The Sound of Stars

by Alechia Dow

  The doctor regards her. “I believe the vaccine is satisfactory. Well-done, Commander.”

  “And her consciousness?” M0Rr1S steps closer, searching for a spark of understanding in the human’s eyes. And then wishes he hadn’t asked that; he knows it worked. The formula was tested on all of his projections, and never failed once. Asking was illogical. He hopes that his mistake will be overlooked.

  “That test will take several hours.” The doctor checks her eyes, her chest, but the patient has that same glazed look as before.

  “It is of no importance,” M0Rr1S offers.

  The doctor ignores him. “There are no casualties. All reported the same results. I will have more information for you later, Commander.”

  “Thank you.” He turns to AvR0la. “I want to check on the human production below. Keep an eye on the doctor.” He stands back as he clicks Il-0CoM off.

  * * *

  When he enters the room, he can’t help but search among the younger humans for her. Their clothes lack vibrancy, their faces are drawn and tired as they sort through millions of flower and vegetable seeds all mixed together. They’ve been tasked with separating them into piles after running each one under individual scanners. A lesson in botany. It’s a silly thing to do, but a human desires purpose.

  He spots her at a table with another girl. She barely looks up at him, meeting his eyes once before she continues sorting through her pile. Her shoulders are hunched, and she averts her gaze. Discomfort. She finds his presence discomforting.

  It is a shame that this is the feeling he inspires in her. From the moment she entered his life, or he entered hers, she has inspired music and literature, pretty words and sounds in him. Part of him wishes he could read her mind. He wouldn’t want to pry, though.

  Prying involves skilled precision while stripping away pieces of memory like codes, and peeking inside, scouring for whatever he so desires. Skilled Ilori use it against one another on true Ilori command, and it is painful for the pried, energy draining for the prier. No, he just wants to know Ellie, and for her to trust him. Her hands shake, and he can feel her nerves across the room.

  May I, Ellie? he asks into her mind.

  She looks up at him, only briefly, and then nods once.

  He sings Fleetwood Mac gently into their connection, trying not to hurt or scare her. They could punish him for this, say he’s breaking protocol, defective...yet, here he is, singing to her, hoping he can enjoy her presence longer than a day or two. That they’ll both be alive for another day or two. Because despite their circumstances and the danger, he is drawn to her. The books, the wild willfulness, her beautiful eyes. He’s breaking the rules for music, and now for her.

  She looks at him, her shoulders unhunching and, for a moment, he thinks she might smile. Then the girl next to her interrupts their moment.

  “When they came here, tell me you didn’t think they would be green with bug eyes and round fingers?” she asks, not waiting for a response before continuing. “But they aren’t. They’re like healthier versions of us. Scary, but beautiful, even with those electronic panel things and the way they stare at you. That one over there—” her head nods in the direction of M0Rr1S “—reminds me of Allister Daniels, you know, from the Starry Eyed? Just as pretty. If he wasn’t an Ilori, I would date him. Hell, I’d do more than date him. Wouldn’t you?”

  Ellie shrugs.

  M0Rr1S frowns. She wouldn’t date him? Why not?

  What is dating?

  “Why’s he staring at you?”

  Ellie shrugs once more.

  “I’m sorry about the party, if that’s what you’re mad about. I got caught up in the moment.” The girl’s head leans closer to Ellie’s. In that moment, Ellie’s countenance transforms into myriad different emotions, reminding him how perfectly human she is. There is surprise. Confusion. Anger. Concern. Affection.

  “Don’t worry about that, Alice. I found the book.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “I—I found it where it was supposed to be. I miscalculated.”

  The girl named Alice makes a small noise. “That is the first time you’ve ever admitted to a mistake.”

  “Well it doesn’t happen often.” The corners of Ellie’s lips rise into a smirk or a grin. M0Rr1S doesn’t know which. He will practice it in the mirror later, that may make her more comfortable with him.

