Hope is the Thing With Feathers Chapter 1
Hope is the Thing With Feathers Chapter 1
Hope is the Thing With Feathers is a science fiction adventure that will be serialized here first with the first five chapters free. Don’t miss an episode, subscribe now
Chapter 1
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
— Emily Dickinson
Keys of various shapes and sizes filled the wall, each on its own peg. They were all old-fashioned, their shanks as long as my pinky finger and ending in ornate loops. Perfect to fit in the palm of one’s hand. Complex series of key wards and bits extended from the other end—each unique to the room the key would open.
I sighed as I studied my collection. I’d tied a tag to each one so I wouldn’t forget what each room contained. A wiggling, grinning whale connected to the key to that sushi house, while a tiny palm tree connected to the door to the island where I liked to meet up with Theo65. A juggling clown hung from the key to the circus, and a glittery snowflake would take me through a door to endless winter. Right in front of me, a little blue fish wiggled, ready to take me to the tunnel under the sea—my current work in progress.
Today, the little bird with an iridescent cap of purple feathers on its head drew my attention. The bird, a purple-crowned fairywren according to my dad, gave me access to my favourite place—one steeped in memory, like a comforting blanket just waiting to be curled up in. It was the only place Dad still existed and the only place I kept exclusively to myself.
I plucked the key from the wall, and the little bird beat its wings before settling its claws on the key’s shank.
“Chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka,” the little bird sang.
“I know.” I frowned and contemplated putting the key back. “I come here too often.”
I paused. Even though it happened five years ago, every time I thought about the crash that took my dad from me, my heart threatened to break. The wreckage of his airship remained untouched, unsalvaged, deep down at the bottom of New Venus’ atmosphere.
“Chicka-chick.” The bird tilted its head to stare at me.
“I have a plan.” I pursed my lips and surveyed the wall of keys. I could picture each world the key opened into. Each one an immersive video I had carefully compiled and curated. “There’s finally a new airship heading down. Minke it’s called…and I intend to be on it.”
“Chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka.”
“I know. I know.” I bit my lip. “The only airship that ever tried to reach the Bottom crashed.”
The little bird took flight as far as the golden ribbon that bound it to its key allowed. I grabbed the shank. In a blink, the world changed around me. A sky, created through Rayleigh scattering, shone blue above. It was a kind of sky I’d never walked under. An approximation of Old Earth, the world my ancestors left nearly a millennium ago.
I tilted my head up and let the heat of the overhead sun warm my face. The scent of cinnamon buns baking somewhere out of sight wafted past my nostrils, and a smile spread across my face. Cinnamon buns were our favourite. Every Sunday, Dad used to take me to the bakery on the Island of Gold for freshly baked buns with that exact scent.
The purple on the fairywren’s head shone like a precious metal under the bright sun. A breeze blew my hair into my face, and I brushed back my currently purple locks—a colour chosen to match the little wren’s head.
“Chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka,” sang the fairywren as it flitted above me.
The bird had a point—I came here too often. But being here felt so right. The comfort and nostalgia wrapped around me, welcoming me.
This wasn’t a real place. Instead, it was an amalgam of my childhood memories relocated Old Earth. It was the first immersive video I’d ever made, and it was the one I hid in when I heard Dad had died. Five years on, and I still came every day.
I sighed.
The next breeze brought laughter. Crunching across the gravel-covered ground, I headed towards the swing set—towards the little girl who had once been me.
The bent metal supporting the swings shone the same purple as the fairywren’s head and my hair. Was it too much? I wondered if a paler hue would make more sense. I could tweak it, make it more perfect. Better than my memory.
“Higher!” young me demanded, pulling my thoughts away from contemplating the construction of the immersive video.
A man chuckled, drawing my attention. Just seeing him brought a lump to my throat. My dad was only a little taller than I stood now. His light brown hair was unkempt and in need of a haircut—like always. The breeze ruffled it up like a crown of feathers.
He wore his royal purple bomber jacket—the one I now wore every waking moment. The one he gave me just before he stepped onto the Daedalus, the last time I ever saw him. I ran my hand down the worn front. Flakes of faux leather cascaded away. The jacket was falling apart, but it would never go into the recycler.
“Higher, Daddy,” young me called.
Dad chuckled and gave the swing a big push. “My little wren, always reaching for the sky.”
The fairywren landed on the top support of the swings set and said, “Chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka.”
I sat on the swing next to my younger self and watched myself. I wore an expression of pure glee, as though swinging was peak excitement. Every time I asked, dad pushed me higher once again.
“Chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka,” the bird said.
“I know.” I stood and walked away from the swing set.
I walked until I couldn’t hear my childish laughter anymore, leaving only the sound of my boots crunching the gravel. The fairywren followed, flying in loops above my head.
“Play his last message.” I knew my computer would hear me.
Dad appeared before me. “There you are, my little wren.”
My smile widened until my face hurt. “Hi, Daddy. I miss you so much.”
“Being invited to join the Daedalus mission is a great honour.”
I nodded. The message was always the same.
