* * *
Kaityn blinks against the searing light-pain in their eyes. They’re lying just outside the crevice where the life-form crashed; their suit’s readings show no physical damage, and the timestamp in their helmet’s log indicates barely thirty seconds have passed.
“Kaityn? Kaityn?” Horatio sounds deeply concerned. For a moment, Kaityn feels the AI’s worry like an ache in their jaw, spreading down their neck. “Your biorhythms and brainwaves were erratic and completely inconsistent with human physiology. I was afraid you were dying. I have sent distress signals on all frequencies.”
Carefully, Kaityn sits up. They want to rub their face, dig their thumbs against the cheekbones and sinuses to alleviate the throbbing pressure. Their helmet prevents them. Gloves too insulated, no skin contact. Their vision normalizes, the afterimages of falling stars and sun flares dissipating into memory. The suit injects a mild painkiller and a faint whiff of lavender into their oxygen supply. It’s the scent Kaityn likes most, and they have the dosage perfectly balanced so it won’t overwhelm them.
“I’m… okay…” Kaityn blinks again.
We are so sorry, says the light still trapped in stone.
Kaityn’s whole body shivers and their shoulders hunch up in excitement.
“Horatio?” Kaityn whispers. “Do you hear that?”
“I do,” the AI says. “There is no auditory or digital relay for this communication, however, at least that my sensors can detect. It is… not a phenomenon I am programmed to understand. Is this telepathy?”
In a sense, the voice says. It is soft, like a pillow wrapped in microfiber and with no aroma. We did not intend you harm. We bonded thoughts without your consent, and we are deeply ashamed of this. We ask forgiveness for such violation.
Kaityn shakily regains their feet and edges nearer to nu. The knowledge of the cluster’s pronouns — the cluster and this individual alike — feels natural. Nu broke free of nur clusterselves and fell. Nu is alone here, unsure where nur otherselves are now. It was not an intentional fall — nu simply wished to reach out to the colors of the universe, the beautiful radiance that shimmers between folds of vacuum.
“Wow,” Kaityn breathes. Their thoughts spin in ecstatic patterns, like small shiny cubes all clanking together. They resist flapping their hands, even if it makes their arms ache. “Wow.”
Nu is still trapped under the outcropping of moon rock.
They need to focus. Their GEP training is a solid grounding point: in an emergency, remember to breathe. Oxygen for the brain. Appraise the situation. Your kit and vehicles are equipped with a wide range of multi-situational tools. Your AI co-pilot will assist you.
They kneel by the rocks. Their kit has a collapsible pole for a mobility aid. It’ll work well as a pry-bar. Kaityn withdraws the metal tube and snaps it open.
“I’m going to loosen the rocks,” Kaityn says, their voice shaking. “I’m going to move slow so more debris doesn’t fall.”
Understanding shimmers from the life-form.
Gingerly, Kaityn digs the tip of the pole into a crevice where the largest rocks are pinning the life-form’s body. “Is there anything I can do to ease your pain?”
Not alone, nu says. Enough for… It flickers, the pain flaring and dimming. Kaityn gasps and flinches. Tries to steady their hands and push past the hurt.
“Alert: ZeroGen Corps’ shuttle is in orbit and locked onto our location,” Horatio says.
Kaityn bites the inside of their cheek by accident, and a sharp tingle of pain makes them wince. They scrabble to get leverage on the stone without harming the life-form or causing more rocks to fall.
You show distress, nu says, and sends concern-for-well-being and offers soothing-calm-serenity. Kaityn hesitates: the emotions hover in soft swirls, like fresh watercolors held in little paper cups. They accept a sip of soothing-calm, if only to steady their nerves. Peace settles inside their mind, and their bio-rhythms smooth. Their focus sharpens. There, mapped out like a puzzle’s answer, they see where they need to apply leverage to the moon rock and shift it so the low gravity will roll it safely away and let nu free.
“Thank you,” they say aloud, and nur light tones warm in mutual pleasure to have helped them. Nu is transferring nur pain inward so as not to distract and cause harm to Kaityn. They smile shakily in gratitude.
