by Alexandra M. Lucas
I can’t remember what I saw first, the wide-eyed woman’s face, her purple gloves, or the light on the end of her clicky pen. What I do remember vividly, though, is seeing a black sea filled with lights just behind her floating hair. She turned to look at their sparkles, too, almost like she could feel what I saw. When she looked back at me, fresh from the egg, her eyes brightened and she said, “Hi, little one. I’m Laima. Welcome to space.”
This place Laima called space seemed comfortable enough for my needs. I could burrow into soft earth a good while before I bumped into glass, and there were more than enough slugs and snails to fill my belly.I always had company, too, for the woman with the clicky pen visited me and the many plants in their jars every Red Team shift. I slept during the Blue Team shift. I think Laima did, too, if humans need sleep.
She told me it was always ‘night’ when we met. Although this ‘night’ seemed largely the same to me as when Laima wasn’t there, I did note one little difference. At night, Laima would turn off the world, so that I could hardly see anything, not even the dirt right in front of me. Then, she would give me something special to drink, and she would say, “Let’s see if you can glow out here. Go for it!”
I wasn’t sure what she meant at first. No one told me I was a glow worm.
4 Sleeps Since I Hatched
Laima kept a journal of everything we did in space. After she measured me and the plants in their jars, she wrote down how we’d all grown. I was proud to be bigger each time. The corners of her mouth usually turned up when she wrote in her journal with her clicky pen, so I started keeping this journal, too.
That night, I tried again to make myself bright, but I couldn’t do it yet. She smiled softly at me, and then she touched the wall behind her. In response, a voice that sounded the same the whole way through said, “Enter identification code to access video record.”
Then she touched the wall again and somehow made pictures move on it. Within seconds, she was standing in front of me and in the wall at the same time. Next to the Laima-in-the-wall was a short, small human with hair the color of the lights outside the window. Both sides of their mouths were pointing up, so I thought this was a good thing.
Laima must have caught me staring, because she said, “My son, Ilmar. He is back home. Far from here.” She pointed out the window to the blue below.
Like magic, she then pulled a small rectangle from somewhere and tucked the thin piece of paper into my glass jar. When I turned to study it, I saw that it held a copy of her son’s face. “Illy has a name for you, you know.”
I wished I could’ve told her that having a name sounded wonderful, but I didn’t have to. “He wants me to call you Auseklis, the morning star. Illy thinks he’ll be able to see you when he wakes up each—”
The voice that always sounded the same interrupted her. “Re-enter identification code to continue access to video record.”
She closed her eyes, breathed deeply through her nose, and opened them again. Then, she tapped the wall, and the moving pictures disappeared. “Illy’s right, maybe, about seeing the morning star in you when he wakes. What do you think?”
Even though I was getting sleepy, I managed to wriggle around with enthusiasm. We’d known each other for long enough that Laima could decipher my special code.
“If that’s how you feel, Auseklis it will be.”
I liked seeing the corners of Laima’s mouth turn up again, so I did another dance for her. She smiled harder and clicked her pen. “All right. Red Team out. Keep working on that glow, little star.”
6 Sleeps Since I Hatched
Sometimes I woke up before Laima did. When that happened, I would look around the place outside of my jar and try to make sense of all the wonders. There were shapes I couldn’t begin to define back then, sticking out of walls or such great distances apart that I would never be able to slink over to two in one night. Lights shining in different colors surprised and delighted me. Sometimes, I liked to watch the plants sway in their jars. They taught me how to dream.
But some things were always the same. Although I didn’t know what they were, the lights out in the black sea always sparkled. Laima said she came from the blue one I could sometimes see out the smaller window. And, while I didn’t understand it, there was a comfort in waking up every night to the gentle melody of Laima’s voice.