“I’ll be able to prove my model of the Rocks is accurate. It’ll make the Bottom more accessible.”
“That’s the final resting place of Generation Ship 8,” I said as the usual lump formed in my throat. I’d taken part in this last message of his a million times; the lines were etched into my memory.
“That’s the final resting place of Generation Ship 8,” he repeated. “Think of all the wonders that remain on that ship.”
“Yes, the eggs….” My words trailed off.
He smiled. “On the manifests, there’s a complete record of all the bird eggs being kept in stasis—millions of them, all the species of Old Earth. And they’re still there, Stella. If I brought them up, we could hatch them. We’d finally be able to experience what it’s like to be around the animals we left behind on Old Earth.”
A tear dripped down my cheek as I studied the excited look on Dad’s face.
“The Daedalus mission will make a significant contribution!”
I buried my hands deep in my pocket. “I wish you’d stayed home with me and Mom.” But the version of Dad standing before me was just a recording. Nothing I said now would make any difference—but nothing I could have said back then would have made a difference either. Dad’s heart had been set on the Daedalus mission, a culmination of all the years he’d spent studying New Venus’ atmosphere.
“In two weeks, I’ll be back and can tell you all about what it’s like down there.” His smile widened. “I can’t wait to tell you all about my adventure.”
“But Dad, you never come back.”
The recording didn’t register my comment. Only the little bird responded, singing “chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka.”
“Tell your mom that I love her,” he said, his dark eyes earnest. “And Stella, my little wren…I love you more than anything.”
Tears were streaming steadily now. I wiped my face with the sleeve of Dad’s purple jacket.
“I’ll send you a message from the Bottom, I promise.”
His image flickered and vanished.
“I’ll get your message,” I said. “I know you sent it. You always kept your word.”
“Chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka.”
Tilting my chin up, I watched the fairywren flutter. “I know the message never arrived, but I’m certain he sent it.” I ignored the fact that he’d promised he’d come back and never did.
I reached up, palm extended, and the little bird landed. It weighed almost nothing on my palm. I closed my hand, and the simulation ended.
“Are you done with your simulations for the day?” Fred asked as soon as I opened my eyes. The little robot watched me with his two overlarge eyes, currently glowing amber.
I stood and stretched. I glanced around at the dingy basement room I rented—the best I could afford on my minimal salary. The narrow cot doubled as my sofa, and a hotpot was my only means of warming food.
What the room had going for it was a window—and it was spectacular. An arching metal frame reached from floor to ceiling, holding curved, clear panels that showed the world I lived on. The world I’d finally come back to.
Stepping forward, I rested a hand on the frame. My subterranean room had been carved out of the Island of Copper, one of the main floating islands that made up the city of Seven Soaring Swans. From my window, I had a view of the Island of Gold and its gold-plated domes forever glittering in the endless sunset of New Venus. It was a stunning vista I intended to include in an immersive video one day.
“Stella?” Fred walked over to me.
“Sorry, Fred.” I turned back to my childhood companion.
My dad gave me Fred for my ninth birthday—and the robot was the same size as a nine-year-old. His diminutive size and standard programming made him an ideal companion for a child. The two of us had so much fun back then.
“Your immersive video software needs to update. Should I start that update now?”
“Yes, of course. I’m meeting Theo65 later, so please make sure the system is ready.” I smiled. The robot’s emotional programming kicked in, and his animated mouth stretched into a smile—the expression was simplistic, but always felt genuine to me.
“Also, I found some information that may be of interest to you about the Minke expedition.”
I cocked my head. “What did you find?”
“According to the net, the principal investigator is Dr. Fuller.”
My heart sank, and a wave of nausea swept over me.
“Isn’t she supposed to be your supervisor?”
Fred was right. Mom had arranged everything: I just had to show up, and I’d be following in my dad’s footsteps. My hands began to tremble.
“Pull it together, pull it together,” I urged myself as I squeezed my eyes shut.
I pushed my left hand into my pocket and grasped the marble I kept there. My fingers clutched its smooth, glass surface. Not once since I’d been back had I set foot on the Island of Dreams. I hadn’t even brought myself to message Dr. Fuller and explain….
I glanced at my cot and debated crawling under the lilac-hued comforter to ignore the rest of my day.
“Stay cool. You need to get on that ship.”
“Are you alright?” the robot asked in a soft tone.
“I….” I stopped myself; I didn’t have to explain myself to a machine, even if he was the best friend I had. Besides, he’d come up with perfectly reasonable suggestions that I’d have to ignore.
“Do you want me to make tea? The apple chamomile always makes you feel better.”
“Thank you, but no. I need to go talk to Dr. Fuller. Maybe she has a place for me on the Minke. She was a colleague of my father’s, after all.”
My gut twisted. The memories that surfaced whenever I went near the Island of Dreams were always intense.
“Dr. Fuller is scheduled to give a public lecture starting in an hour. Go to lecture room 3A in the science building on the Island of Dreams. I can make you a map.”
“My dad’s office was in that building. I remember the way.” I pulled myself up tall and gritted my teeth—I had to do this.
to be continued…