Love, Saturn
YA/NA sci-fi
Ten years ago, the first batch left. Trading one life of luxury for another, this collection of the filthy rich and their legion of the best scientists, engineers, and military shot off in a ship that provided anything they could ever want. They began the preliminary journey to secure and begin developments on a stable planet far off. They would call this New Earth, which boasted a myriad of domes and a bustling new civilization.
Eight years ago, the final batch left. These were the few who were able to collect enough money in the two years of ‘New Earth’ departures to afford tickets. This was far from luxury, merely a means of transport on par with a commuter ship. There were no other means, though, to make it nearly as lovely as the first. As Earth crumbled beneath them, it was clear that anything would be better than this.
The remaining billion people on Earth watched as this final ship took off, some secretly hoping for an explosion. The oceans have consumed most of the landmass, forcing the remaining few to collect around whatever precious water sources they could find, agriculture has become near impossible with the erratic weather patterns making food scarce, and the communities lose hope quickly. A few politicians and scientists are among these groups, suffering in solidarity with those who they have failed.
A few decades later, and those left for dead– the actual final batch, a mere 1,500 people– finally collected all of the resources and developments to get them off the Desolate Planet. They shoot into the darkness leaving Earth to mend itself and claim the millions of people it took during its collapse. For the next lifetime, they lived on a rickety ship made from spare parts, destroyed buildings, and what final remaining natural resources were left in search of a new planet to call home. Years later, they found somewhere and began settlement with the aid of the Native species.
The human population, once over seven billion, is now merely two little stars in the universe destined to reunite.
Jupiter
0630
A zap to my wrist shocks me awake. I rub over the scar where the chip was implemented before slowly sitting up and doing the same stationary stretches as every other day. I twist around so my upper body faces 180 degrees when I notice a piece of brown paper peeking out from under my pillow from last night’s secret reading. I slip it out from its hiding spot, twisting so I’m facing forwards, and move it on top of my small pile of clothes at the end of my bed. My head drops to my chest, thinking about what I have to do today. Dreaming of working on what I want. My eyes flutter shut; I take a deep breath, then crawl out of bed to get ready.
0700
I move the book into my satchel and use the same chip that woke me up to tap out of the dormitories and make my way towards the canteen for breakfast. The sun blares down, and I squint before tugging my tunic up from where it got caught just under the stiff uniform collar. A measure to protect myself from the stronger solar radiation of the morning.
It’s a short journey through the valleys created from the massive cliffs we have carved away to live in. But I know I am getting close when the holographic sign generated just above the hidden doorway that plainly states ‘Canteen’ becomes visible.
0715
Nobody talks during meals. Too caught up with developing more research, doing personal readings, or just staring into space, trying to avoid eye contact. It was so foreign to me. Back home, our community would collect over meals, creating a rich atmosphere of laughter and smells of warm spices. But there are strict rules here, preventing us from fraternizing with anyone outside our particular area of study. The past few months have slowly made me more and more accustomed to the silence that used to make my arms tingle with awkwardness. Now, whenever I think about home and my community, I just remind myself of something my mom always used to tell me: “We are simply lucky to be alive, dear, just lucky to be alive.” Even months later, the comfort washes over me as if my mother was giving me a hug. I shuffle my way over to the same seat I sit in every morning.
The dust paper crinkles and folds as I open to the dog-eared page and ensure that the contents are facing towards me and only to me. I’ve been researching atmospheric pressures and the angulation of the moon I’m currently on. All in hopes of understanding the projections and velocity in which I need to hypothetically send a bot into deep space. Which is hypothetically not allowed. Which is hypothetically why I must protect from peering eyes or cams.
0730
The hyperlink shoots into the station right as I approach the small, raised platform. My mind swirls with every step of what I have just read. Repeating over and over, hoping to retain the information. I couldn’t write it down, not while I was in public.
Tap. On to the hyperlink. Moving on autopilot. Working through a few calculations on my thigh as I look for a seat. I sit down and pull out the notes for my lab projects looking towards the margins filled with random sketches that don’t necessarily correlate with what the contents are about.
0745
It’s pretty obvious when you get close to the labs. After all, they are the only buildings that have actually been constructed on the moon and stand starkly against the flatlands. From the sky, it looks like a web of domed glass tangled amongst itself, but realistically each sits a fifteen-minute or so walk from each other. I used to admire it, but now it feels more like a prison.
“We are now at the final stop of the hyperlink. Please disembark and remember to take all of your belongings…” the intercom states in a calm female voice. I hold my wrist to one of the adapters near the car’s doors.
Tap. A little light flickers green. I leave the hyperlink.
Tap. Another light flicks green, and I’m in the central atrium. I smile and nod at the receptionist. Her face stays stern.