8 Sleeps Since I Hatched
That night, I felt different. Tougher. Stronger. Deep down, I had a feeling that I would be able to light up if I just concentrated hard enough. I was so excited to try my best for Laima until I saw something in her eyes that I hadn’t seen before. She smiled at the other humans who floated by, but her smile left with them.
When we were alone, she drew close to the far wall and pressed against it with several quick taps. The voice that always sounded the same said, “Kairys, Laima does not have access to this STS-107 flight log information. Please enter access code or try another query.”
A huff escaped from her lips as she tapped the wall again. Once more, the voice that always sounded the same said, “Kairys, Laima does not have access to this STS-107 flight log information. Please enter access code or try another—”
Shaking her head, Laima thudded her fist against the wall, and the voice that always sounded the same stopped. That was when she finally pulled on her purple gloves and turned her attention back to me. Relieved to see her again, I nestled close to the front of my jar.
“Auseklis, are you good at protecting secrets?” she asked.
I bobbed my head like I’d seen Laima do when she sounded pleased with something another human had said. I think she saw me, but, even so, she did not look pleased.
“I… I think something’s not right.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant, so I sat still, waiting.
“Someone from down below contacted us earlier. Something about our craft shedding a piece of foam. One little piece.” She shook her head, so I shook mine, too. “I thought I could find out more, but…it can’t be serious, because we’d be initiating some procedure now if it was. Surely, yes?”
I thought about the procedures that Laima took me through. Knowing that she would float through the door each night put my mind at ease. One time, when my jar flew free into the world around it, she found me and put my jar back in its place. She sang to the plants in their jars so they could sleep soundly, and when she left me to rest, she would say, “Saldus sapņus, Illy. Sweet dreams and stick close to Auseklis.” These procedures meant a lot to me, so I understood why Laima’s were important to her.
As she dipped the dropper with my special drink into my jar, she looked off into the distance. “What if, to fix it, there’s a need to send another crew? What if it would take longer to repair than the time remaining? What if they can’t—”
Drops of the special drink plopped on my head, prompting me to glance up. “No. They would have to tell us. It would only be right, right?”
Laima fell quiet for a long time. I remember most of that night as filled with the rapid clicks of her pen. Maybe she didn’t want to worry me. Maybe she already knew what would happen. I wish I could ask her.
When she stopped writing and began her Red Team end-shift procedure, Laima paused to tap the wall again. Once more, the voice that always sounded the same said, “Kairys, Laima does not have access to—” She stopped the voice from repeating itself; I guessed that Laima’s memory was good enough that she didn’t need to hear it again.
When she eyed my jar again, I thought I’d be happy, but her expression scared me. Her wide eyes and mouth were still, blank, like I’d probably been when I first arrived in space.
“You know something, Auseklis? To be out here, you must be fearless. A true explorer.”
Something in her voice sounded like she was unsure of these things. But Laima said them, so I knew they must be true. I bobbed my head in agreement.
“But there is one thing I fear. Just one.” Laima paused to finish the last part of her procedure, and then she positioned herself across from my jar, holding on to a handle below to keep herself steady.
“Hell, it may be something every explorer is afraid of.” Her eyes disappeared into the darkness of the black sea outside for a moment before she looked back at me. “You won’t tell anyone, will you, little star?”
I kept still, gazing up at her in expectation.
“I didn’t think so.” After looking side to side, she pulled herself up next to my jar, her lips almost close enough to brush the glass. “Auseklis, the truth is… I’m afraid of not finding my way home.”
I glanced around my world, perplexed by her concern. Everything looked as it should. Laima had tilled the dirt and brought the snails. I knew exactly how far I could go in any direction, and always I was in sight of my soft patch of earth. Surely, she had someone who tilled her dirt and gave her snails, too. Surely, she knew where her jar began and ended. It seemed impossible to get lost when everything was so simple and certain.
To reassure her, I pressed my squishy face to the glass. The lines on her skin softened, and she pressed her nose to the glass, too. For a while, everything was silent, save for the rhythmic humming and occasional beeps that I knew well. Since Laima wasn’t talking anymore, I thought I’d helped. Then, water started floating across her nose.
