get it into a more comfortable position, and feels the thick, thumbless mittens being pulled back over her hands. “no no no no no no no,” she types, but her unspoken assailant ignores her and ties the mittens to the walker’s rail.
They’re so afraid she’ll become another Selene. This is exactly the wrong way to go about keeping her sane.
She bangs her mask hard against the walker’s padded rail in protest, then thrashes her head from side to side when her assailant tries to stop her. It’s no use. She is pushed back against the padded chair of her walker and strapped down. The seat/body interface tugs uncomfortably between her legs, and she opens her mouth as far as it will go behind the mask to scream out her silent fury.
Over the earpieces, she hears Dr. Qureshi say, “Alice, you need to keep calm.”
She struggles to type, struggles to get
And then she is alone, a woman behind a solid metal mask, with ears calibrated for the solar winds, and eyes that can only see the stars.
* * * *
Marika is kept away all night. Alice has to amuse herself by watching feeds and vids, because her only other options are music, which is too passive to keep her input-starved brain occupied for long, and conversation, which is currently impossible. Jayna is on shift right now, Selene is sleeping, and the caretakers are all busy discussing how to keep her from going even more insane.
They are a shift of three. There can be no replacements.
Alice briefly scans the news feeds, hoping for distraction, and finds that as usual, nothing has changed. The relief convoy from Earth is still on hold, the rebuilding continues to go slowly, and there is still no real information on the mysterious black ships that nearly destroyed their colony ten years ago. The talking heads just keep rehashing all their old theories—that it was aliens trying to drive humans from their first and only extra-solar colony, that United Earth sent the ships to punish the colonists for forming an independent government, that it was the wrath of some angry god, that it was a natural phenomenon that only looked like spaceships, that the colony government bombed its own domes to cover up some unspeakable crime. She’s heard it all before. None of it makes any difference to her. None of it changes her job.
No, the news is no real distraction. Alice pulls up some chamber music and a slideshow of images of happy families that she has made over the years, culling pictures from news stories, from magazines, from movies. Some are real families, some fictional, but she cherishes each and every image just the same — the pigtailed blonde laughing on her father’s shoulder, the teenagers tossing a ball back and forth under the lights of the main colony dome, the little baby curled up in its mother’s arms.
She touches the mask. It’s worth it. For them.
And then she sneaks a peek at the tiny, pixelated picture that Marika doesn’t know she has. It’s the only image she’s been able to find of her. She’s young in the picture, in high school, posing with the rest of the track team under an undomed sky that can only be on Earth. Marika is in the back row, so all Alice can make out are broad, tanned shoulders, a mane of dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a brilliant smile. But it’s enough. It’s something.
She can never tell Marika that she has this. They’re supposed to be faceless for each other. Marika insists on it.
Marika.
She shudders.
No, this isn’t helping either. A movie will distract her until Marika returns.
Alice searches the mainframe for a film she hasn’t seen. So few get made anymore. The economy can barely support the basic needs of its citizens, and entertainment is a luxury that is rarely indulged. But all she can find is something called Love in a Time of Bombardment .
No. She will not relive the attack. The attack is not entertainment. It can never be entertainment.
She tugs at her feeding tube to try to get it into a more comfortable position, and feels the thick, thumbless mittens being pulled back over her hands. “no no no no no no no,” she types, but her unspoken assailant ignores her and ties the mittens to the walker’s rail.
They’re so afraid she’ll become another Selene. This is exactly the wrong way to go about keeping her sane.
She bangs her mask hard against the walker’s padded rail in protest, then thrashes her head from side to side when her assailant tries to stop her. It’s no use. She is pushed back against the padded chair of her walker and strapped down. The seat/body interface tugs uncomfortably between her legs, and she opens her mouth as far as it will go behind the mask to scream out her silent fury.
Over the earpieces, she hears Dr. Qureshi say, “Alice, you need to keep calm.”
She struggles to type, struggles to get
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