Tap. Another light flickers green, and I walk towards my office, shared with two other interns.
Tap. The final light flickers green, and I’m in.
All of our desks face away from each other, mine covered in books that look just about ready to topple over, taking with it the loose-leaf pages of notes on top. I am the first one here, as usual. I toss my satchel down and write a list to pin to my board of everything that I need to achieve today.
I have one task for each of my three projects running at the moment, a small workload considering I only contribute my niche area of study, but it will keep me busy. I will spend my days in the labs testing metals and different compounds to protect the bots from harsh rays and other heats that have been damaging them recently, slipping some of these compounds inside my uniform for my personal use, and writing up my findings which will be shared with other departments.
I assume most of the projects are to help Eden, the central and most wealthy pod back on New Earth. Its residents were amongst the first ships to leave the Desolate Planet and, therefore, have heightened beliefs of what they deserve from life and how they can achieve it. My eyes draw to one particular bot first, though. This one has always interested me as its most similar to my personal studies. From the proponents of metals, it can be assumed that it will push further past the atmosphere or even our planetary system. Because of these similarities, I usually approach this project first thing in the morning. It makes it easier to hypothetically take the metals and components necessary for my project.
0830
My colleagues walk in, but I never look up. It once used to feel so odd not to give an offhand remark even as small as a ‘hello,’ but now it’s habit. Besides, most of us are too caught up in work anyways. It’s not worth it. They sit down moments later, and the sound of chimes fills the room. They have been here much longer than I have, but I know nothing about them. All of their paperwork is laid neatly on their desks, their books covered with a small film that jumbles anything that could give me a clue to what they are researching. I take their arrival as my queue to go to the lab to conduct a bit of research. During my morning reading, I found two exciting chemical compounds that will hopefully manipulate and create a reaction that will protect and allow the bot to conduct its missions even during class X8a solar flares. Plus, I need the space to slip things away without them hovering over my shoulder.
1215
The sun has completed its first rotation, now tucked behind the far-off cliffs before it will rise again until about eight to make the second half of our day. I slip back into the office, my arms filled with papers, before dropping them on my desk and adjusting a book on one of my stacks so it’s out of my way. I must have shuffled it when I was coming in or out.
My stomach grumbles just as I plop down. There’s no use going to the lab canteen. I won’t talk, and it will waste time better spent on research, so I opt to have a bot deliver food straight to my desk instead.
“Thank you,” I mutter. It never responds, instead rolling out to complete its task to deliver lunch to others who requested.
2000
It’s dark. Again. I shuffle the notes that have information about my personal ventures alongside some of the metals and properties snuck from the lab into my satchel. I sift through my notes and books.
Partly to make it seem a touch more organized but really to make sure there are absolutely no traces. Once I’m sure there are none, I tap out of the office, then into the atrium, then once more to get out of the labs.
A few moments later, I am on the hyperlink platform, only having to wait a few moments before it appears in what could only be described as a flash. The night crew steps off the train, and we file on with a series of taps from our wrists before finding a seat. Then, without a jolt or any other indication besides the moving scenery just outside the windows, we shoot fifteen minutes to get to the Central Civilization. I pull out my readings from the lab in the meantime, taken so I could ‘consider doing work in my own time,’ but really because one of the chapters stood out for my hypothetical project.
2019.
Tap. I step out of the train.
2022.
Tap. The door slides open, and I breathe in deeply, enjoying the slightly damp smell of humans and rock. It’s so different from the sterile and metallic smell I have been exposed to for far too long. I shuffle towards my bunk, tucking my satchel into the small closet I am given and making sure to take out my book for my project and the collection of other things from the lab that I will store away in my pod.
I close the door and shimmy the top half of my uniform off, leaving the sleeves to nearly dust the ground before climbing the neatly cut rock ladder.
The glass door slides shut with a hardly noticeable whir, and I check a few times that I have the privacy setting on. Then, once I’m sure nobody can see me, I shuffle around to open one of my developments. When I had just moved to this planet, I stored my research in a remote cave until I could make a safe storage solution in my bed. And after a few weeks of digging and tinkering, I made one. Ever since, this is where it has lived, alongside all of my other notes and things I need to successfully construct it.
P183745SL.
Many forget these codes when the chip’s implemented, but losing this number felt like I was losing the me that existed on New Earth. So, I use it here. I type the same rhythmic pattern into the rock. The digits are not visually there, but regardless, the typing comes naturally.
The small cubicle opens with a click that someone would only hear if they were listening for it. With a slight effort, I shove the slab of rock fully aside, revealing a small library and the bot that got me here. I reach in to grab some of the papers sitting on top of the stacks of books, but before I can lift them beyond the confines of the space, the maid bot knocks on the glass. I drop the papers in a frenzy and flick my wrist to check the time. 2100.