With a slow tumble and spray of dust, the rock shifts and the life-form lies bare and exposed. Kaityn pulls out an emergency solar blanket and drapes it across nur body.
Nu sends thankfulness to them.
And then ZeroGen Corps arrives.
Dust gusts and spins in angry patterns, violently disturbed as a militarized shuttle drops from orbit and blasts the surface without care or consent of the moon.
Kaityn flings an arm up in reflex.
“Step away from the alien.” The ZeroGen operator’s signal blasts into Kaityn’s frequency. “It is being claimed by ZeroGen Corps for scientific study.”
Kaityn winces in pain and freezes. Their suit compensates for the decibel level over the channel and drops it until they can hear and aren’t overwhelmed by the noise. They raise their hands, the protocol for a GEP employee’s non-hostile acknowledgment and negotiation tumbling in tangled patterns through their head.
There are five operators: all in dark-tinted armor and helmets, armed with electric bolt guns, and radiating intensity tinged with hostility and nervousness. The ZeroGen personnel have already logged the signal and site; if they don’t return with evidence, or secure the asset, they’ll be docked and fined.
“I’m Kaityn Falk from —”
“We know who you are,” snaps the operator who spoke first. “GEP outposts are noted on this moon but you haven’t tagged the alien for official observance. Move away from it now.”
“Nu,” Kaityn corrects, and then realizing the operator may not understand, they add, “Nur pronouns are —”
“Alert!” Horatio beeps in alarm. “Weapons armed!”
The lead operator shoulders their bolt gun and aims at Kaityn’s torso. The ZG-X24 model: it has enough force, even in low gravity, to damage or rupture their spacesuit. Worse, Kaityn is alone except for Horatio, who is incorporeal, and if ZeroGen intends to harm them, it’s no stretch to assume the operators would also disable the AI and leave no contestable record of illegal activity. Horatio has sent an emergency ping, yes, but signal still takes time to traverse space, and by then it will do Kaityn and Horatio and nu no good.
Kaityn’s pulse flutters, a rush of blood in their ears. They can’t hold down their terror, the sudden, visceral realization they might die here on this moon, and it will be weeks before the next scout ship reaches them. Days before anyone knows something’s wrong when they don’t log a report update. Unknown span of time where their body will freeze from depressurization.
Yet worst of all is knowing that if ZeroGen captures nu, nu will be subjected to horrors and pain and aloneness.
“I’m sending an additional distress —” Horatio’s frequency shorts out. Jamming signal. Kaityn can only hear their own breath, their own thoughts.
Trembling, Kaityn puts one foot before the other. They will not leave nu alone. They will not fight — they’re unarmed and outnumbered and have always been a pacifist — but they will not abandon the life-form to cruelty and destruction.
“You are not going to harm nu,” Kaityn says. The radio frequency is still open between them and the leader. “Please return to your vehicle and —”
“Step. Away.”
Kaityn steps, but they step in front of the light and keep their arms outspread. “No,” they say, soft and firm, and press outward with their emotions as steadily as they can. Peace. Calm. Acceptance. They do not want to die afraid; they do not want nu to suffer. “I cannot let you harm nu.”
“Fine,” the ZeroGen person says.
The leader fires.
* * *
We reach across the brightness of space, searching, and we find ourself, ourselves,
once again. There! The thread is splintered, an unanticipated fall, suspended in this chronological moment. We knit closed the hurt and we see ourself huddled beside the otherselves. There is distress and fear in all the selves that are not ourselves, and we see the patterns unwind from one self: violence intended. This self acts from bitterness, willingly, and the self’s anger radiates outward like the self’s weaponry. We sing sadness for this self, this lost one that is not ourselves, for they are alone and do not understand the harm they bring themself when they aim such violence at others. It is not our preference to intervene, and yet, there is a bright self that stands betwixt the violence and our lost self, and we will not let them perish.
