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There was a yellow handprint on Maven’s desk, just at the left corner. Many years ago a little hand had reached up covered in paint and made the print before Maven could prevent it. It had been a bright hour between meetings of a darker nature, finger painting with her son. Smears of rainbow-colored paint on pages that were supposed to be cats and ships. All hung up for everyone to admire when they dried. None so precious as the smile on Russell’s face also smeared with paint.
She hadn’t washed the handprint off. Even when Russell was a little boy, she’d known that moment would be something she never wanted to forget.
Maven stared at the screen in front of her. She saw a few ships, small ones, flying away from Station Central. They were too few and too small to hold everyone who’d been on the vacation station.
Was Russell on one of them? Was Sennett?
She put her hands over her eyes. Unwilling to turn the screen off, but unable to watch.
To lose Sennett was to lose a dream. She’d been stolen from Maven when she was so young, no more than a baby. By the time they’d found her on that nothing little station that no one had even heard of before it became the station of First Contact, she was nearly a grown woman. Maven never stopped hoping they could be reunited. She dreamed of placing her hands on her daughter’s face and telling her that she loved her. That she loved her from afar and prayed for her every day. Now, that was never going to happen.
To lose Russell, well that was something else.
That was losing the moments when she made him place his hand, now bigger than hers, over the yellow handprint to measure how much it had grown. It was losing dinners spent watching him argue with his father. It was losing the quiet moments when she could just quietly admire the strong, brilliant young man she’d raised. It was losing any chance of him finding happiness, and bringing children of his own into the world. To lose Russell was to lose the brightest part of her life. Maybe the only bright part she’d ever had.
Maven shook her head. This wasn’t helping, this mourning. It couldn’t be the face she showed her generals, and they would be arriving soon. She took a deep breath. “Put it away,” she whispered. She pictured herself taking all of her rage, all of her anger, all of her sorrow, and putting it into a box like one might shove outgrown clothes to be dealt with at a later time. She pulled out a mirror to fix her makeup. Her generals would be arriving soon, and there was much to discuss. There wasn’t any reason to hold back from attacking Station 86 now. Especially since their defenses were lowered.
She had just a few moments to start typing notes for the meeting. With steady hands and dry eyes, she typed.
We must secure the existence of our people and a future for Earth’s children.
When we last left our heroes, all hell had broken loose.
When we last left our heroes, it was the beginning of the end.
Copyright © 2024 by Nicole C. Luttrell
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