xenoscience

As I finish revising my latest draft and close my word processor with an almost satisfied sigh, I turn to glance at the wall clock in my brightly lit office. Just about five in the morning. Well, my editor knows I keep odd hours, and she doesn’t question it. She’ll see my email later, whatever time normal people wake up.

I shrug on the jacket hanging off the back of my chair, fish around in the pocket for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and step out onto the balcony in my slippers. The sun won’t be up for another hour or two, but the sky’s already started to brighten. I blow smoke into the chill spring air and stare down at the city below us—streetlights flickering off, shuttered storefronts, a car passing by here and there.

Eventually, I stub out my cigarette in the ashtray and step back inside. I drape the jacket over the chair, turn off the lights, and head to the kitchen to whip up breakfast. Before I get started, I pull out the little voice recorder from my pants pocket, set it on the counter, and hit the red button. While I cook, I talk to you about how my day went, how my work’s going, how much I love you.

I set a plastic-wrapped plate of food down on the table—scrambled eggs and home fries, just the way you like them—and then step back to the counter to pick up the recorder. My finger moves to stop the recording, but…no. Not quite yet.

Tara lay on the track, pleading with her body to move, even just a little. She got lightheaded like this once in a while, but never in such a bad place, at such a bad time. She could see the five strangers on the other track—drunk college students, maybe?—lying passed out, unmoving. And getting closer and closer, an oncoming trolley, accompanied by the frantic squeal of failing brakes.

There, past the tracks—a familiar figure walking by, wearing the same uniform as Tara. The passerby froze as she took in the scene, cold dread filling her face. She was shouting something Tara couldn’t hear over the noise of the trolley. Next to her was the lever that controlled the junction—that controlled who the runaway trolley would hit. It was heading toward the college students, right? But the girl—the lever—she could save them—in exchange for—

Tara tried to imagine the terrible logic playing out in the other girl’s head, the impossible choice facing her. What would Tara do in her position? She had no idea.

Whatever you choose…it’s all right. I… I understand.

Tara shut her eyes tight.

Tara stood at the crossing, waiting for the trolley to pass and the gates to lift. Her eyes were screwed shut, just like they’d been the moment it happened, but the noises were still echoing in her head even now.

“…ra?” A concerned voice cut through the memories. “Tara?”

Tara’s eyes slowly opened to meet Lauren’s—tinged with worry and with something else hard to place, glimmering in those inky depths.

“What’s wrong, Tara?”

Alice takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. This is it. Her first battle. The sky overhead is the color of a raw, bleeding bruise, and the violin screeching of the Sin echoes between the buildings. It’s huge. How is it so big? Couldn’t she start with something smaller?

She takes another breath. Ready or not, she’s going to do this. No—she is ready. She’s got to be. There’s no one else.

<chessmaster12> Okay, this is maybe more of an interpersonal question
<chessmaster12> But this chat is full of clever people, and I'd really love any advice anyone's got
<spare_throne> Not sure I'll be much help, but go for it.
<_cantarella> whats up chess?
<keikaku> give us the drama :3

“Kyra?”

Kyra sets her coffee and croissant down on the table and looks up toward the slightly tired voice calling out to her. “Oh— Luce, hi! Uh…”

“Didn’t expect to run into you out here. It’s good to see you!”

This is a lot farther from Lucille’s apartment than Kyra’s seen her go in a while. She’s wearing sweatpants and a baggy hoodie, but they look like they’ve been washed recently, at least. She’s doing better, maybe, but—

“Good to see you too, Luce. Um, just, now’s not really—”

Kyra stops as she sees Lucille’s eyes widen in terror. She turns to see Ivy standing behind her, carrying over a drink and pastry of her own, face slowly hardening into a glare. Kyra turns back, trying to come up with something to say to deescalate things, but Lucille immediately bolts before Kyra can get another word out. The bell on the cafe door jingles, and Lucille disappears down the street.

When you wake up, you spend a long while just staring into the mirror.

You feel like there’s someone standing right behind your reflection, but you can’t see anything. You’re always in the way.

She comes in and finds you staring again. She grabs your shoulder, steps in front of you, tells you to brush your teeth and come eat breakfast. So you do.

She’s made waffles. She’s trying. She knows you like them. But if you ever tell her why you like them, she’ll probably never make them again.

“Thank you again for your hospitality,” 9f said. “I hope we can visit again sometime, once our mission is done.”

ff nodded stiffly. “Thank you as well, for what you have shared with us.”

“Thanks!” d149 said from both heads in unison, waving their upper-left arm.

“you’ve opened up a whole new world—really!” the autogun chassis buzzed out.

“Bullets! Bullets!” 13’s chassis shouted cheerfully, with a half-dozen different guns strapped into holsters across her body.