* * *
Kaityn is packing for their shuttle flight to GEP Station, which is in orbit around Mars. They have a list:
favorite video games stored on a flashmem drive; portable screen and controller
a tablet loaded with their music library
plenty of ebooks
their favorite sweatshirt
a plush squid named Inky
headphones
There’s room for a few more physical objects before they reach their weight limit in their suitcase and carry-on. Kaityn looks at the sketchpad, yellowed with age, and the cup of colored pencils that have gathered dust on that same shelf for years.
For a moment, they almost reach out and drop the art supplies in their bag. Mom isn’t here to see this. Mom would have loved every minute of packing, departure, hearing the updates, even waiting on lag from text and compressed video messages from Earth to the station.
Mom would have been so proud.
Kaityn leaves the remainder of their weight limit unfilled. They haven’t drawn or colored since they were a child. There’s no point in trying again.
* * *
The universe is bright.
Warmth and love and protection flare around Kaityn. They gasp. Relief: strongest, with the mellow undertones of welcome and we found you!
Kaityn blinks rapidly, trying to ground theirself in the sudden flood of emotion and light.
The ZeroGen Corps unit is suspended in a shimmery bubble. The electric bolt drifts away, freed from trajectory, left to float calm and cold in space.
“Their vitals and brain waves are stable,” Horatio reports, “and it appears to be a state similar to cryo-stasis.”
“You’re all right,” Kaityn breathes.
“I am. Are you?”
Slowly, Kaityn shifts their gaze upward.
The sky is bright with bodies of light, the cluster, for nur family has come to find nu.
Their chest squeezes in excitement, in wonder. A vast cloud of light, all hues and tones and shades — so many distinct selves within a whole —
We greet you, the cluster says. A chorus, a unity of voices in cascading music.
Kaityn’s mouth hangs open and they slowly lift a hand towards the cluster. “Hello…”
Then nu floats beside them, free of the moon rock, and Kaityn turns their head to meet nu. Their blanket is folded neatly at their foot.
Thank you for your aid, Kaityn Falk. Nur voice is one and many.
“I… think we’re… even,” Kaityn manages. “You saved me, too.”
Nu, and nur cluster above, stretches out a fan of synapses, tendrils of light that coil and drift in the vacuum before Kaityn’s helmet.
We wish to share views from the universe as we have traveled, the cluster says.
Kaityn gasps, nods, and lets the light twirl around their helmet. “Can I see… can I see them later?” They’re on the edge of a crash, overwhelmed, and they don’t want to collapse under the pressure of so much input and sensation.
Whenever you choose to see, they are yours, the cluster says.
“If I may,” Horatio says. “There is still the ZeroGen team to deal with. I have logged a complaint about the hostile interaction we have experienced on Io7.”
Kaityn turns back towards the suspended soldiers.
They intercepted ourself’s cries when we separated, nu says. They followed us when we fell.
That makes sense to Kaityn. Even if ZeroGen didn’t feel nur distress, the energy reading would explain how they arrived so fast, if they were already in the sector — chasing an unknown signal the way Kaityn did.
“What will you do with them?” Kaityn asks the cluster.
We will carry them back to their base of operations and release them from stasis, nu replies. They will not be harmed, and their memories will not be tampered with. They will simply have wasted fuel and resources in this endeavor to do harm.
Kaityn lets their breath out in relief. “Thank you. For not hurting them.”
There is no value in violence, nu says. Its sum equals only pain, and we do not wish to bring pain upon anyone. We hope, in time, your people will understand this.
“I hope so too.”
Nu floats upwards into nur cluster, is welcomed back with affection and joy, and reconnects into the synaptic threads of the whole.
The ZeroGen team is pulled gently into the light, along with their shuttle.
“Will we see each other again?” Kaityn asks.
Naturally. The cluster gives off pleasant, soothing reassurance. We are part of the universe and so are you. We continue onward. So do you.
“I’d like that,” Kaityn says, and lifts their hand to wave. It’s not goodbye; it is until we share again.
* * *
“This will be quite the report,” Horatio says as Kaityn begins their careful walk back to their rover. They’ve repacked the emergency blanket and will clean moon dust off it later.
