It's not just a treatment, Freya. It's a cure.
"Just one dose should be all you need."
The doctor's voice sounded as distant as those in the corridor outside. The bulkhead that separated Freya and the doctor from the rest of the station had been sealed with a gentle, pneumatic hiss. Its frame was outlined in a vibrant red glow, indicating that an appointment was in progress, defending the very isolation that this session was failing to assuage.
The room itself was far more organic than the rest of the station, featuring curved, warm-colored walls, rather than sharp, sterile angles and pale, cold titanium plates. The walls were adorned by various motivational and inspirational holograms transitioning through slideshows. Behind the doctor's desk hung a single framed piece of painted art, proudly advertising its 24th-century rarity. More surprisingly, the doctor's littered desk was made from mahogany — unheard of 954 light-years from Earth.
The doctor slid a mug across the grain towards her, a thin trail of steam curling up from the contents, filling the room with the nutty smell of coffee. Realizing that his patient would not partake, he leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and sipping from his own mug before resting it on a coaster. The silence remained for some time until it was finally broken by the sound of a pen scratching against his clipboard.
"This isn't something you have to do, Freya. It's just an option I'm giving you."
Freya didn't lift her eyes from her lap, where her hands were tightly gripping a bundle of soft, used tissues. She didn't respond, either. The tightness in her chest and the knots in her stomach wouldn't allow her to. Her cheeks were damp with tears, and her vision blurred as more welled in her eyes. Her jaw ached from the constant clenching, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.
"We've had sessions every day for a month, and we haven't had any breakthroughs. I understand that this is an incredibly delicate decision to make. But I promise, it will be effective. It's not just a treatment, Freya. It's a cure."
A jolt of anger tore through Freya's body, and her knuckles turned white. "A cure!?"
"Th-that's not what I meant, Frey—"
Freya suddenly lifted herself from her seat across from the doctor, knocking her chair over in the process. "Six years, she fought. Six. Years. We've cured ALS, Huntington's disease, and cancer for fuck's sake, but conveniently, the Foundation couldn't cure her. Now you're telling me that you'll cure me? Just like that? Do you hear yourself!?"
The doctor leaned forward, lowering his open palms in a calming gesture. "Ellie's illness was different, you know that."
"You're right! It was different. What I am feeling is not an illness! I don't need a cure."
"I'm sorry, Freya. It was a poor choice of words."
"No, it wasn't. It was you intentionally trying to sweep your problem — me — under the rug by hoping I'll just forget that my problems existed in the first place. Fuck you." She turned on her heels, ignoring the doctor's protests as she snatched her bag from the desk and made her way out of his office.
The door hissed open, revealing the familiar face of Cassidy Rae. As she pushed past her, something caught her attention. Cassidy's gaze wasn't the vacant stare that Freya had struggled to grow used to. The corners of her lips weren't downturned. The dark circles that had haunted her eyes for the last year and a half had faded away. She had even gained some weight. Cassidy had been anything but herself since her partner had disappeared, but she was different now.
Cassidy seemed calmer, even happy. She was speaking to someone through her earpiece, a relaxed smile crossing her face all the while. Her chin was lifted, and her voice was soft and gentle. She chuckled joyfully. Freya couldn't help but feel envious, yet she also felt uncomfortable. This change in Cassidy was sudden. It didn't make sense, as if this were an entirely different Cassidy. When she met Cassidy's eyes, she couldn't shake the feeling that this positive energy was somehow artificially engineered. The more she looked, the more it showed.
Her relaxed smile betrayed the occasional twitching of the corners of her lips. As soft and gentle as her voice was, her tone was uncertain and lacked confidence. Her posture was tall and stiff, and she was fidgeting with her nails. Even her chuckle was dogged by an involuntary trailing gulp. Freya noticed a bead of sweat rolling down her coworker's forehead. Perhaps it was just her imagination. Maybe it was just Cassidy's suppression of anxiety. Maybe Cassidy had just moved on from her loss. Freya didn't want to think otherwise.
The steel frame of the swing set bent under the weight of its occupant, breaking a thin layer of frost free from the metal. The smell of fresh pine filled Freya's nostrils, and the snow crunched under her boots as she dug in her heels. The cold stung her extremities with each push.
"Momma, higher! I wanna fly!" Freya obliged, shoving the swing harder. It creaked under the pressure, but held firm as Ellie giggled and screamed happily at each crest.
"Alright, Ellie, that's high enough. Any higher and you'll launch right into orbit." Freya's breath created a foggy plume in the air in front of her. "You don't want to get stuck in space, do you?"
