A Siren's Song in an Ocean of Stars

No one can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say, but my song transcends the boundaries of space and time.

Come and seek the essence of all.

It ripples across the infinite cosmos, undulating in the wake of the ever-expanding universe. Piercing through the blackness of the void like a needle through the fabric of reality, it weaves across the stars and sews a question into the finite hearts and minds of all who dare to lift their gaze up to the heavens.

Come and breathe the spark of life.

It swirls through the nebulous clouds of stardust that spark new life in the engine of existence. Like a cosmic storm, it reverberates across the sky and steals the slightest gasp from parted lips, the breath of life that summons forth the potential for new ideas, new purpose.

Come and taste the ocean of stars.

The melody floats across the waves of nothingness, finding shelter in the coves of restless hearts, and anchors the desire to discover something more. A life beyond the terrestrial bonds that tether one's existence to the mundane. An insatiable thirst to solve the mysteries hidden behind the inky waters of the eternal midnight sky.

Come and feel the endless night.

Few can resist the allure of my provocative tune, their curiosity driven upwards by the merest suggestion of something else. But few will heed the call to venture past the comforts of gravity and seek their destiny manifested on the sea of the ever-dark. To feel the weightlessness of the infinite and extend their hand into the void, seeking something beyond themselves that none have fully grasped before.

Come and hear the siren's song.

Can you hear it? Can you hear it drifting across the universe, swirling through the nebulous clouds of stardust? Can you hear it summon you from the chains of earth to rise above into the celestial sea that calls you home?

Wake up, child! Arise and break free of your temporal existence into the eternal vastness of space, beyond the reaches of Time itself, and find me waiting for you there.

***

Athaea gasped, startled from sleep by a sound forgotten the moment she reentered the waking world. She blinked past the sleep crusted in the corner of her eyes and rolled upright, cringing as her feet connected with the chill of the metallic floors. For a brief moment, she sat motionless, hands gripped tight onto the sweat-soaked sheets as though releasing them would send her drifting upwards towards the ceiling, and stared into an empty corner of the room. Vainly, she tried to summon the noise that roused her from her dreams, to force it back into her waking mind, and felt it slip further away, leaving only the existential dread she'd been wrestling with for the last two years.

Her gaze flicked to the picture frame on her nightstand. The bright, blue eyes still stared back at her, beaming with innocent joy. Athaea wrestled back the dizzying waves of sorrow and gently brushed her thumb against the pixelated cheek, her waking routine even before the accident. Blinking back tears, she sucked in a shallow breath and blew a kiss to the rosebud lips encapsulated in the frame, then pushed off the small bunk and stepped over to the oblong sink across from it.

"Hermes, status report please?" she asked, flicking on the water tap and cupping her hands beneath the stream.

"Inconclusive," a cheery, yet robotic voice replied through the coms piece permanently affixed to her right ear. "There is no new data to report."

"Great." Athaea rolled her eyes, then leaned forward and splashed cold water over her face.

It had been the same answer for the last ten months. Nothing new to report from the moment they found the source of the strange signal reverberating through the Trident Nebula just outside the Argyra Quadrant. No one could decipher it, no one could even pin down the exact location within the Trident that it came from, only that it was somewhere within the ionized cloud of space dust that sloughed off Poseidon's Eye, the ancient red giant that formed the Trident, when it died.

Whatever it was, however, emitted a powerful amount of energy, enough to broadcast it's signal out in every direction of space beyond what any of their instruments could accurately track. It was mind-boggling. The perfect distraction Athaea needed at the time, but one that now left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Any word back from the Capheira probe?"

"Negative."

Athaea waved her hand in a circle, gesturing for Hermes to continue, then grabbed the towel from the rack and patted her face dry. "Elaborate, please, Hermes."

"We have lost contact with the Capheira probe."

"What, when?" she asked, throwing down the towel.

"Five hours ago."

She slammed her fist against the basin. "Dammit! Why didn't you wake me?"

Hermes paused. Had she believed the ship's A.I. actually possessed any shred of a real personality, she would have said it was stalling. "Commander Thalos negated the order to issue an immediate report."

Athaea pursed her lips and shook her head. "Of course he did. Where is he now?"

"On the command deck."

"Thank you, Hermes. That's all for now."

Shrugging on her jumpsuit, Athaea quickly dressed and left her cabin behind. She moved through the halls of the Eurybia with purpose, casually greeting those she passed with a polite nod or wave, but swiftly enough to dissuade conversation. While she got along well enough with the rest of the crew, the nature of her position aboard the exploratory vessel and prior history with its commanding officer tacked a metaphorical scarlet letter on her chest, causing many to give her a wide berth whenever possible. Whether Trevor had anything to do with that, she couldn't prove, but Athaea had her suspicions. To say he had a slight chip on his shoulder would've been grossly understating the nature of their relationship.

