Young Writers Society

Wrecktrix’s room had been designed with sleep in mind. The plastic panels that made up its walls were a deep cobalt, and someone had stuffed fabric in the space between each panel. Everything was bolted to the floor to give the illusion that the sleeper was on their own planet, where things did not stay afloat for longer than a few seconds. Really, the only thing that seemed uncomfortable about the room was the set of elastic restraints stretched across the bed, and currently across Ellipse’s chest and legs.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Ellipse cringed at the face above her. “You slept eight hours ago, Tejal. Go away.”

“Sure. Whatever. But take this.”

Suddenly Ellipse had something hard and shiny right up in her face, and no free arms to bat it away. Her only option was to headbutt the thing so she could see while she wriggled out of bed, which was a poor option, because whatever Tejal had given her, it had sharp corners.

Two minutes and a bruised forehead later, she was free. Clutching Tejal’s “gift” to her chest, Ellipse floated out into the hall and examined the object under the light, trying to figure out why the kid had been so eager to give it to her.

It was just a digital clock with the time horribly messed up. The bright green LEDs had been reconfigured to show earthling numerals, but instead of a date and time, the clock just had a running countdown.

Ellipse squinted. “ninety-seven hours?” she wondered aloud. “What does that mean?” It could not be anything dangerous; Tejal had too strong a sense for self-preservation to try that. Watching the seconds pass, Ellipse tried to remember what day it was in the earthling system. The journey to planet five had taken somewhere over two weeks in earthling time, and the ship was less than a day away from the fold terminal now. It had been just over a month then, probably.

Seasons were a bit of an abstract concept for Ellipse, but she felt like maybe something important was supposed to happen this month. Then that left her trying to figure out why Tejal would know if she had something coming up.

She gave up with a sigh and cupped her hand to her mouth. “Tejal!” she shouted. “What is this thing for?”

“What? I thought you’d figure it out!” A second later, his head poked out from behind the cockpit door, and he twisted his face in disgust. Even though Ellipse could not see him from so far down the hall, she knew he was making a face. “You’re such a fangirl I thought you’d know. The whole universe knows.”

Ellipse would rot in heck before she fangirled over anything. She crossed her arms, raised her eyebrows, and allowed herself to keep floating forwards.

“Oh my god.” Tejal threw his hands up and cringed. “You play their songs all the time! How do you not know?”

Ellipse froze, or sort of froze at least. She could not really stop herself from floating. “Oh,” she squeaked. “Ohh, I know what you are talking about now. But it is hard to remember the exact release date when Andra-Media never puts out physical advertisements.” She could put up with the fangirl comment now; it was true that she knew all of Andra’s songs by heart.

“Well now you’ll be able to remember. Just don’t play the album over and over again while you learn it.” With that, Tejal slammed the door shut and vanished back into the pilot’s cabin.

Honestly, Ellipse cared little for the release date. She might ask Focci to program her a secure communication line in preparation for the chaos that might erupt afterwards, but she knew the new Andra album was destined for failure. Her entire life rested on that album being an intergalactic disappointment. Pursing her lips, she absently rubbed the clock’s plastic case and began pulling together a plan for how she might react to the new songs.

Then the cockpit door banged open again, and Tejal flung himself into the hall. “Wait wait wait!” he shouted, jabbing a finger in Ellipse’s direction. “Are you one of those people who thinks Andra’s music will suck because Elliott disappeared?”

Considering that Andra only spoke earthling languages, yes, but that was not something Ellipse should have known. Widening her eyes, she shook her head in earnest.

“Good. Because Andra Bei will rock, just like always. Maybe the recordings will even be more soulful or something, what with the younger sister being missing.” Tejal snorted and scratched his head. “I still can’t believe you know every Andra song and don’t know who Elliott Bei is. Maybe you really are just a music buff.”

Not sure how to respond, Ellipse gave a shrug and examined the clock again, running her fingers over the black buttons on the top. Then a thought popped into her brain, and she grinned at Tejal. “I know you do not like to be nice. Could it be that you are the one excited for Andra’s new album?”

He blushed. Tejal hecking blushed. And he went all blank like a deer about to collide with a car. “No!” he sputtered, a little too loud. “No way! I hate pop, and Andra’s definitely not cool!”

“It is operatic pop,” Ellipse corrected, looking down her nose, “like Bohemian Rhapsody is with rock music, but multilingual and with legitimate universal appeal.” She snickered at her own joke. “Get it? Universal appeal.”

“That’s disgusting,” Tejal deadpanned. “I’m going back into the cabin. Go get Focci so he can show me the simulation for miniature fold generator two-point-O.”

Evidently, someone was not doing a good job of looking out for debris. Tossing the clock in the air and then remembering that the ship had no artificial gravity and reaching up to grab the thing, Ellipse grumbled to herself about spoiled children. She pressed her hand against the plastic wall panels and pushed off towards the central ladder, already formulating a way to annoy her crew while they geeked out.