I didn’t know what floating face water meant back then, when I was fresh from the egg. Even so, I sensed that she needed to stop feeling what she was feeling, and something inside told me I could help.
That’s when I noticed that Laima had left the lights dim.
Tonight, I thought. I can do this. For Laima.
All it took was one tap on the glass to get her attention. As she pulled away, I scooted back from the front of the jar as quickly as I could. Once I was sure she could see me, I focused all my energy on one thing.
Do it, I commanded myself, concentrating so hard. Harder than ever before.
Glow.
First, it was small. A flicker, gone so fast that Laima and I both wondered if anything had happened at all. But when she pulled herself closer to my jar, I knew I’d done it.
“Auseklis, did you…?”
I didn’t wait for her to ask more questions. Instead, I focused on doing it again. This time, my jar stayed alight for a little longer. This time, I could already feel that it wasn’t as hard to do.
Eyes wide, Laima shouted, “Again, again, little star!”
Since water wasn’t coming out of her face anymore, I felt better, too. It made lighting up easier for some reason, so I kept doing it. She laughed from deep in her throat at my stop-and-glow show, enjoying it so much that she let go of the handle below my jar, clapped her hands, and let herself float around the world for a while.
11 Sleeps Since I Hatched
Once I could make light for a few seconds on command, she scooped up my jar and brought me to the wall where she’d shown me moving pictures before. After she pressed the wall once, the voice that always sounded the same said, “Enter identification code to establish comm link with Kairys, Laima Family Call.”
She then rolled her eyes and quickly pressed some buttons. A few beeps and whirs later, I saw her son in the wall. Ilmar appeared just like before: close to the ground with hair the color of the stars. But this time, he seemed to be looking right at us.
“Sveiki, Mamma! Does space smell weird? How much Tang do you get? Is that Auseklis?” the boy in the wall asked in rapid succession. His voice didn’t sound as clear as Laima’s, like we were listening to him through a big pile of dirt. Despite this, neither of the humans seemed to mind.
I glanced up at Laima quickly enough to catch her grin. “Sveiki, Illy. So many questions, but yes! And this little star has been working very hard. See?”
When Laima turned to me, I understood. Swelling with pride, I lit up. His gasp of delight fueled me to hold my glow for a few seconds longer than I ever had before. Ilmar’s broad smile reminded me of hers, and he clapped with joy, just like Laima had done when I’d first shown her what I could do.
“Wow, Mamma! That’s so cool. Do you think Auseklis’ll glow at home?”
The corners of Laima’s mouth twitched. “I can’t imagine why not. We’ll find out soon.”
The boy in the wall nodded. “Jā. When you get back, can we—”
Before he could finish, the picture on the wall broke in half, and a loud, grating sound filled the world. Laima’s eyebrows were pressed together like I’d seen them do when she was working on a challenge.
That was when a different face filled the wall. I didn’t recognize it, but I could tell that it was human. Their hair was gray, very different from Laima’s or her son’s, and the rings around their eyes made them look like they had seen many more nights than Laima had. Worst of all, Laima didn’t look happy to see them.
“Can anyone… me? Come… bia, come in! Over!” they exclaimed, their ringed eyes flitting around every corner of the wall.
Laima tried to speak, but nothing came out at first. She coughed roughly and then tapped on the wall in quick bursts. “This is Mission Specialist Laima Kairys, I copy! Who are you? What’s happening? Over.”
The person in the wall flashed in and out of sight, and their voice did the same. “Engineer Ph… here. Mission… Kairys, check the… side of… damage could be…”
Their words came out scrambled and incomplete. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t tell what they were saying. Laima’s shaking head suggested she was frustrated, too.
