Young Writers Society

Ellipse and Tejal huddled around the tiny monitor hooked up to the ship’s mainframe, trying to ignore Focci’s frantic and very distracting flopping noises. They had just landed at the Triune system fold monitor, where they would be stuck for another five hours before the fold opened to their next destination, and everyone was eager to see what, if any, updates had arrived from the rest of the Ink and Conics’s crews.

“I’m sure Crane and Shell have sent a data package.” Tejal clucked his tongue and upped the tempo of his typing. “But the question is if I can find it. The limitations of light speed are such a hassle.”

“At least you have not been blown to smithereens,” Ellipse said.

That comment earned her a withering glare, and once Mouthbot finished translating into Siren, Focci flopped right up to Ellipse’s back and tackled her.

“That was uncalled for,” Focci complained. “Tejal and I are going to make it work.”

Chances were he just needed an excuse to be annoying. Thanking the stars for her flexibility, Ellipse shrugged and leaned farther forward, as if she had merely been waiting for someone to help her stretch. She straightened her legs and pointed her feet so that her toes prodded both of the computer-lined walls. “Whatever,” she sang. “I certainly would not go about messing with explode-y science.”

“That is not even a word.” Focci wrinkled his nose and pushed himself farther along Ellipse’s back. Propping his head up on top of hers, he waved for Tejal to show him the computer. “If you haven’t found it yet, hurry up. I want to see if Captain Maj sent anything.”

The echo of Mouthbot’s translation ended, and Tejal clucked his tongue and drew the computer closer to himself. “Chill out. I’m almost there.” He typed another series of commands, and then his face brightened, despite already being lit up by the computer screen. “Here it is!”

Ellipse drew her legs in and cozied up to Tejal’s side, ignoring Focci as he flailed on the floor behind her. “Took you long enough. Do you not have a preset emergency data address?” Ellipse had one. She had never used it, and would not be able to if the situation called for it, but at least she had one.

“Stick it, oval-brain.”

Focci curled up around Tejal’s other side and made grabby hands for the keyboard. “You read too slowly. I could have finished by now.”

He could not. Snorting, Ellipse crossed her arms and leaned in to read over Tejal’s shoulder. His parents had sent a few excerpts from a security incident report, plus some gato lawyer’s contact information, should Tejal have further questions and concerns. After that was a short note written in a broad, sweeping font that was probably the gato version of Times New Roman.

“What does it say?” Focci whispered. Mouthbot picked him up anyways.

Rolling her eyes, Ellipse took a breath and tried to recall her siren legal terms. “Basically it says that Tejal’s parents are fine, and that they are safe. The jurisdiction issue will not be settled for a few of Mao’s months, but the actual trial will be short.”

Tejal wrote a few numbers in the air, eyes closed in concentration, and then he handed the keyboard to Focci. “Our crews should be free to come back to us in about nine of Earth’s months and thirteen of Sirena’s.”

Ellipse frowned. “Did you include the actual trial time? If an earthling court takes jurisdiction, that will add at least a month.” The specifus were not known for speedy trials either; their criminal courts were few and far between, and their civil courts were always backlogged with patent lawsuits.

“I’m being hopeful, okay? Besides, I doubt we’ll just drop everything and go get them once everything is over. We’ll just keep going until we get a shipment in the Triune system again.” Tejal craned his neck to watch Focci type, and Ellipse scooted over to join in the spectating, careful to avoid brushing against anything.

True to his word, Focci was quick about retrieving the Conics crew’s message. He had it up within a minute, and he turned the monitor to Ellipse immediately so she could read it aloud for Tejal.

Captain Maj had sent only a note. In braille-like specifus writing, they told Focci to act as he saw fit, but not to accept jobs that could cause foreseeable interference with the specifus agenda. Maj would hear of it from friends if Focci made any poor decisions. The note had no mention of time or the court, but the captain made sure to finish with a reminder that the Conics still belonged to them.

When Ellipse finished, Tejal blinked, unimpressed. “Captain Maj sounds like a jerk.”