The digits brush a freight orange over my skin, and I flick my wrist again to make it disappear. Cover the hole. Put my bed back precisely as the bots would have left it this morning. I check and check again. Only when I’m sure there are no traces do I open my pod.
“Hello, Ms. Clement. It is now dinner time. Please make promptly to the canteen.” The maid bot states in the exact same way as the hyperlink voice. As soon as she’s finished speaking, she moves to other bunks to wake the rest and begin the evening cleaning shift for those who work through the night. I slide down and close my bed pod.
Every button on my control panel flashes fiercely at me, the reds and oranges mimicking a fire onto the surrounding forest a little too closely for my liking. I chuck my notebook to the side, hands whizzing to correct the issue. I toggle various buttons and reach blindly towards the back of the tight cockpit to flip on the generator, hoping it will stabilize. Nothing works. Then, moments later, as if on cue, the ship starts creaking, and what was once just lights become audio alerts. I watch as puyjins escape. I lean forwards in my seat, looking over each warning. There’s too much to look at between the several controls for fuel, dismemberment, and the engine. My heart lifts to my throat, sweat gathering on the base of my neck. My motions become desperate.
“Common’,” I mutter under my breath, biting my tongue.
Moments later, still trapped in my frenzy, the ship decides to take me out of my misery in the form of sparks from the engine. I’m submerged in darkness. My ears ring with silence. I can’t help but stare at the panel blankly for a few moments as if it was all just a fever dream, and I am actually just about to start the engine.
“Fuck.”
When it finally settled that it was not actually the case, and the technology did, in fact, fail, I let myself fall into my chair, the velocity pushing another coil loose from its already loose bun that was on top of my head. I flick it back and look into the woods.
I don’t exactly know what I’m looking for. Maybe for some clarity from my ancestors who had done this so many years before, with the same scrappy material and loose hope that I have. Or perhaps I’m just paranoid looking for one of the critters that the Kai-Úni tribe has warned us about to end my suffering. They are small but travel in packs. The second one catches your scent; you’re already dead Either option would be greatly appreciated at this moment.
When neither presents itself, I begin collecting the things that I would need to do whatever maintenance this ship requires. Not that I know what it needs, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. I shimmy my toolbelt around my waist, grabbing the tools that seemed to slither from their sleeves in my frenzy, then I slip on my fingerless leather gloves. There’s a slight rustling as I reach down to grab my notebook. A shiver rushes through my body, and I look up, scanning the bushes surrounding me. I can’t turn the floodlights on without leaving my ship. My hands shift to my toolbelt, fingers wrapping around the wrench. It’s not much, but if something does attack me, it could do some damage.
I wait for another few minutes, my chest tightening and releasing. I can only take in small shallow breaths. When nothing comes, I reach down for my notebook before hopping onto the body of my ship. I reach towards my head to flick my headlamp on, only to realize I forgot to grab it. Slinking my head back into the ship, I start to fish around.
There’s another rustle. I take a deep breath in, fists clenching. Then, a whistle. I jump, my head crashing hard on the bottom of the seat. It takes a few moments to shuffle out of my position. Still, without my headlamp, I am forced to squint into the woods, looking for the culprit of the noise. Their coloring blends them nicely into the darkness, and their training means they are light on their feet. There’s a slight rustling behind me, and my head snaps to follow it. But, of course, I don’t see anything. The hairs on my arms stand up, and I can’t help but run my hands across them in a weak attempt to push them downwards.
“Scared, darling?” They call out, even though I still can’t see them. I whip my head around again. “Oh, common’ you’re terrible at this!” they say, grinning, as they jump out of the woods so I can finally see them.
Collins. The child of my mother’s assigned mentor. We have been friends since birth, even though we didn’t go to school or anything together. They are Kion, the native species of this planet. Collins, in particular, has served in their planetary military, which would be better described as peacekeepers. They are formally trained in aerospace engineering, hence why I keep them around. Plus, they always give me a good laugh. I guess. “Quite the problem you’ve got there.” They say, leaping on the engine before sitting next to me. Cat like. I look down at my ship, still off and cooling down after the drama that happened a few moments ago.
“Yeah. And I was looking for my headlamp before you rudely interrupted me,” I shove them slightly, “You, of all people, should know better than to sneak up on someone ass up in their ship.” I say. The initial fear and annoyance have let up, leaving our light jokes in the air. They laugh, and I can’t help but roll my eyes before tucking myself back into my ship to try and find that headlamp.
“Seriously though, d’you know what happened? I didn’t see much, only a few sparks.” As they finish the sentence, there are metallic creaks and groans, and I know they are walking around, surveying my work.