The strange face broke through again, and they panted out every word. “Kairys, the problem is… management won’t… not approved… reentry… not surviva…”
Laima cried out in a way that I’d never heard before. Her voice was somehow high-pitched and guttural, like it came from deep inside and was not in her control. Later, I would hear other animals make this sound when they knew they were trapped.
Just as suddenly as it had arrived, the human face with the ringed eyes vanished. For what felt like another entire sleep, Laima and I floated in the quiet together. Water spouted from her eyes in such large amounts that they flew away in big blobs. They reminded me of the white clouds Laima sometimes pointed to above her blue world.
The silence ceased when Laima’s son reappeared in the wall. However, this time, he was frowning. “Mamma! There you are. What happened? Something is wrong?”
I looked at Laima, too. I wondered the same thing.
She took a deep breath and lifted the corners of her mouth. “Not to worry, Illy. This will all be over soon. You’ll see.”
Her son lit up again. “Okay, Mamma. Did you know something?”
Laima wiped her face with the back of her free hand. “Maybe. What is it?”
“Mamma, did you know I love you?”
She scrunched up her cheeks for a moment, but then she relaxed into a weary smile. “I did know that, jā. But did you know something?”
Her son leaned close with wide eyes. “That you love me?”
“To the moon and back, Illy. I love you so. I—”
The voice that always sounded the same interjected. “Warning. Kairys, Laima Family Call comm link ending in 15 seconds.”
Laima bit her lip and looked back at the wall. “We’re out of time. Give Daddy a big hug for me, okay?”
Her son nodded. “I will. Sweet dreams, Mamma. See you at home soon. And you, too, Auskelis!”
“Saldus sapņus, my Illy.”
Laima barely got her goodnight words out before Illy disappeared again. She stared at the blank wall for a long time. I tried to count the seconds, but I got distracted as new blobs of face water floated around my jar.
13 Sleeps Since I Hatched
Usually, it was just Laima and me, which I liked best. But that night was different because I watched Laima and the six other humans gather together outside of my jar. They talked so quickly with each other at first that I couldn’t tell what they were saying. Then, a tall one with a long face cleared his throat, and all fell quiet.
While everyone else bowed their heads, the tall one with a long face read from a large metal rectangle. “It is today that we remember and honor the crews that did not return. They made the ultimate sacrifice: giving their lives in service for all mankind. Their dedication and devotion to the exploration of space was an inspiration to each of us, and still motivates people around the world to achieve great things in service to others.”
None of the humans spoke after that. In fact, Laima only said a few words to me before she left. Not even a sustained glow from me was enough to merit her usual goodnight words.
I tried not to take it personally. Something had shifted, and for the first time in my life, I felt uneasy.
15 Sleeps Since I Hatched
That night, Laima told me that our time in space would end soon. I thought she might feel happy about going back to her blue world, but the corners of her mouth didn’t turn up when she spoke anymore.
“No matter what happens, you’re staying with me, little star,” Laima declared. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at me or at the paper copy of her son behind me. Either way, her words made me feel less afraid.
After she dressed in a thick orange jumpsuit, Laima carried me into another place. That’s when I left the only world I’d ever known for the first time. Everything looked the same, but different. I saw lights and levers I recognized, but there weren’t any vials of Laima’s special drink or boxes of her purple gloves or swaying plants in here. I thought I’d be scared, but as long as I was with Laima, I felt okay. Sure, I didn’t see any other jars like mine here, but I was an explorer like Laima now, the first of my kind to travel so far from home.
One by one, each of the humans covered their heads in a clear sphere and fastened themselves into one of the places to sit. Somehow, even as she did all of this, Laima never let go of my jar. She held me so close that I could read the dark shapes on the front of her orange suit. One said, “NASA,” and another read, “Columbia.” Wanting to be a good explorer, I recorded these names here.
Before we started the journey back to the humans’ home, there was a moment when I worried I might not get to travel with them. That was when the tall human with the long face floated by Laima and tried to take my jar away.