Ellie swiveled in the seat and beamed at her mother with flushed cheeks, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the chains. "But you get to go to space all the time. I wanna go, too!"
Freya couldn't help but smile. As Ellie's swinging finally began to slow and the swing's heavy arcs began to taper off, Ellie began to muster her courage. At the crest of her next rise, Freya's pride and joy leapt from the swing, landing with a thud confidently on her feet, at first, and lightly stumbling a moment later. She turned to her mother, a grin stretching from cheek to cheek. "See, Momma, I can go to space, too!"
Freya closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around Ellie. She inhaled deeply, embracing Ellie for a little longer than necessary. "You've got a ways to go before you get to space, my little Star Child."
Freya's workstation emanated a cold blue light that sparkled in her tears as she stared blankly into the screen, her arms wrapped around Ellie's favorite moon plush. It was soaked through after catching every drop that had fallen from Freya's chin for the last month. Her living quarters seemed more abandoned than lived in. She had disabled the motion-activated lighting so that she could sit in the dark, but the shadows failed to veil the mountains of unwashed clothes, scattered and crumpled papers, and empty bottles.
The screen showed her Foundation dashboard. Her name and title were plastered at the top of the screen: Freya Willow, Sr. Archivist, Department of Exoarchaeology. Her mail application icon was marked with a red blip indicating 154 unread messages. As per usual, she disregarded it, focusing instead on the small prescription bottle that she had forgotten to throw at the doctor. It sat on the desk in front of her, taking the place of her workstation's keyboard. She reached for a different bottle — one that was labeled 40-proof.
She raised the bottle to her lips only to find it empty, much to her dismay. With a flick of her wrist, it went flying, crashing against the far wall of her quarters. She lifted her hands to her head, gripping at the long, dark locks that weren't stuck to her face. Her elbows dug into the desk as she continued to sob, the amber bottle sitting undisturbed between them.
"Ellie…" Getting the name out of her mouth required all her strength, and she found herself choking and stumbling on her words. Experience told her that it wasn't getting any easier, despite how much alcohol she put into her body. No matter how many substances flowed through her veins, the weight of what she lost wasn't becoming any lighter. Nothing she tried made her forget the pain.
Cassidy's relaxed smile flashed in the back of her mind, and Freya was left with furious envy once more. Her hands tightened into fists, and she wished that Cassidy's gaze was vacant again — that the relaxed smile she suddenly wore would be dragged down into the frown that had become so familiar to Freya. The Freya she knew wasn't someone so vindictive, and she was unaccustomed to thinking such hateful, spiteful things. Her fingernails loathed this Freya and dug into her scalp, raking at her skin, punishing her for manifesting such venomous thoughts. She winced at the pain and squeezed her eyes shut, but didn't stop.
It's not fair.
She finally opened her eyes, releasing fistfuls of hair. The bottle glowed a fluorescent orange in the light of her workstation and shone brightly through her tears, beckoning to her.
"It's Class-C." The doctor passed the bottle back to her and rifled through a drawer, eventually withdrawing a pamphlet. He passed it across the desk towards her. "Just over 200 years ago, this class of amnestic was administered via surgery. The device was so large that a small number were made, and they were housed only at the most prolific Foundation sites on Earth. It's amazing how far technology has come, isn't it? One brain scan and a nano-tech-filled pill later, we have personalized, targeted retrograde."
The pamphlet contained infographics on the specifics and history of personal amnestics. Even glancing at it made her stomach turn and her throat tighten. "You… you want me to forget her?"
"It's just a suggestion. It should help you, should you choose to go through with it. It will only target your memories of her. You won't remember a thing. You won't even remember why you were distraught."
She lowered her head. She couldn't think of the words to say. Tears continued to well in her eyes.
"Just one dose should be all you need."
What a sick joke.
Freya forced her fingers through her hair before freeing them from her head. She shook her head slowly and breathed heavily, deeply, her body shuddering through her sniffles. Her fingers dropped to her neck, where she dug her nails in, scratching. With her free hand, she snatched the bottle, holding it up to the light of her workstation's monitor. The contents shook as she lifted it, making a hollow tapping sound against the container's walls.
She turned the bottle in her hand, illuminating more of its label. It was a standard prescription label, containing all the information one would expect to find on a pill bottle. The prescriber's name was printed in bold: Dr. Ezekiel Hykes. Below that were the usage instructions. "Take 1 capsule by mouth while lying down. Swallow whole. Do not chew or crush. Allow at least one hour to digest."
