First Contact

Rin was asleep. Maki had watched her, for a little bit, watched the way her chest rose and fell with each soft breath, and then she had left. The control room seemed small without Rin's boundless energy, but the tightness helped Maki think. It centered her, reminded her of who she was. A simple doctor, torn away from her patients and thrown into this empty universe. Sometimes she wondered if that was true, or if Earth was only a faded picture in a crumbling book of fairytales. Sitting alone in front of a myriad of cold, blinking lights, Maki tried to remember:

The ship was huge. Maki and Rin stood next to it, hand in hand, and tilted their heads back as far as they could, trying to take in its magnificence. The Governor was talking to the crowd, telling them how this mission would be the savior of mankind, how it would bring new knowledge from outside their little solar system, how it would bring peace and prosperity when it returned. It was a daunting task, and Maki could hardly believe she had been selected for it.

The stars had always been Maki's passion. Music came next, and then medicine, but the stars were always first. On the rare occasions the skies cleared enough to see past the smog and smoke of Earth, she would take out her telescope and climb the thirty flights to the roof of her apartment building. There she would look, and listen, and try to understand the stories the stars were telling her. Now she was going out there, to talk to the stars in person, and she could barely contain her excitement. The door to the ship opened, and Maki tightened her grip on Rin's hand.

An hour later, the mission failed. Warp drives were tricky things, molding time into putty and distance into memories, and when they came out into normal space again the ship told them Earth no longer existed. An hour after that, Maki realized the mission was always supposed to fail. It took Rin another ten years to accept it, but finally she did.

The Governor had sent them out here, and he had never wanted them back.

But before that:

Maki knew that Rin's trawls through the city had been becoming more and more frequent, despite the increasing danger, but she had never expected Rin to be so good at finding hidden places. It had taken Maki three years to find this little alcove a second time, after accidentally stumbling upon it in a fit of drunken lostness.

It had been a bad night. Another patient lost, another small child stolen from the world too early. But that was then, and this was now; the old, falling apart gazebo had become a second home to Maki. It was tucked amongst a tiny grove of trees, and in the center of the wooden floor was a piano.

It didn't work. The pedals were missing, the strings chewed away by rodents, and the only sound Maki could coax it to produce was a hollow thud if she pressed hard enough on the faded keys. It didn't matter. The piano she had at home was playable, if she wanted, despite being just as old. For now Maki was content to simply sit in this little corner of greenery, running her fingers along the worn surface of the piano and letting the illusion of music wash over her.

When Maki sat back, letting her fingers slip off the keys like the weight of a symphony rested upon them, Rin clapped.

"I followed the music," she said, jumping off her perch on the crumbling wall and smiling at Maki.

"I didn't make any noise."

"You did in your heart."

Maki rolled her eyes at the cheesy statement, but obliged Rin's request for another song. Still the piano stayed silent, but Rin sighed in contentedness as Maki pretended to play. They talked instead of singing, talked about the flower Rin found growing in the cracked street, about the old woman she had stopped to chat with along the way, about the old documents she'd found in the depths of a library.

Maki smiled the whole time, brushing the ivory keys over and over in hopes that Rin would never stop. Music had always brought Maki happiness, and the music shared in their words and their eyes was no different. Rin was simply music herself.

And farther back:

"You didn't come," Rin said, standing in Maki's doorway with a pout on her lips. Her hair was longer than the last time Maki had seen her, almost ten years ago now, but that was the only thing that had changed. Rin's eyes were still bright and shining, and Maki was still stuck in the same old dredge of her stagnant world.

"I was busy," Maki said, leading Rin inside the cramped apartment. Dusty books leaned haphazardly on rickety wooden shelves, an old hologram screen was cracked on the wall, and the large object taking up the majority of the tiny space was covered in a tattered cloth. The kitchen was a little cleaner, and that was where Maki set Rin down, grabbing two chipped cups and setting the water purifier for tea. Rin was looking around the whole place with fascination, but her eyes settled on the pristine white enveloped taped to the fridge.

"You kept the invitation." There was accusation in Rin's voice, hurt and betrayal.

"I wanted to go." It wasn't quite a lie; Maki had wanted to attend, had even dreamed about it, but never for a second had she believed she would make it.

"Then why didn't you?"

The purifier whirred one last time, and then it was silent. It wasn't raining, for once, and in the quiet the outside world seemed to fade away. All that was left was Rin, Maki, and one pure white sheet of paper.

"You don't understand this world."

Finally, Maki remembered.

It was raining. The water sloshed about in the narrow street, pooling against the dirty brick buildings and collecting trash in the circling current. It smelled disgusting, like a mixture of moldy hot dogs and stuffed toilets. It didn't faze Maki, nor did the water splashing into her rain boots and soaking her socks. She strode down the flooded street, brushing back damp hair from where it clung to her forehead. There were places to be, and no weather was going to stop her.

Another day, another sick kid. Not that Maki was surprised, with the month long rain storms that seemed to be becoming more and more common. Three thousand years ago scientists had found the secret to eternal youth, stopping human growth around the age of twenty, twenty-two, but that didn't help anything when half the population was dying by the time they were twelve.

The downpour grew harder. It was getting difficult to see, now, between the shadows of the buildings and the curtain of rain before her. Was it nighttime too? Maki couldn't remember. She wiped the water from her face, water droplets rolling off her eyelashes and sliding down her cheeks. They were warm with the sticky heat of summer, only adding to the humidity. Maki rubbed her face again, rounded a corner, and walked straight into another person.

"Ah!" The cloaked figure slipped backwards, landing with a loud splash in the water that was quickly rising above their ankles. Maki was luckier; she caught the wall with one hand, saving herself from a drenching. Not that it would have mattered much anyways, after trudging through the storm for nearly an hour.