  “Seriously, he’s still looking at you,” Alice whispers. She doesn’t realize that the Ilori can hear human whispers. True Ilori desired to make communication a transgression, but they would have lost the entire human stock if they had. And, they found, when quiet was enforced upon the humans, their productivity and health suffered. Communication was preferable over revolution.

  “He’s probably connected to their Hive thing. Remember? He’s not really seeing me or us. Like the rest of them.” She waves a dismissive hand.

  M0Rr1S glances around at the other three labmades, and wonders if it’s true—if they are all connected to Il-0CoM to avoid watching the humans perform the mundane tasks they were set. One labmade catches his gaze and dips her head quick, fist over heart. He returns the salute, although it is dangerous, before returning his attention to Ellie.

  “I don’t know. I think he likes you.”

  Ellie lets out a long breath. “They took control of our world and murdered a ton of humans. They killed Erica yesterday, Alice. Even if they could feel, I doubt they’d waste their energy on worthless shit like liking one of us. I hope they’d feel guilt.”

  Alice is quiet. “Jackson didn’t even look at me today. Do you think he still likes me?”

  “Probably.” Ellie straightens, thoughtful. “Wait, sorry to change the subject, but do you think Jackson can let me borrow his father’s collection of...” She glances around, her voice falling to a whisper. “Tunes?”

  Tunes? Is that another word for music? Clever.

  Alice tilts her head, considering. “You’ll have to ask him yourself. I don’t know where I stand with him.”

  “You do know where I stand with Jackson’s dad, though.” There’s a sharpness in Ellie’s tone, but her friend doesn’t appear to be listening.

  Alice heaves a sigh. “Do you think the Ilori are good in bed?”

  Ellie stops and stares openmouthed at Alice, and her next words come out in a quiet hiss. “They. Do. Not. Feel. Alice.”

  M0Rr1S turns away. He doesn’t understand the question, and he dislikes seeing Ellie uncomfortable. He waves a hand, and all the seeds sort themselves across the tables, eliciting startled gasps and weary expressions. He approaches the nearest Ilori guard. There are three in this room, twelve in the center completely; their numbers are spread dangerously thin.

  M0Rr1S doesn’t switch on Il-0CoM but instead lets his voice drop into the deep timbre of Ilori. “The humans need some exercise. They grow weak. We need their muscles to be in shape for transplantation.”

  “Yes, sir. We will do so now.” Seconds later, the command to stop and gather for exercise is crackling out of the loudspeakers above in broken English.

  “Give them time to collect their coats. It is cold outside, and this does not benefit their movements.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the humans disperse, M0Rr1S connects to Janelle’s mind once more.

  Now is your chance to find the music. I will keep you safe, but you must go now. Meet me tonight in your library, same time.

  She nods and follows everyone up the stairs to their apartments. He assumes she’ll wait as the others grab their coats and go outside before beginning the search. He hopes she’ll be careful. Yet, M0Rr1S switches on Il-0CoM to keep Ellie off any stray Ilori’s radar, just in case.

  CHAPTER 7

  “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.”

  —Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

/>   JANELLE

  I sort through the floorboards of the living room underneath the corner patch of our once-fluffy maroon rug. When the Ilori came, Dad removed one small plank and hid our most precious items beneath. I’ve taken and saved all the books, but I remember a vinyl of something or another. Mom hid it. I remember her saying it had the song she and Dad listened to on their first date.

  I shift through documents: our birth certificates, passports, money, pictures, jewelry, drawings I did when I was a child, and tons of little things and cards that serve no purpose. But there at the bottom, I find it. Mom said there’s nothing comparable to the sound of Billie Holiday. I slide the record out, but find three instead of one. Aretha Franklin, Jimi Hendrix and Billie. I shove them into an old sack and put everything else back. It feels wrong to steal these, but we have no record player, Dad isn’t himself anymore and Mom has unraveled.