“They are not so bad,” Ellipse said, shrugging. “You would not want to help someone who was competing with you to build your little fold machine.”

“I’m literally working with Focci.” Tejal swept his arm out, nearly hitting a bundle of green wires, and gestured at the siren, who looked back blankly.

“ You are working with him. Not helping him beat you.”

Instead of gracefully admitting defeat, Tejal scowled and changed the subject. “I guess we’d better start with unloading,” he grumbled. Then he spun on his bottom and began scooting away.

Ellipse stood, careful to avoid stepping on the keyboard, and walked behind him. “Do you want me to put the ropes down the hatches and open the bay doors? Save you and Focci the trip.”

After a long sigh, Tejal nodded and scooted through the computer room door. Ellipse bounded ahead of him and sang a quick burst of notes to Focci to let him know what she was up to. Then she clambered up the central ladder, pausing halfway up to consider a somewhat rotten aroma from one of the plants tucked in the wall.

Then she remembered that, without Wrecktrix, the ship had no methane breathers. She would have to dedicate part of the layover to reviewing the ship’s wall garden.

Though her two shipmates found navigation infinitely easier without gravity, Ellipse could run the length of the second-floor hallway in seconds. Once she had the ropes, she raced back down, bare feet slapping against the brightly colored plastic floors and turned a little pirouette as she passed Tejal on her way to the cargo bay hatch.

“No need to brag,” Tejal shouted. “Just hurry and let the ropes down.”

From the computer room, Focci sang a reminder to only unload the boxes with ID numbers that started with four. The others were for their stop at the lizard-system fold monitor.

As Ellipse reached up to thread the rope through a hook in the ceiling, she turned to Tejal and quirked her lips. He squinted at the air, baffled by something.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tejal said, waving one hand. He blinked in confusion and then looked up at Ellipse and bit his lip. “What exactly is the lizard system?”

Good question. In Global Gliss, it was just called Lizard System, and the same went for most of the other earthling languages under Ellipse’s belt. She knew the English name had some fun April Fool’s story behind it, but what exactly was Lizard System’s English name?

Ellipse tied the knot for the rope and tugged on it. “It is something kind of related, at least. Saur-something. There was a big fuss after the naming conference six years ago.” She frowned and tugged on the rope harder, before stepping off the floor and hanging, suspended, over the hatch. The knot would probably hold. She jumped back to solid ground, gave a grand bow, and gestured for Tejal to go ahead of her.

“It could be the Saurus System,” Tejal mused. “Using the Latin word for lizard sounds about right.”

“No no, that was what it was supposed to be. But it ended up being something else.” She watched as Tejal lowered himself into the cargo bay, hand-over-hand and slow as molasses in a bottle. When his head at last disappeared behind the tallest stack of crates, Ellipse jumped down after him. “Oh, I think I remember,” she said as she landed.

Tejal looked up from his spot on the rope. “What is it?”

Grinning, Ellipse leapt down and skipped through the rows of crates until she reached the wheelchair, where it sat, still tied to the grate. “It is a silly name. We should not have taken so long to think of it.”

“Cut it out with the suspense, already.”

Ellipse crouched to start picking at the ropes threaded through the wheelchair’s spokes. She giggled to herself as she untied the knots, listening as Tejal shouted comments about rude and condescending adults. By the time he managed to scoot his way through the canyon of crates, Ellipse had freed the wheelchair entirely.

She waited until Tejal was halfway done with climbing up into the seat, and then the next system’s name burst out of her in an avalanche of snickering. “Sauron! It is called the Sauron System!”

Tejal fell out of the chair. Face dark with disbelief and betrayal, he rolled onto his back and gave Ellipse a hard stare. “We struggled for that? Really?” He let out a long, dramatic groan. “That’s so stupid.”

“You know what is even better?” Ellipse asked, offering a hand to help Tejal sit up again.

He narrowed his eyes and took her hand. “What?”

“I believe the people in Sauron call their fold monitor a ring.”