"Sorry," Maki said, extending a hand to her poor victim. They took it gratefully, pushing back their hood to reveal a smiling face and bright eyes.

"No problem!" The girl's voice was cheery as she got back to her feet, a level of happiness that both stunned and annoyed Maki at the same time. "My name's Rin, what's yours?"

Rin was young. They looked the same age, but Maki's 500 years of life weighed down on her. It showed in her sighs, in her cynicism, in the way she no longer burned with need to see the sun. In contrast Rin was bright, light, practically shining with energy. She bounced up and down as she talked to Maki, splashing water everywhere.

"I'm not really supposed to be here, you know? But I heard about this great ramen stand in the area so I just had to come. I just didn't expect it to be so dark!"

What a strange dream this girl must be caught up in, Maki thought, shaking her head. Of course the world was dark. The only place with working streetlights was the Governor's Villa, miles away in the center of the city. The rest of the world slunk around in the shadows, burning candles and burning out.

Maki really needed to get to the hospital.

"I think I know what place you're talking about. I'll bring you over there, okay?"

"You're the best, Maki!" Rin clung to Maki's arm the whole way, chattering on about this or that. Despite herself, Maki found the walk enjoyable. At the hospital, everyone was tired. Kids were coughing and adults were groaning and the doctors had just about given up hope. Rin was like a ray of sunshine. Maybe that was why Maki agreed to stay for a meal when they finally came upon the tiny shop.

"Two bowls of tantanmen, please!" Rin called out as they sat down on the old wooden seats. It was just as hot inside the building as it was outside, but it was dry, and Maki completely missed what Rin had ordered until the bowl was in front of her.

"Wait, you ordered this?"

"Of course!"

"But this is spicy!"

"Yeah!" Rin grinned, brimming with excitement for her bowl of spicy death. "I thought it would be more fun that way."

"Do you even like spicy food?"

"I hate it!"

Maki sighed, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Rin was ridiculous, but she couldn't say it was a bad thing. Watching her slurp down the broth, tears streaming down her face, was one of the funniest sights Maki had witnessed in decades. The lights in the dim shop seemed to grow brighter.

"Really? You're a doctor? That's so cool!"

"It's nothing special."

"It totally is! You guys saved us from the Plague, you're a hero!"

The puff of pride Maki felt was cut off by the shiver that rolled down her back. The Plague – a devastating disease that had killed millions and millions of people. It was four hundred years ago, but the black blood of the victims still clogged the sewers and painted the walls of the roped off ward in the hospital.

"It was… a bad time."

Rin nodded. For a moment it seemed like a sheet of darkness covered her eyes, a familiar pain in her voice. "I wish I could have helped."

Maki wondered for what felt like the hundredth time what Rin's story was. She must have been young when the Plague hit, if she had been alive at all. But it wasn't so strange, really; everyone knew someone touched by the Plague. Maki remembered her own friends: two girls, obsessed with singing and watching others sing, their smiles blurred and melted away in hazy memories. Maki still dreamed of them.

"Do you like cats?"

"Huh?" Maki blinked, the question pulling her away from the ache buried in her heart. Rin smiled at her, the strange sorrow that had coated her moments ago already faded away.

"I love cats. And you looked sad, so I thought maybe if you think of cats you'll cheer up!"

Truly, what a strange, strange girl.

Maki smiled.

"I'm pretty fond of panthers, actually."

"Oooh, good choice! Panthers are great. They're pretty, and strong, and…"

Rin chattered on. They ordered another bowl of ramen each, and then a third, the minutes slipping away unnoticed.

"-and then one time," Rin was saying, barely getting the words out through her giggling, "I found an old can of paint, and I painted cats all over my Father's bedroom! He got sooooooooooo mad!"

"I get the feeling you aren't the best artist."

"That doesn't matter, all cats are cute. But anyways-"

Rin stopped short. The ground was rumbling, the noise echoing between the buildings until it sounded like the Earth was tearing itself apart. Everyone in the ramen store was frozen, eyes wide with fear and confusion. Maki realized what it was right before glaring bright lights flooded the place, barely able to believe it.

In the history books, they told stories about cars. How they went from rickety pieces of metal strapped together to sleek chrome and automated systems. Then people ran out of space, and the buildings took over the roads. Few cars could fit down the narrow streets, and few people had the money to own one in the first place. They only existed down by the Governor's palace, or so Maki had heard.

"There he is now," Rin sighed, and Maki didn't understand.

"Everyone stay where you are!" Two men burst through the doors, letting in the sound of the roaring rain. They wore dark suits and dark sunglasses, and in their hands were guns.

Maki could barely breathe. Beside her, Rin stood up with the grace Maki would never have expected possible.

"You don't have to worry," Rin said, her voice calm but firm. "I'm right here."

The men didn't relax. They watched her, silent, as she made her way out the building. Then they, too, left, and the doors shut and the rain was muted once again. The people in the ramen stand let out a sigh of relief.

Maki ran.

Light bounced around the alley, harsh whites and eerie reds spinning up and down the sides of buildings. The sound of wheels screeching through water pounded on Maki's ears as she chased after the car, desperate for even a glimpse. The ripples caught at her feet, pulling her back, but she forced herself to move, move, unsure if she was panting or sobbing. She rounded a corner, tripped, falling to her hands and knees, her entire body shaking, and there it was, practically glowing on the trunk of the rapidly disappearing car: a silver circle, and inside was an eye surrounded by stars.

The symbol of the Governor.

And Maki remembered, amidst all her tumbling thoughts as the pieces of the mystery fell together:

The Governor's daughter was a thousand years old.