  Sometimes I wish we’d stayed in Brooklyn. In my mind, if we’d been there, we would have fled when the Ilori came, Mom would be normal and Dad would be whole. We wouldn’t have been stuck here with people who pretended to be our allies until they were confronted with their own privilege. Who called the police on me when I waited in the lobby for Dad to get his school bag, because I didn’t look like I belonged there, or where they weren’t “pleased” with the politics but it didn’t really affect them, so they moved on. They could move on. The Upper East Side ruined my family.

  I lock the door behind me, although there’s no point—what can anyone steal and what would a lock do to stop the Ilori? I head to the next apartment. I’m about to knock when the door opens. It’s Mrs. Turner, a friend of the aunt who left us this apartment. Her white hair wisps at her temples, and there are worry lines etched into every patch of her face. She’s too old to be forced into guard work, and the Ilori have no reason to kill her.

  “Janelle Baker, shouldn’t you be outside with the others?”

  I dip my head as I concoct a lie. “I’m...on a special mission, Mrs. Turner. I heard they’re going to do a search tomorrow and...well. Um...”

  “What is it, dear?” Mrs. Turner shoos me inside and gently closes the door behind us. She whispers softly, “Are you in trouble?”

  “I’m afraid they’re looking for contraband, and I don’t want more people to die.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either. “I don’t want anyone to get caught.”

  “What can I do?” Her tone is kind and caring, and I hate myself for concerning her.

  “Music, any music you have, hard drives, anything. I have a place to hide them, if you’d give it to me...”

  She wraps me in a hug. “Oh honey, if you get caught with all of it, it’ll be a double transgression. No one wants to lose you, too. So many deaths lately. Too many young people. You deserve better.”

  “I’m all right with taking risks, Mrs. Turner. I just—” I stare into her eyes, and I’m racked with sorrow for the dwindling number of days she has left. No one knows what the Ilori will do with the older humans. It’s never been discussed. I wish she could’ve enjoyed the rest of her life free, but she lost her sons and grandchildren before the invasion. She doesn’t know where they went, and I imagine they won’t see each other again. “I just want to help.”

  “You really have a good place for them?” Her eyebrows lift until I give her a confident nod. “Can I have them back later? I can’t play them anymore, but they mean something to me. There are pictures on them...”

  I nod once more, and she sets off into the apartment, making little to no noise. When she returns, she hands me an old iPod and a few vinyl records. Morris better love these, because I just took away something precious from a gracious woman, and I’m certain she’ll never get these back. I want to hug her and say I’m sorry. I want to tell her the truth, but the way she’s looking at me...it breaks my heart.

  “Thank you for trusting me with these. I’ll return them when it’s safe.” The words nearly choke me. But I smile before gently sliding her belongings into the bag.

  I go down the hall, knocking and entering when no one’s home, searching for music. After an hour, I’ve done four floors out of nineteen. I’m shifting the sack on my shoulder, full of maybe twenty old iPhones, a few iPods and flash drives, and fifteen vinyl records—including my own complete collection of the Starry Eyed—when people begin returning from the outside. I rush down to the basement to drop off my bag, then hurry up the stairs and into our apartment for dinner.

  Men and women with health issues that prevent them from duties like Kill Squads or working upstairs with Mom deliver our food, same as clean linens and clothing. It’s a bit like before; we always had our laundry sent out. We also ordered takeout whenever we were too lazy to cook, which was most days. Only now it’s our neighbors. And we have no choice. Everyone serves a purpose. Tonight it’s Mrs. Turner. She smiles, bent over her silver, rickety pushcart, and hands Dad two plates. She waves at me with a wink, causing a flip of nerves in my gut, before she wheels away down the hall. I took her music, I promised to bring it back. I’m lying for an alien.

  Dad closes the door before he sets down the plates of food on the table. I pick up my tuna fish with vegetable paste on cracker bread. I wait for Dad to sit down before I tuck into the meal.

  “How...was your day?” My dad surprises me with the question.

  “Ahhh... Okay.” I can’t keep the shock from my voice. It’s been over a month since he resurfaced. I was beginning to think he wouldn’t. “You’re really here?” The corner of his lips quirk.

