Elizabeth Sparkle

Margot’s living room buzzed with quiet activity, papers and holoscreens scattered across every available surface. A trio of interns huddled around the central table debating over a particularly convoluted section of their group project.

Margot sat and watched from her not-antiquated Apple Macbook, her arms crossed as she listened to one of them explain the issue. Her brow furrowed, lips pursed.

“What do you mean Jaxon can’t get into his Bioform to help you?” she asked, her tone incredulous.

The intern glanced nervously at the others, then back at Margot. “He says he’s... uh, ‘deathly afraid’ of crocodiles,” they muttered.

Margot’s eyebrows shot up. “He would be a robot! In a robot body! He literally can’t get hurt. Isn’t he curious about the prospect of smarter crocodiles? The once thought perfect reptilian whose perfect evolutionary form survived Chicxulub with millions of years and counting to evolve? The symposium will become famous! And we can get all the funding we want!”

The intern hesitated, clearly unsure how to respond. “Our billions of dollars are not enough…?”

Margot threw up her hands. “Tell him I’ll put his thesis at the very bottom of my reading pile if he doesn’t help you. And while you’re at it, remind him he’s not exactly hurting for time. He’s already finished his draft.”

The interns exchanged glances, one of them suppressing a grin.

Margot waved a hand, already turning back to her own pile of work. “And tell him to fix up his lit review while he’s at it. It’s a disaster. He knows it, and you better believe the reviewers will know it too.”

One of the interns stifled a laugh, quickly masking it with a cough.

"Oh, I was just joking. I love you guys. Even Jaxon. Lay off him for now, but after Christmas break... free reign." Margot’s gaze flicked back to them, her sharpness softened by a faint smirk. “What are you waiting for? Go. Shoo. Get him on a holo-call or whatever it takes. But tell him I’m serious…”

Her voice trailed off as the faint flicker of a holo-projection caught her attention.

She turned slowly, her eyes narrowing as Caden’s form materialized in the corner of the room. He looked steady, but his optics glowed faintly brighter than usual, a sign Margot had learned to associate with urgency.

“Margot,” he said, his tone unusually grave. “Lena isn’t willing to listen to reason. I’ve analyzed her current vitals—there’s a 70% probability she will faint onstage if she proceeds with the performance.”

Margot’s smirk vanished, replaced by a scowl. “Seventy percent? What the hell are you talking about, Caden?”

“Her hormone levels are dangerously unstable,” Caden continued, his voice steady but tinged with something that might have been frustration. “Her body is under immense strain. The rest she’s taken hasn’t been enough, and—”

“Caden,” Margot interrupted, her voice sharp. She set her coffee down with a thud. “You’re telling me this now? Why didn’t you stop her before?”

“I’ve tried,” Caden said, his projection flickering slightly. “She wouldn’t listen. As her AI, I cannot physically restrain her.”

Margot let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through her hair. “You stupid bitch, Lena,” she muttered, pacing the room. “You think you can handle everything alone...”

Caden stood motionless, his optics dimming slightly. “She is on the verge of collapse,” he said quietly. “Her hormone levels are critically unstable. She’s not just tired. She’s—”

“Stop,” Margot snapped, holding up a hand. “Just—stop. We’ll call her.”

“She won’t answer,” Caden said, his voice quieter now, his projection flickering faintly. “Not from me, at least. She muted her location. I cannot gain access to ship sensors. I am completely blind.”

Margot’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “She’ll answer me,” she said sharply, grabbing her tablet and swiping furiously through her contacts.

The line rang once. Twice. Then stopped. 

Margot stared at the screen, her jaw tightening.

She shoved the tablet aside and turned to Caden, her voice tight with urgency. “Caden, we have to go. Now. She always avoids the usual routes when she’s up to something. She knows.”

Caden tilted his head, his optics brightening slightly. 

“Is there another exit off the ship?” Margot pressed.

Caden’s projection flickered for a moment, processing. “She will most likely be in the east wing exits,” he said. “Opposite of where we are. If she follows that path, she’ll board the Apex ship directly and—”

“End up onstage without us,” Margot finished, her voice sharp. She grabbed her coat, her movements precise and practiced. “Let’s move.”

The two moved quickly, Margot’s footsteps echoing sharply against the metal floors.

\\

Missed call. It was always there, staring back at her, demanding her attention. She couldn’t look at it. She couldn’t touch it. Proxima B was outside and waiting, waiting for her to show up and be nice and pretty and girly. Lena stepped onto the ramp of the Apex ship, her legs trembling beneath her.

She didn’t remember how she got here. The door behind her had closed—when? A second ago? An hour?