On the opposite side was a warning: "Amnestic agent may be defective and/or ineffective if usage instructions are not followed precisely. Immediate memory prior to and following taking this amnestic agent will be impacted. You might feel dizzy, nauseous, and/or confused immediately after usage."
She moved her thumb to the cap of the bottle, waiting for the click that indicated confirmation of her biometric scan. She removed the cap and tilted the bottle, shaking the capsule out of its container into the palm of her hand. It was a small, half-red, half-yellow, oblong capsule. Other than its weight, it was entirely unassuming.
"I'm sorry, Freya."
The weight of those words came crashing down on her shoulders. Doctors shouldn't be sorry. Doctors shouldn't apologize, because an apology from a doctor meant that something went wrong — that horrifying, devastating news loomed within the next sentence. The doctor didn't need to continue for Freya to understand. She couldn't even hear him speak. She just knew.
A sudden weakness overtook her body, and she stumbled. Her legs grew numb, and her mouth was agape. Her purse crashed to the floor, its contents spilling onto the tile, but a river was roaring through her head, drowning out the sound. Her eyes stung, and she saw, but couldn't feel the doctor's arms wrap around her, holding her steady. Her chest caved in, and she couldn't breathe.
She stared through the window of the operating room and pressed her palm to her mouth, stifling a scream that she couldn't force out. The monitors and machines had been powered down. Ellie lay on the table, an overhead light shining down on her, illuminating the crimson stains on her bib. Her short, dark hair was splayed out beneath her, shimmering in the light. Her vibrant green eyes were closed, never to open again.
How could this have happened? How could this be? Ellie had been joyfully piecing together an Andromeda Galaxy puzzle just this morning. She had eaten her favorite brand of cereal. She had sung the pop song that had been stuck in her head for days. She had worn a pretty little summer dress. She had hugged her moon plush all the way to the hospital.
Freya fought against an unseen force that held her back as she tried to reach her daughter. She screamed, and she struggled, wrenching an arm free. She desperately outstretched an arm toward her daughter and collapsed to the floor. She mumbled, begging and pleading with every deity she could recall. She crawled toward the operating room, her nails gliding helplessly across the tile, and was once again held back by the same force.
"She's gone, Freya. She's gone."
Just one dose should be all you need.
Freya found herself struggling to swallow, all of a sudden. The knots in her stomach tightened, and she began to feel nauseous. Her stomach sank as if it were tied to a brick in an unfathomably deep ocean. She had relived that single moment a thousand times. She couldn't face it again.
Just one dose.
Not even one more time.
Freya threw the bottle into a shadowy corner of her room and lifted the capsule to her mouth, tossing her head back… and swallowed.
"Momma, what happens when I die?"
The question hung heavy in the stagnant air. It wasn't a question Freya had been prepared for. It was a question she had spent months sprinting away from, months of sprinting that instantly caught up to her when she heard it from the mouth of her 9-year-old daughter. It made her stomach turn and drop as if it were falling into the coldest, deepest well.
The plush mattress gave softly under the weight Freya's body as she climbed onto the bed with her daughter. She wrapped an arm around Ellie, being careful to avoid her nasal cannula hanging from her nose and the IV tubing taped to her tiny, bruised arm. Freya had dimmed the overhead lights, leaving the two bathed in the gentle, amber glow of the bedside lamp. The smell of alcohol and cleaning supplies mixed with the sweet fragrance of fresh flowers. The bedside table that housed the bouquet was littered with get well cards. When Freya had finally broken down and told the director of the Department of Exoarchaeology, the office did what offices do, and many of her coworkers were gently urged to offer their prayers, best wishes, and signatures before getting back to work. Life moved on outside of the hospital ward.
Freya struggled to find a response to her daughter's inquiry. Finally, she breathed shakily and steeled herself, swallowing the terror that welled in her throat. "I'm not entirely certain, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice trembling despite all her efforts. "Some people believe that you become energy when you pass. Some people believe that you go to a really beautiful and fun place called heaven."
"Can I finally go to space? Will I be able to see you there, Momma?" Ellie asked, turning away from the window to look her mother in the eyes. Freya's heart shattered at the sight of her daughter's familiar toothy grin. It was a smile fueled by the eager, relentless imagination of a child. "I want to see the stars up close!"
Ellie's smile never failed to bring out one of Freya's own, but this time, she could only muster one that wavered and trembled on her lips. "Of course, baby. You'll be able to fly through the whole galaxy. You'll never, ever have to be stuck in this bed again."
"But will I see you, Momma?"
