The universe held nothing but darkness.
The hours scraped past, turned into days, then weeks. Liza moved numbly through the mines. She felt as though the dust had permanently coated her soul. At night, memories of Selina knifed through her.
They’d talked about leaving the belt, going somewhere better and making a new life for themselves. Liza didn’t know how, but Selina had always kissed away her worries.
“We’ll figure out a way,” she’d say. “Together, we can do anything. Look at these places!”
Then she’d pull up vids of Holst and X’inlii and for a while they’d dream.
There was no point now, but as the third month turned to the fourth, Liza found herself re-playing those vids. The lush forests of Holst seemed to whisper that things could be better, away from the mines. The tropical waters of X’inlii promised more peace than the edge of the galaxy could hold.
Maybe.
She still had the credits from her unused ticket to Raldoon, the vacation she and Selina never got to take together. But every time Liza thought about going, a part of her shied away.
In a new place, she wouldn’t have any memories of Selina walking down the hallway, just so, or dancing to no music over the sticky floor of the cantina.
“It’s been six months,” Trudi said one night, as they shared a table. “You going to waste the rest of your life here, drinking jimjack and mourning? I don’t think Selina would have wanted that.”
Liza shrugged, and took another sip of the tangy beer.
“I’m leaving next week,” Trudi said.
“What?” Liza set her beer on the dinged-up metal table. “You’re leaving the mines?”
The older woman nodded. The lines on her face were carved deep, but her eyes were serene.
“With the settlement, and what I have saved up, I got a place out on Chugo. Small, but I don’t need much room. Miner’s pension will keep me in tea and crackers. I’m going to write those stories like Rand always told me to, instead of just dreaming about them. His memory deserves better than this.”
She waved her hand at the cantina, but Liza knew she meant all of it—the dusty mining complex, the thankless work, the hard edges everywhere a person turned.
“Good for you.” Liza meant it, and something kindled deep inside her. She wouldn’t call it hope.
What does Selina’s memory deserve?
The keyboard in the corner waited. It was too late for Selina to hear her play, but Liza still heard her words. Would always hear them.
“You’ve got light inside you, novia. Let it shine.”
What better tribute could Liza give, than to play? To let the emotions bottled up inside her fingertips, inside her heart, rush free.
Before she could change her mind, she rose and went to the instrument. The protective bubble was gritty with dust. She folded it back, then wiped her fingers on her coveralls, trying to get some of the grime off.
The bartender came up beside her, towel tucked through his belt.
“You know how to use that thing?” he asked, squinting at her.
“I used to play. You mind?”
“Go ahead.” He glanced at the half-empty cantina, the shadows and weary faces. “Might be all to the good.”
Liza nodded. It might.
She sat on the small, padded bench in front of the keys. They marched off to either side, traditional black and white, orderly and serene. Above them was a row of colorful buttons and a screen display. She could create any sound she wanted, but tonight, just the piano.
Holding her breath, she flicked on the power switch.
A comforting hum came from the speakers mounted on either side of the keys, and the screen and buttons glowed with light.
Liza wasn’t familiar with this model, but it was made by Yamaha, similar to the keyboard she’d learned on. It had taken two years before her strict tutor had allowed her to play the behemoth grand piano kept in the climate-controlled music room of the palace she’d grown up in, and she doubted many of those vintage instruments had been exported off Earth.
The keyboard, though, there were plenty of those scattered across the galaxy. Even out here, on the edge.
Selina.
The name flared across her thoughts, and she realized that along with the pain, there was an echo of joy. Then sorrow blossomed up inside again, a dark, shining flower of loss. Liza caught her breath and set her hands on the keyboard.
It took a moment to adjust to the action of the keys, to press with just enough force. She stopped and tweaked the volume, then adjusted the foot pedal that was still, miraculously, attached.
Then she played, letting the tears fall down her cheeks, letting the grief pour from her body. Moonlight Sonata, then Barber’s Adagio. River Flows in You and The Rose.
Her fingers, stiff from her long shifts in the mines, slowly loosened. Her shoulders ached, but she ignored them. Her heart ached more.
The feel of the cantina changed—softened, warmed.
Liza didn’t know how long she played. As long as she needed to. But when she turned, stretching her sore arms, she found that the room was full again. The quiet light shone on faces that had, for a few moments at least, found some peace.
Selina. The memory was a punch to her gut.
Liza would never forget.
But she couldn’t live with that raw ache right up next to her heart, day after day. And she couldn’t stay there in the belt any longer. There were new planets to explore, even if she didn’t have Selina to explore them with.
She thought of the dark universe stretching out around them, seeded with tiny specks of stars. Each one just a pinprick of light, yet together they held the blackness at bay. She owed it to Selina’s memory to shine, however dimly.
To be one more star against the night.
“Will you play again, tomorrow?” Trudi asked, smiling. A tear track etched through the dust on her cheek.
“Yes,” Liza said. “I will.”
Q&A with Anthea Sharp
What was your inspiration for this story?
After the terrible events of the summer of 2016, and particularly the shooting at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, I was constantly on the edge of grief. Reading the texts sent from Eddie Justice, trapped in the club, to his mother completely shattered me, and I found myself wondering daily; How can a person keep going after such tragedy? How can we possibly pick up the pieces and move forward when the universe is so full of terrible things?
I wrote, a lot, and finally found my answer in this story. It might not be your answer, but I have to believe that every piece of light, every kind and good thing we can do in our lives, must surely push back the darkness.
(Proceeds from the sale of this story have been donated to help victims of the shooting in Orlando, and especially the Justice family, at https://www.gofundme.com/2929hs6c/donate)
Do you write happier tales?
Yes! Most of my work is much lighter than the story in this anthology. My bestselling Feyland series is a blend of high-tech gaming and ancient faerie lore (it’s been described as “Ready Player One with faeries”), and is more on the YA side, with a touch of romance. The first book in the series, Feyland: The Dark Realm, is free at all ebook retailers.
Tell us more about the setting of One More Star, Shining.
This story is one of several shorter pieces I’ve written to explore the edges of a Victorian Spacepunk universe—one where Queen Victoria was replicated by aliens in 1850 and reigns, basically, forever. You can find more Victoria Eternal stories in my Stars & Steam collection, and I’m currently working on a brand-new novel set in this Galactic British Empire.