The ship hummed louder in her ears, its vibration clawing at her chest, rattling her bones. It wasn’t the ship; it was the sound of the stage waiting for her. The stage that wouldn’t stop vibrating, wouldn’t stop calling. She could hear it beneath her, its rhythm syncing with the thrumming in her ribs.

“Welcome, Astra. Please make yourself feel welcome... and refresh yourself with itinerary…”

Get up there.

“You can’t run away, Lena.”

Her eyes dashed wildly onto the attendant’s face. The attendant was so perfectly stupidly idiotic if she thought she could get away with it. She knows what she said, she did.

She pressed her hands to her ears, but it didn’t stop. The noise wasn’t in the room; it was in her. Get up there. Get up there. Get up there.

\\

Fucking pick up!!

“Out of the way, please, misses and gentlemen. Our situation is dire. Move please.”

Lena, come on… please.

“Margot.” His tone was pregnant, utterly void.

“Yes, you dumb gearbox?!”

“We are too late.”

A pindrop fell.

“What?”

\\

If she didn’t, it would all be over. The audience, the tour, the name. Astra would shatter. Not just fall, not just stumble—shatter into irreparable pieces. And all the eyes watching, waiting, would turn on her. Their whispers would grow louder, louder, until they weren’t whispers at all.

They’ll hate you.

The words pounded in her skull like a relentless drumbeat. The hum of the ship seemed to mock her, its constancy a reminder that everything outside this room was still moving, still waiting, still demanding.

Her chest tightened as she stared at the door. The glow of Proxima B seeped through the cracks, cold and steady. It was a spotlight, casting her in its unrelenting glow, exposing her. She couldn’t hide here forever. She couldn’t stay.

Her breath hitched, her nails digging into her knees. She pressed harder, the sharp sting grounding her for a moment, but the pounding didn’t stop. It grew louder, consuming her thoughts, her air, her everything.

They’ll hate you. Hate you. Hate you.

“Lena, are you OK?

You psycho bitch?”

“You are sweating.

You make it too obvious.”

Her body trembled, her hands falling to her sides. Her gaze drifted to the palm screen. Its light pulsed in time with the rhythm, taunting her. Get up there. Get up there.

“No,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “No, no, no. I am fine, Maya!”

Eyes, startled, glazed, starry, so perfect and sincere and caring.

But the rhythm didn’t care. The ship didn’t care. The stage was waiting, and it wouldn’t wait long.

She stumbled to her feet, her legs weak beneath her. The walls seemed to shift, the glow of Proxima B growing brighter, harsher, cutting into her skin like glass. The pounding in her chest synced with her footsteps as she staggered toward the door.

If she didn’t get up there, it was over.

The platform opened.

The rhythm pounded louder, louder, louder, until it was all she could hear, all she could think. It was in her chest, her ribs, her throat.

The stage.

//

The crowd’s roar hit her before she even saw them.

Her breath caught as the ship’s ramp began to lower, the edges of the stage coming into view. The sound was deafening—waves of cheers and screams crashing into her like a physical force. The ship was part of the act, its grand entrance choreographed to perfection, every motion calculated to awe.

The stage unfolded like a bloom, its panels extending seamlessly from the ship’s ramp to meet the platform below. Proxima B’s glow mingled with the harsh floodlights, creating an otherworldly palette of greens, golds, and silvers. The set was a masterpiece: a simulated galaxy sprawled across the stage, with constellations shimmering beneath their feet and holographic stars spinning lazily above them.

Lena stood at the edge of the ramp, frozen as the crowd roared louder. The ship gave a final hum as it locked into place, its sleek surface gleaming under the lights.

Maya’s voice buzzed faintly in her earpiece. “Ready, Lena? You’re up first. Just like we planned. Deep breath.”

She wanted to laugh. A deep breath. Her lungs burned, tight and unyielding, and the taste of iron lingered at the back of her throat. She could feel it there, the faint echo of her body’s betrayal, but she shoved it down. There was no room for that now.

The music swelled around her, the opening notes vibrating through the floor and into her bones. The holographic galaxy shifted, the constellations realigning as her cue approached.

She opened her mouth, the first words of the song barely forming before her chest seized. The air caught, sharp and jagged, and her vision blurred at the edges. She stumbled, her grip faltering as her knees wobbled beneath her.

“Lena?” Maya’s voice crackled in her ear, sharp with concern.

The crowd’s roar faltered, confusion rippling through them like a wave.

She tried to straighten, tried to force the words out, but her lungs wouldn’t obey. Her body swayed, the lights above her spinning faster, brighter, until they were no longer stars but blinding streaks of white.

And then her legs gave out.

Her knees hit the stage with a sickening thud.

“Lena!!”

The world tilted, the stage spinning beneath her as the roar of the crowd dissolved into a low, suffocating hum.