Freya swallowed, a lump of broken glass scraping down her throat as she considered how to explain infinity to a child. She fought impossibly hard to mirror her daughter's bravery. "Space is so big, sweetheart." Her voice broke, creaking through the last syllables. "It's endless, baby. We'll have to look really, really hard to find each other out there."
"If you don't find me right away, Momma, you have to keep looking." Ellie's wide grin never faded, but she stared into her mother's eyes with a fierce confidence. "I won't stop until I find you! I promise! You promise, too, Momma."
Freya smiled, defying the wet streams down her cheeks. She looked deep into Ellie's stalwart gaze, eyes so full of unwavering trust. She couldn't take Ellie to space. She couldn't make Ellie fly. She couldn't give Ellie more time, but she could give her this.
She planted a kiss on Ellie's forehead and whispered, "I'll find you, sweetheart. I'll never stop looking. I promise."
Within moments, Freya's breathing became quick and shallow. Her hands began to shake violently. The nausea that plagued her stomach only grew stronger. She grew pale and struggled to control her breathing. This felt wrong. This was wrong.
Freya abruptly rose to her feet, launching her chair backwards. Her arm swept across the desk in her panic, sending her keyboard to the edge. Her knee crashed into the underside of the desk, causing the teetering keyboard to fall to the floor. She rushed to her bathroom and leaned over the sink. Her knuckles pressed against her lips as her fingers probed her throat, desperately coaxing herself to retch.
Sickly yellow-green bile splashed into the bowl of the sink, and the half-masticated remains of the capsule floated in the puddle, slowly drifting toward the drain. She stumbled backward from the sink, leaning against the opposite wall. Gravity and guilt pulled her body down to the floor, where she curled into a ball and sobbed into her knees.
Her head began to hurt. The nausea didn't dissipate. She fell to her side and retched, but nothing came out. Her body convulsed as she gagged. Tears blinded her vision, and bile burned her throat.
A moment later, a deep, rhythmic pulsing sound met her ears, accompanied by clicking and popping. Deep waves of heavy bass filled the room, only to be immediately drowned out by high squeals.
She covered her ears and scanned her quarters for the source of the sound. It seemed to be emanating from her workstation. She attempted to lift herself from her position on the floor, only to stumble and fall to her knees once more.
It was loud. Obnoxiously loud. Her head was splitting. Her vision was foggy. She retched once more, bile falling onto her shirt. Vertigo accompanied her every step as she stumbled towards her workstation.
What did I just do? Why am I so nauseous?
Her short-term memory had already begun to fade, but her eyes were locked to the screen in front of her.
She reached for the keyboard that had fallen to the floor. She had to stop this grating, droning sound, but the image and the various scrolling console commands on her screen delayed her. The image showed a tower of crystal, similar to quartz. On its face were etchings — an alien language.
The software enlarged the image, zooming into the etchings, highlighting each one as the software's speech synthesis automatically translated them into spoken language. Another console appeared on her screen, indicating that the xenolinguistic translation technology had begun analyzing the etchings.
She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples as the translation was generated. Each second that passed was another hour that she forgot. Her thoughts were buried under a thick cloud of fog. She had forgotten her session with Dr. Hykes. She had forgotten Cassidy's unsure smile. She had forgotten the amnestic. But she knew that she was forgetting.
Her workstation beeped and blipped several times before finally displaying the translation. It was everything she could do to open her eyes.
"Do not fear passing, for what is derived from stars returns to the stars; we are nothing else than an amalgamation of the dust of which every living being is contrived, destined to scatter, settle, and reunite with the souls who returned before us."
Ellie. What a beautiful name, Freya. Here, Ellie, your momma wants to hold you.
The final line hid behind a flashing block requiring authentication before decryption. Freya's fingers slammed against the keyboard frantically.
Momma's smarter than all the stars combined! Can I be an astronaut like you when I grow up, Momma?
Invalid authentication.
Happy birthday, sweetheart! I got you your very own moon. No matter how far away from home we are, you'll always be able to see it.
Her body convulsed with another gag. Again.
I'm sorry, Freya. There's nothing we can do. Just… try to make use of the time you have left.
Invalid authentication.
Your momma loves you, baby. No matter what happens. No matter where you go.
Her fingers shook with the earthquake that wracked her body. One more time.
You're everything to me, Ellie. I'll find you. I'll find you, sweetheart. I promise.
Authentication Success.
Don't forget it, Momma!
"That which was lost walks still, gathered at the feet of the…" Just two more words. She just needed to stay aware for two more words.
She's gone, Freya. She's gone.
"Tell me a bedtime story, Momma!"
