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Read an Excerpt: Day 1
When I first used my hoverchair, nobody told me about the unexpectedness. I didn’t know I’d be the only young woman on Titan using one. When I’d run my last Convalor, climb my last staircase to a house. Traverse a ravine’s rocks. I wish I could have readied myself for things like my last walk with my dad along the lakeshore, but life doesn’t always give us time to prepare.
Dark brown clouds slit the dusky morning sky. I lay in bed reading Village Sisters on my tabicus, trying to learn what life would be like for me in a hoverchair. The Village Sisters was written on Earth about the bond between an African-Japanese beauty queen and her best friend, who broke her spine in a tsunami.
An empty frame hung in front of my bed next to the window. I didn’t want to see me standing with my friends at Lucky’s Tavern. The obligatory smiles and people I barely knew now felt like a past life. The picture was only a year old, but still.
I always kept sunflowers on the table beside my bed to brighten my mood. Next to the sunflowers, my elegant ballerina motivated me to strive for grace and good posture. The best thing I ever got from the Keller Aviary was a fluffy, stuffed butterfly that I named Ms. Monarch and rested on my bed. Like many times since the incident, I embraced her and squeezed tight.
Then, just before the announcement, a tingling shot down my right arm. Was I numb from squeezing Ms. Monarch too hard? Was it a side effect of the surgery? It felt like hot wax on my skin–but somehow empowering?
My body jerked upright. My arm swung like a directional arrow. I had no control of it.
My hand and arm lined up with a Faberge egg on my dresser. It was a family heirloom passed down to my dad’s disabled relative. This, in part, is why I believe our lives are echoes of our ancestors. We’re the same stars, just moving through different galaxies.
The heirloom navigated our solar system aboard the U.S.S. Freedom. The maroon and gold Faberge egg rattled out of its four pure white supports, fell to the floor, and shattered.
I thought someone might’ve bumped into my dresser the night before. Maybe they nudged it off its axis, and that’s why it toppled over this morning.
The pneumonia rains started, and I was content watching them splatter the bubble and cascade down, but we all know what happens now.
The Urgent News banner appeared on my tabicus. I turned the volume up. Remember that image? The mayor drooped like a geranium.
“Fellow citizens, I come to you today with the heaviest of hearts. I sincerely hope that every individual heed this news with the understanding that the best course of action for every life was attempted.” Her shoulders rose and fell like the Magic Islands. “Several weeks ago, a volcano on Jupiter’s moon Io dispelled lava that somehow escaped its gravitational pull and froze, hurtling it into space. This is the meteor I’m sure many of you have heard about on the news. The meteor is one point-six kilometers in diameter and travels at a speed of thirty-six kilometers per second. I regret to inform you that it is headed directly for Titan, and it’s too late to stop it.
“The meteor will make an impact with Titan in six days and destroy everything, including our beloved–” I felt so bad for her when her voice cracked, and she began to tear up. “Civigem.”
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