  I bolt out of my chair and take him in a big hug. Tears roll down my cheeks and for a moment, it’s like the last two years didn’t happen. A weight’s been lifted.

  “I don’t have long.” He says it like it pains him. “Already, I can feel it.”

  “Dad.” I close my eyes as he wipes a stray tear from my cheek. “I miss you.”

  “You’re the only reason I’m still here, Janelle. But it’s so hard, honey. I don’t know when—” And then his eyes glaze over. It was too short this time. His back stiffens, and I drop my arms. “What are you doing over here? Eat.”

  I push down the anger threatening to erupt from my mouth like lava that’d burn our prison till there’s nothing left. There isn’t anything left anyway. Not anymore. And that’d definitely be a transgression.

  I take my seat and collect myself while attempting to eat. “Where’s Mom?”

  The cracker is brittle in my hand and breaks into jagged pieces while I try to bite it. If I didn’t eat, Dad would tell someone, and I’d be force-fed. I wouldn’t do that, though; I’m hungry. Self-preservation always wins out when it comes to food.

  Books, not so much.

  “Needed upstairs for the night.” He eats small, dainty bites keeping the cracker together. There is nothing familiar in his gaze.

  We get three slices of cracker bread each, an apple and a glass of vitamin juice, probably to keep us in top shape for the vaccine. Although, what if we don’t all survive it?

  No one talks about that. I wonder if the vaccine is ready—really ready.

  From my minimal understanding of what happened around the world after the invasion, humans were rounded up and forced into new housing. But in big cities, they were sent into centers like ours. Imprisoned. Rumors were that the Ilori needed us, and Morris confirmed that. I used to think that meant they were going to use human bodies and organs for alien transplants. Our anatomy is the same, so it makes sense that maybe they need our organs for their people or something. But after seeing how the half-solutions program works—I mean, it’s staring at me from across the table—I know we’ll become an updated version of that.

  Will we become servants like Dad and the other guards? What will they do with us? And there are a lot of us prisoners. I suppose that’s why they kill us for transgressions; if what Morris said is true, if we communicated and coordinated attacks th
at actually worked, we might still have a chance of overwhelming them.

  But we’re weak now. They’ve turned our own people against us, like Dad, and some of us have begun to lose our minds, like Mom. This world started to take everything from us, but the Ilori finished the job. Humans were already stripping away our humanity before they came, but the Ilori created a vaccine to rid us of it completely.

  Morris said it will work in two days. Time’s running out.

  After dinner, I pace in my room waiting for my dad to fall asleep. It takes forever, and all my thoughts and fears and anxieties flare up. What if this is a test? What if Morris is using me? I can’t imagine why, but he could be. I should have told Alice, asked for her help.

  It’s late, and my mind can handle only so much. I back into the wall and take deep, calm breaths. If the books don’t kill me, the anxiety will. I used to take medicine for it, and for my hypothyroidism, too, but it ran out months ago. Take deep breaths, sense and count everything around the room. 5-4-3-2-1.

  Five, my yellow, threadbare blanket. I run my fingers on it. It feels scratchy, like sandpaper.

  Four, my white mattress that pokes me in the back. It squeaks when I roll to my side in the night.

  Three, my chair, light purple chevron. Soft and comfortable.

  Two, my purple hat with a silk lining inside. It smells like...like coconut and argon oil, even though I ran out a long time ago.

  One, my mirror, and my sad reflection staring back. Zero, I repeat as my breathing slows. Zero. I’m going to be okay. Slow and steady. I’m going to be okay.

  No more time to waste.

  I lace up my shoes and sneak out of my room, through the hall and down the stairs. The doors are unlocked when I arrive. In the storage unit, Morris is standing in front of me. He’s trying to grin, maybe, but it looks weird.

  “Ellie, I am so happy to see you.”

  I don’t bother with pleasantries. “The sack behind you is full. I got through a few floors but there are more to go. I’m not sure I’ll get it all done tomorrow.”