Ellie's pleading eyes beamed up to meet Freya's. They were giant, gleaming, innocent globes that wouldn't take no for an answer, but Freya tried anyway.
"You know you have to wake up early tomorrow, sweetheart. We have to be at the clinic by eight."
"Please, Momma, please! Just a short one!"
The dark circles under Ellie's eyes told Freya that she wouldn't win this fight. There was no rationing of moments of joy when it came to Ellie. "Alright, Ellie. But after this, you have to sleep, okay? Do we have a deal?"
Ellie excitedly lifted herself from her mattress, making herself comfortable against the headboard. "Deal. Pinky swear."
Freya dropped her hand from the overhead lighting's dial on the wall and carefully stepped across the room to the bed, stepping over toys that clearly wouldn't fit in her overflowing toy chest, incomplete puzzles that would never be whole, and piles of rumpled clothes that would soon be replaced by hospital gowns. She kneeled beside the bed and smiled at Ellie. The bubbling fishbowl's blue-green glow shone down from the bedside table and glinted in her eyes.
"Once upon a time, before the stars even had names, there was a tiny star born in the deepest, darkest part of space," Freya began, drawing on the histories of countless alien civilizations to weave a tale. "The star was so bright and beautiful that it lit up the entire galaxy around it! It was a happy, curious little star that glowed and sparkled. It loved to explore and play with the other stars. But one day, the little star wanted to explore this really, really dark part of the galaxy. No matter how bright it was, it wasn't bright enough to light up this place!"
Ellie tucked her chin beneath her blanket, invested. "What happened to the star, Momma?"
"Well, this place turned out to be something so big! Much bigger than the star! And so it pulled in the star and held on to it really tight! The darkness wanted to snuff out the little star's light." Freya felt her throat begin to dry up, and swallowing became difficult. "The star was stuck there for a long time, and no one could get the star free. Normal stars just weren't big enough to break it free."
"Did it stay stuck forever?" Ellie's eyes were wide, and her voice was barely a whisper.
"No, sweetheart," Freya assuaged, squeezing Ellie's little hand. "Stars are meant to shine, and this one was known for shining brighter than all the others. One day, when the darkness thought it had finally snuffed out its light, the little star shone brighter than ever before. It broke free from the darkness and could be seen from everywhere, no matter how far away!"
Ellie dropped the blanket from her chin and breathed a sigh of relief. "So where did it go? What happened to it after?"
"No one knows, baby. But it's still out there, playing tag with the other stars."
Ellie crossed her arms over the blanket. "I hope it visits us, Momma, then it can play tag with me. I bet we'd be really good friends."
Freya forced a chuckle and a wavering smile. "I think it'd be a really silly star if it didn't make friends with you, baby. Now, it's bedtime." Freya stood from the bedside, her knees aching, and made her way back to the door. She turned the dial, and the room faded into the soft, dim light of the fish tank.
"Are there more stories like that, Momma?" Ellie's voice had already begun to sound smaller, heavy with sleep.
"Space is giant, sweetheart. There are more stories than you could ever imagine out there."
"I wanna learn all of them. I wanna be able to tell my own little Star Child bedtime stories about space someday, Momma, just like you!" Ellie murmured, turning onto her side.
Someday. A "someday" that Freya knew Ellie would never see. Freya leaned against the doorframe for support, crossing her arms as she gazed at the tiny bed and its even smaller occupant for longer than she intended. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her voice steady. "You've got bigger things to worry about tonight: bedtime. We had a deal." Freya forced yet another smile and blew a kiss into the shadows of the room. "I love you, sweetheart. Don't you forget it."
"I love you, Momma," she whispered groggily. She weakly blew her mother a kiss of her own, which Freya caught in the palm of her hand and thrust deep into her pocket for safekeeping. "Don't forget it…"
Freya blinked. Her workstation was quiet. The monitor displayed images and translated text that she didn't recognize. Her desk was in disarray. Her shirt was stained with a sticky yellow-green substance. Her throat stung. Her cheeks were wet, but her eyes were dry. She was clutching a thick black marker.
What's going on? What was I just doing? Why are the lights off?
She scaned the shadows of her quarters, identifying something at her feet. It was a plush of Earth's moon, damp to the touch. She lifted it up, looking at it for what felt like an hour. She almost couldn't take her eyes off it.
When did I buy this?
She lowered the plush to her lap, revealing two words scribbled in black marker across the surface of her desk. They matched the final two words of the translated text on her screen. She stared at them. The words made her head hurt. They made her skin crawl. They made her stomach churn — but she didn't know why.
"STAR CHILD"