“It’s not safe to carry experiments during reentry, Kairys. You know the rules.” His voice sounded helpful, but Laima seemed to disagree.
“Stop.” Their eyes bore into each other for a long while, both of their hands on my jar. “You know as well as I how this will go, commander.” She spat out the last word like it was a snail gone bad. “At least give me this.”
The paper with Ilmar’s face on it shifted slightly in my jar. This was enough to convince the tall human with the long face, as he let go and looked away. Whatever Laima had meant, he didn’t deny it.
Settled in my jar close to my friend and the copy of her son’s face, I looked out the window at the white puffs and endless blue below. It didn’t matter where we were headed, as long as Laima and I were exploring together.
15 Sleeps, 19 Hours Since I Hatched
After the world zoomed downward and my stomach leapt into my throat, time seemed to both stand still and speed up all at once. I’ve learned that this is what happens when you experience something new. So much is different and strange that it’s hard to keep track of silly details like time. But I know I hadn’t yet reached 16 Sleeps when I saw through the window that the black sea was gone, and the blue below was growing closer and closer.
At first, the humans around me didn’t stir. From the look of the smooth skin on their foreheads, it seemed like they were unbothered by what was happening. I guessed that they must’ve done this many times before to be so calm. I hoped I’d be brave like them someday.
A human voice from a face I couldn’t see broke the silence. “Columbia, Houston. Comms check.”
Laima pulled my jar tighter to her side. “Almost home, little star.”
Before I could meet her gaze to figure out what she meant, horrible scraping sounds filled the air. I saw the tall human with the long face reach for the box that housed the unknown human voice as it called out again, “Columbia, Houston. No matter what, don’t—”
The voice cut out, so the tall human pressed a button and shouted, “Houston, this is—”
The voice that always sounded the same interrupted. “System resetting. Please wait, then enter your identification code to access this feature during flight.”
By the time the tall human with the long face reached for the box again, it was gone. In fact, everything around us started to fall away. All the beeping panels, the small vials, the glass jars filled with plants, and the humans strapped into seats broke apart and flew off on their own adventures. I soon no longer had to look out a window to see this strange, alien world the humans called home. Now it was coming to meet us, and fast.
Two other humans stayed strapped in next to Laima as we fell. One of them kept their eyes on my jar until they bent completely in half, slammed backwards by the cabinet my jar used to sit on. That was when the other nearby human suddenly got a red glow to him, lighting up after colliding with a piece of my former world that felt hot. His screaming was painful to hear, but it stopped around the time I could see that the rapidly approaching world was both blue and green.
It wasn’t until I could make out big shapes below that I heard Laima whimpering. She pulled my jar closer to her side, and her high-pitched sounds grew louder and louder until we broke through the white puffs.
Lost in the wet strands of air that fogged my glass, everything stood still for a moment. A giant yellow light in the distance shone brightly on everything in sight. So many colors danced across the white puffs that I almost couldn’t believe it was real. Then, I heard Laima take a deep breath and say, “Wow. So beautiful. I wish I’d live to tell someone about it.”
I wished I could tell her that I saw it, too, and that I was a good explorer who would record this in my journal. But as we fell, Laima couldn’t see me, so I had no way of communicating how much our procedures together meant to me or that I would’ve been a good little sister to Illy. I couldn’t ask her all the questions I had about her blue and green world. When the ground finally came to meet us, I knew we were out of time.
17 Sleeps Since I Hatched
Like a good explorer, I took note of all around me that I had never seen, which was nearly everything. This new world was so impossibly green compared to where I hatched, with plants I’d seen in other jars now scattered everywhere, unbound. The cracked top of my jar brought in air that tasted good, and eventually, small grubs made their way in for me to eat.
Red liquid dripped into the cracked top of my jar, too. At first, I thought Laima was dropping in more of her special drink that helped me glow, but it didn’t taste the same. I didn’t like the metal flavor, so I tried to look up and signal this to her.