“I mean, that’s about it. Everything started crashing, and I wanted to try fixing it inside the cockpit. Before I could turn off the ignition, the left engine there started sparking.” I point in the general vicinity of the engine, still carried away with trying to find my headlamp. There’s a slight thud, and I can only assume Collins has gone into the engine. I peek my head over the seat, my heartbeat in my chest. “Hey, you shouldn’t go in there–”
“Sure, but you were going to?” they respond. My hands jump over my headlamp, and I drag it out before rustling it over my pile of curls. Then, finally, I turn it on and point it at them.
“Yes, but it’s me. My ship. It doesn’t matter.”
“Jas, sweetheart, you matter. You need to stop taking risks mindlessly,” they say. It’s moments like these, with their sweet words, that I’m reminded of just how much I love them. As a friend, of course, but it’s nice having someone who isn’t my brother looking after me. I hop down onto the top of the engine before swinging myself in so I’m standing right next to them. I smile and pat their arm to tell them how much I appreciate the sentiment before nodding deeper into the engine. I walk without looking back at them. I don’t need to.
The small beacon of light shifts from illuminating the mismatched metals of the engine to the notebook in my hands. I have worked here recently, sure, but from the notes that I took, everything I’ve done should’ve been prevention methods for something like this. It surely shouldn’t cause sparks or a fire. Unless, of course, the paneling I put over the wires in my recent updates overheated, creating the sparks. It’s a far shot, but it’s definitely something to check out.
Collins’ headlamp flashes across every interior surface crossing each ridge of half-assed welding and places I have had to patch. It’s far from the types of ships they work on. Those are clean and much smaller and more efficient than mine. Where they have the opportunity for the best metals, the most scientifically precise materials, and the most brilliant minds discovering new ways for these ships to maneuver. I have found free scrap, my brother has snagged some from his job, and Collins grabs the other harder-to-acquire bits, such as parts for my engine. It’s all been loosely tied together into this piece of junk that I hope I will be able to fly at some point.
“Fletcher,” they use my last name, which was born from the language difference making it more difficult for us to pronounce the other’s first name. Now, it’s just stuck. I don’t think I’d respond if they used my first name, “I always ask, but why are you pushing so hard for this? I know better than anyone how consuming personal projects and learning opportunities get, but why are you trying so hard with something that you could be formally taught in a few years’ time?” they ask, their tone laced with curiosity. No matter how genuine they are, though, it always tickles that one part of my brain that’s so filled with judgment. While our kind has been subjected to intense schooling about the Universe catching up on everything that we missed during our Earthly years, they did their typical education, which is infinitely faster than ours. The only change in their schooling was learning English, which of course, Collins’ picked up spectacularly. The only indication that their first language is Kuni, a series of
somewhat familiar noises mixed with a series of clicks, is the slight slurs and blending of words due to their accent. I hit the wall with my palm slightly, the sound ricocheting through the tunnel before diffusing in the forest.
“I just have to, okay? I say it every time. Flying is just in my blood; I can feel it. Every day on the ground feels like another day wasted.” I snap when I don’t really mean to. “I’m sorry,” I say softer this time, but after this, we don’t talk. We just walk deeper and deeper into the engine. Collins has no clue where I’m going but follows along, trusting that where I’m going is safe. I can’t guarantee safety, but I know if I bring it up, they will insist and follow me regardless. So I don’t argue it, and we walk in comfortable silence.
I know I’m getting close when I smell the remnants of smoke and rust, neither of which I should be able to smell inside an engine. I look back toward Collins, and I can tell they feel the same from their cautiously upturned face. I keep pushing forwards before I’ve nearly reached the back. I stop and start surveying the area, and as soon as they catch up, Collins does the same. Our lights dance across the metals until they finally catch on the culprit of the smell.
As expected, the cause of the rust smell is rusting metals. I start walking towards it, pulling up the brown and patchy cloth tied loosely on my neck over my mouth and nose. Under the beacon of my headlamp, I can see a few small holes, probably caused by my drill, that has allowed little droplets of water to creep in, hence, rust. I point up
“It must’ve weakened the binds created from my welding during my recent fixes. This essentially released the wires that were once safely trapped between sheets of metal, and–” I trail off, taking a few careful steps to the left, reaching up to where I had just finished these updates. The wires dangle and let off periodic drops of water straight onto the charged metal. Definitely not safe. Combined with the heat of this engine starting up, that certainly could have set off a fire.
“Easy fix, I suppose,” I hear from behind me, and when I look over, Collins’ eyes are bright with hope. I look back toward the wires.
“Yes, but it still doesn’t explain all the other flashing lights.”