They need to lie down; the overstimulation is fast catching up to them and it will take six hours or more of sleep to compensate for the effects of the encounter. Then they will self-soothe by playing one of their favorite video games installed in their quarters: the newest PuzzleCroft, or the Star Harvest sim. They’ll need to decompress over the next few days, too, and access Horatio’s self-care subroutines to help them process all of this. They nearly died, and that isn’t a shock easily brushed aside.
“GEP will be…” Kaityn leans against the hood of the rover. They’re still aware of the shimmering halo-effect around their helmet, the gifted glimpses of the universe. For later, when they can savor and appreciate the offering in full.
“Excited?” Horatio offers. “This is confirmed first contact with another sentient extraterrestrial species.”
Kaityn is too tired to parse the correct words. This is first contact, yes; their helm cam will display a visual and auditory record, and Horatio —
Horatio. Kaityn’s face heats with sudden embarrassment. “I’ve never asked you if you have a pronoun preference, Horatio. I’m so sorry.”
“Apology accepted, and please do not berate yourself,” the AI says. “While my programmers coded me as male due to, I assume, an overwhelming influence of male-ID’d droids in popular media, I’ve come to think of myself as ze/zir.”
Their heart swells, bolstered by hope, relief, and kinship. Kaityn grins. “That’s awesome.”
“Indeed,” ze says.
“With your corroboration and my helm feeds and report, I think GEP will believe us. Perhaps one day, nu and nur cluster will visit us all.”
“That is my wish, too.”
* * *
“Horatio,” Kaityn asks as they steer their rover back towards their ship, “do we have any art supplies aboard?”
“Affirmative,” ze replies. “GEP regulations do allow for a percentage of cargo weight to be allotted to creative pursuits vital for mental health. There are markers, paper, and a paint app tablet aboard. Plan to take up drawing?”
“More like resuming,” Kaityn says. “I once told my mom that when I fly in space, I’d collect all the colors for her.” They can see more shades and hue in the sky, in the dust, in the distant gleam of stars. Another small gift the cluster left them. “It’s time to keep that promise.”
The dark phase of
the moon is turning towards the bright star, and soon it will be dawn.
This story was first published in Uncanny: Disabled People Destroy Science Fiction! (2018).
Merc Fenn Wolfmoor is a queer non-binary writer who lives in Minnesota with two adorable cats (Tater Tot photos frequently grace all Merc’s social media). Merc is a Nebula Awards finalist, and their stories have appeared in Lightspeed, Fireside, Apex, Uncanny, Nightmare, Escape Pod, and several Year’s Best anthologies. You can find Merc on Twitter @Merc_Wolfmoor or their website: mercfennwolfmoor.com. Their debut short story collection, So You Want to Be a Robot, was published by Lethe Press (2017) and they have a second short story collection forthcoming in late 2021.
Content notes can be found at the end of the book.
What Pucks Love
by Sonni de Soto
Hitasha’s feet crunched the dry, vibrantly-colored leaves on the unswept sidewalk outside the place she was supposed to meet her date. Wrinkling her brow, Tasha cocked her head at the building’s sign.
Faere Trade.
It was an odd name, blandly written in block letters over a plain door. This place didn’t look like a cafe. With no windows and blank, stucco walls, it looked like a storage space. Truthfully, it gave her a bit of pause, making her wonder exactly what she was doing at this hole-in-the-wall.
She sighed and shook her head. She hated first dates — kinda hated the dating process as a whole. But, like it or not, there wasn’t another way that she knew of to do this whole love business.
Not that it really seemed to be working well anyway.
She’d been doing the dating dance for a few years now and she just didn’t get it. In high school, it’d all just seemed like a waste of time; it wasn’t as if she would actually find the love of her life at sixteen, so what had been the point of looking? In college, no one seemed to be looking for what she was. Back then, her parents had agreed, urging her to focus on her studies rather than get distracted by frivolous romances that would inevitably fizzle.
It Gets Even Better Page 13
