Young Writers Society

The Conics was a dream—a good dream, not a nightmare like its namesake. Ellipse never wanted to encounter the actual mathematical study of conics ever again. Two weeks was more than enough time with the subject.

As for the ship, Ellipse would not mind being held prisoner if it meant spending time within its charming interior. Rather than have true walls, colored plastic platforms and barriers stretched across the space, held in place by magnets set inside the egg-shaped outer shell. Combined with the ship’s size, the layout created a sense of openness Ellipse had not expected to find inside a spaceship.

To be fair though, her only experiences with spaceships were the itty-bitty shuttle she had taken out to the Fold Monitor and the mini-pod she used for puttering around Titan. Cargo ships were a different ballgame.

She stood next to the bridge hatch, gaping at everything and totally ignorant of the flurry of anxiety and energy that whirled around her. A lopsided smile grew across her chin as she admired the wall of certifications across from her and the vertical garden that stretched to match the entire height of the ship.

Then she received a brutal smack to the back of her legs and she crumpled to her hands and knees.

Ellipse whipped her head around to glare and found the siren frowning at her, staring down his snout. “Come,” he ordered. “We have to make you useful before the end of the day or Wrecktrix will convince Maj and Min to leave you on planet five.”

Face darkening with a scowl, Ellipse peeled herself off the plastic floor and dusted off her palms. “You could have been nicer about asking,” she sang back.

“No one cares what you think,” the siren retorted. He slapped his tail against the ground in a kind of beckoning gesture, and Ellipse bent over to pick up her bags. “We will drop your things in my room and then start working out Mouthbot’s bugs.”

She had to sleep with the fish? Really? Gross. Ellipse smothered a grimace as she stood and made note of the quiet whirring that had started up. She could not tell if that was the vacuum or the engines, but either way, she would have to brace for liftoff soon.

The siren’s room was on the first floor, the obvious reason being that he would be unable to move between floors after landing. He had probably hoarded every single cyan panel available, because he had, not four, but eight walls, and a floor made out of blue plastic. Part of the room was cut off from the rest, and when Ellipse leaned over to peek through the cracks, she glimpsed a giant tank of water pressed up right against the walls.

“Here we are,” the siren droned, throwing out an arm and almost smacking the corner of his mini-room. “You can set up wherever. I hope you brought a blanket.”

Ellipse had not brought a blanket. She dumped her stuff in a corner and rooted through a bag, pausing to open up the hard case of her pocket trumpet. She pulled out the tiny bundle of brass and turned back to the siren, one hand on her hip. “Now what?”

“Now we work on Mouthbot.” He flipped himself over, which took a while and looked more awkward than a cat trying to pull itself out of slatted blinds, and then flopped away. Ellipse followed, pursing her lips in concern, and fiddled with the valves on her instrument.

“So,” she started, watching her feet so she would not step on the siren’s tail, “what exactly is Mouthbot?”

“Translator.”

Ooh, exciting. Ellipse brought her trumpet to her mouth and blew a puff of hot air through it, listening to make sure everything sounded right. She could not really tell though; the engines had kicked in, and they drowned the soft rustling of air as easily as a giant might drown a bag of kittens.

“I thought there were already programs for that,” Ellipse replied. “Surely a universal translator is not too hard to find?”

The siren paused and gave her an incredulous look, widening his eyes and flaring his spiny dorsal fin. “We have only been travelling beyond the Triune System for seventy-five years. You think we have a universal translator?”

“You must have a translator for all the Triune System languages.” Ellipse pushed another puff of air through her horn and pressed down the valves. “Also, when is liftoff?”

The siren rolled his eyes, shaking out his gills. Muttering some demeaning phrase about earthlings, he resumed scooting ahead, flailing like an awkward seal. “Sirena alone has over one-hundred languages,” he said, “and just getting computers to work well with our primary trade language has been a trial.”

“Oh.”

“And Captain Maj will announce liftoff, so do not worry about it.”

“I see,” Ellipse replied. She did wonder why it was taking so long though. The tyran had said something about needing to be gone several minutes ago.

And then, because the universe loved those little moments of coincidence, all the lights on the ship pulsed red in slow, punctuated swells. It was not a direct translation for liftoff in any language, but then again, the optic-languages needed shorthand to communicate effectively with other species. At the sudden light change, Ellipse paused, freezing with her fingers pressed down on the keys of her trumpet.