What I saw when I looked up was new, too. Her glove was still holding my jar, but her face wasn’t her face anymore. The glass sphere she had put over her head had shattered, so I tried to see if the corners of her mouth were turned up or down. I couldn’t figure anything out, though, because the bottom half of her mouth was gone, leaving jagged red marks and an empty space under her nose behind.
Desperate, I looked for her sad eyes. I thought I’d give anything to see them again. We could communicate so much through how we looked at each other. But after we crashed on her world, I could only see one of Laima’s sad eyes. It was hanging down by where her mouth used to be, spinning gently in the wind.
18 Sleeps Since I Hatched
I awoke with a start to a world shrouded in darkness and slow, plodding thuds in the near distance. Only small beings like me had wandered past my jar so far, but these new sounds made me wonder if something bigger was coming. Laima had told me that true explorers were fearless, so I decided I wouldn’t be afraid.
Then, a deep human voice boomed into the night, “Hello? Anyone alive out there? Any survivors?”
I checked to see if I was alive. First, I breathed some air and ate a grub. Then, careful to avoid the red liquid that had become solid, I burrowed through the dirt in my jar, nestling into the familiar. Finally, I looked up at Laima again. I checked her eyes and mouth, in case they’d gone back to normal while I’d slept. They hadn’t.
Maybe I was a survivor, but this was Laima’s home, not mine. As the human with the deep voice fumbled around in the dark, I remembered Laima’s only fear: that she wouldn’t find her way home. Glancing behind me, I studied the copy of her son Ilmar’s face. His hair shone like the yellow ball in the sky, and I could almost hear his voice again, calling to his Mamma.
Okay, Laima. This is for you.
Summoning every ounce of energy I had left, I fixed my gaze on Laima’s glove and concentrated hard. The chittering nighttime sounds of the green world around me fell away as I focused, held back tears, and lit up as brightly as I could.
You’re the morning star, Auseklis. Shine bright. For Laima.
I held my light for as long as I thought was possible, and then I held it longer. Again, time lost all meaning. It could’ve been seconds, minutes, hours, or even days, but time didn’t matter. On and on I kept glowing, certain this human would find me if I could just hold on. If I could just show them the way.
Right when I thought I would burst from the effort, the plodding steps grew closer. Despite this, I didn’t dare stop shining, not even when I saw a human emerge from the tall, brown stalks in front of me. They were close, but I needed to be sure they saw us.
“My God,” they gasped as they dropped to their knees in front of my jar. They bowed their head, and I saw water drip from their eyes.
As other humans appeared from behind the brown stalks, this human cleared their throat and shouted, “Over here! We’ve got… I don’t know how many. Help! Please help.”
Spent, I collapsed against the side of my jar and curled close against the glass. These humans were bringing help. Everything would be okay.
Before I closed my eyes for a long rest, I looked at Laima’s glove.
You don’t have to be afraid, Laima. You made it home.
Alexandra M. Lucas (she/her) is a Game Writer II at Electronic Arts. She won the GDC Game Narrative Review Platinum Award twice, and she won the 2022 Dark Sire Award for Psychological Realism for “In the Deep”, originally featured in HamLit‘s Spring Issue: Alter Ego. Her short stories have appeared in Coffin Bell Journal and Whatcom WRITES, and her poem, “Leftover,” won a 2020 Sue C. Boynton Poetry Merit Award. In 2023, she was named an IGDA Foundation Next Gen Leader.
Including “In the Deep”, Alexandra’s poetry and prose has been featured in many other HamLit season and solstice issues: “Water Like Honey” in Vernal Issue: Due West, “The Other Side” in Winter Issue: No Man’s Land, “With You” in Summer Issue: Second Place, “Harmony” in Fall Issue: Golden Age, “Soldier’s Like Us” in Summer Solstice: Life Expectancy, and “Covenant” in Winter Solstice: Without Pause.