She looked to the siren, who kept on flopping across the floor. He was about to enter another room.

“Do I need to grab onto anything?” Ellipse called.

“No,” the siren sang back. “The Captain knows what they are doing.”

Ellipse regretted asking. Anyone sprawled out on the ground would have an easy time with liftoff. Instead, she cupped her free hand around her mouth and called out in the tyran equivalent of English. “Honorable tyran! Do I need to hold onto anything for liftoff?”

A beat passed, filled with the growing rumble of the engines.

Then, from beneath the floor: “No! Just crouch or something! And tell Focci to get his fins into the cargo bay as soon as we pass through the Fold.”

Shouting a quick thank-you, Ellipse dropped to her knees. She figured she would just wait there, but then she noticed the siren growling at her and gesturing towards himself with a webbed, thick-fingered hand.

Ellipse scrunched her nose and waddled the rest of the way, feeling one-hundred percent dorky, especially when she felt her stomach lurch—that had to be the liftoff—without the ship jerking up. The siren trilled at her, amused, and Ellipse blew a raspberry at him in retaliation.

“You do not have to be rude,” she spat.

“But you looked silly! I never thought I would see an earthling waddle, but now I have seen two of you do it in one day.” He trilled again and rolled into the room.

Ellipse copied the trill and bugged out her eyes as she rose to her feet and walked inside. She was the opposite of amused right now.

Her irritation fled the moment she laid eyes on the tech room. Ellipse was not an avid technogeek, though she had never actually attempted to code, so she supposed she could not say whether she did not like it or not. Nonetheless, she appreciated the setup in that room. It was cramped, with sleek black towers of electronics lining the walls and scattering into the open center. Flickering LEDs blinked at her from every direction, and the computers hummed in concentration, keeping the ship level according to the gravity created by the Fold Monitor’s constant rotation.

A collection of fans had been installed in the ceiling panel, but while none of them had been turned on, the room still had not gotten too hot.

“Wow,” Ellipse breathed, feeling a smile pull at her cheeks. She looked for the siren, but found he had made himself scarce. “Uhh… kid? Where did you go?”

Instead of the siren, she got the computer. For some reason, it spoke in English with the generic lady-voice that most Earth-tech used for vocal interfaces. Ellipse nearly bolted; she had heard that voice a lot on Titan.

“Hello, earthling. I am Mouth. Bot. You are?”

“Ellipse,” she answered. Where was that siren?

“Pardon. Me,” Mouthbot said. “An ellipse is an ovaloid object described within the study of conics by the equation x-squared over a-squared plus y-squared over-

“Shut up,” Ellipse barked. “Where in heck is the siren?”

Mouthbot just kept talking. “Are you telling me that. Ellipse. Is also a name?”

“Well it is certainly my name. Where is the siren?” Ellipse had half a mind to play part of a fugue on her trumpet, just to lure him out. Sirens hated earthling music with a passion.

The computers thought for a moment, lights twinkling, and then the lady-voice broke in again. “The only siren on this ship is. Focci. Do you want me to send an announcement over the PA?”

“No,” Ellipse snapped. She clicked her tongue and brought up her trumpet. That siren was going to get it. She took a deep breath, set her lips against the lukewarm metal mouthpiece, and blasted one long, raunchy note. She might have even bent the pitch just enough to be nasty.

The siren shrieked, and Mouthbot launched into a calm-voiced panic.

“Too many voices at once,” the computer droned. “I do not understand. What is the frequency. Four-hundred and thirty-two hertz supposed to mean? Focci. Let out an exclamation of surprise and anguish.”

“Siren!” Ellipse sang, making her voice as nasal and sharp as possible. “Come out here right now or so help me big bang, I will play the most saccharine love poem to ever exist!”

In the background, Mouthbot’s fading singing voice asked what the word for saccharide was in English. For some reason, the computer used a clarinet synth tone instead of some siren vocal set, which raised some serious questions about the origins of the translator’s coding and files.

“I dare you!” the siren wailed back. Something metal crashed, leaving the room echoing with brassy clangs.

Oh, he was on. The sappiest love poem in any siren language happened to be the melody of the New World Symphony, and Ellipse would never ever be too embarrassed to play that. Smirking, she replaced her trumpet over her lips and breathed.