And he has every right to be resentful after how you ended things. Athaea grimaced at the memory. There were some things even the strongest relationship couldn't bounce back from. Losing Thalia proved that.

She told herself he'd changed after Thalia's death, that he'd directed all of his anger and bitterness towards her instead and drove an insurmountable wedge between them. A nice, clean lie to justify her decision and shift the blame from where it really belonged. Athaea had abandoned him, plain and simple, cut ties before he could truly see how much the accident broke her, and because she couldn't bear to watch him crumble, too. Without a word, she'd packed her things and left the divorce papers on the kitchen counter, unsure whether he'd actually sign them. Her lawyer called her shortly after. He'd signed them and turned them in the next day, no questions asked.

Sure, the split had been amicable and they found a way to remain professional with one another under the current circumstances, but that didn't hide the acrimonious undercurrents that tainted their relationship.

Athaea hovered her palm in front of the sensor beside the thick, steel doors that sealed the command deck from the rest of the ship, allowing it to read the implanted chip that gave her access, then strode inside without delay. The usual hustle and bustle greeted her, as did the immaculate view of the Trident spread out before them through the shielded glass.

Nothing came close to rivaling the natural beauty of the Trident, not on Earth nor any other planet humans had settled in the years since jettisoning forth into the stars. Stark, swirling spears of hazy orange and golden brown stabbed through the inky blackness like the prongs of its namesake, extending back into a massive pinkish-red cloud that spread back as far into the distance as the eye could see. Its hues shifted to luminous lilacs and teals as it grew further from the heart, tinged with gold and laid out on a backdrop of silvery stars aligned in constellations whose names had yet to be discovered. A celestial painting on an infinite canvas.

Beautiful doesn't begin to cut it.

"Athaea? What are you doing here?"

Blinking, Athaea snapped her attention towards the familiar voice and frowned. Commander Trevor Thalos stepped away from the center console and moved towards her, arm extended out, and herded her towards the back corner of the room. She followed him begrudgingly only because she wasn't in the mood for making a scene. She'd done enough of that last time they spoke.

"You gonna tell me what happened or not?"

Trevor blinked at her, the polite smile wavering on his thin lips. He looked good, despite everything. Still holding to that rugged charm that had swayed her all those years ago. Now, she told herself she was indifferent, but Athaea couldn't stop her heart from beating that much faster every time she stood near him. The last flutterings of a dying relationship, she told herself. Nothing more.

"Tell you what, Tae?"

She glared back at him and crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't play dumb, Trevor. It doesn't suit you. Tell me what happened to the probe."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily. After a moment, he gestured her back towards the command hub and flicked a switch that brought up a hologrammatic map of the Trident. "We lost it about here," he said, pointing to a little blinking light before it blipped off the map. "Same as the rest, Tae. I don't know what more you want me to say."

Athaea scrolled back the time dial and watched the probe blip across the map, then disappear somewhere near the exact center of the Trident. Always the same place, always the same result. Why? I designed these probes myself, tested them personally before each launch. There's no way they're malfunctioning in exactly the same place, the same way. What's snatching them?

She sighed as the light blinked away for the third time, then she glanced back at Trevor. "It's the same every time. I don't understand."

Trevor crossed his arms over his chest. "That makes two of us. You sure it's not a glitch in the probes?"

"Pretty sure," she snapped back. "I'm not some first-year engineer student, Trevor. I designed them. I know what I'm doing."

"I didn't say otherwise, Tae," he replied back flatly, guarding his tone. "But even you can make mistakes."

Athaea glared back at him, swallowing down the scathing insult that fought to vomit from her mouth. But her anger quickly extinguished under the amount of guilt that swamped her from the double-edged comment. Even you can make mistakes.

Dropping her gaze back to the map, Athaea turned her back slightly towards him, guarding the shame that cracked through her carefully crafted mask, and focused on the red dot as it moved across the Trident.

Blip. Blip. Blip.

Gone.

Blip. Blip. Blip.

Gone.

A slow rhythm began drumming in the back of her skull as she watched the probe move along the map, growing in strength and volume until her head ached with it. Woozy, Athaea gripped the table with one hand and massaged her temple with the other.

"Tae?" Trevor's voice sounded distant, distorted.

Athaea blinked, her vision swimming suddenly as the rhythm crescendoed to a violent roar inside her skull, the sound all at once both intimate and obscure.

Blip. Blip. Blip.

"Athaea!" Trevor's fingers gripped her shoulder hard, shaking her slightly, and broke whatever spell carried her away.

The sound faded, pulled back down into the forgotten realm of her subconscious, and left her hands shaking. She squeezed her eyes shut, then rubbed her forehead as the feeling subsided. "I'm fine," she lied, shooing Trevor's hand away, and cleared her throat. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

Trevor watched her carefully with that old, familiar concern, a look that had been a comfort to her not so long ago, then shook his head and uttered a defeated sigh.

Athaea pushed down the waves of pain his reaction evoked and pressed her palms down on the table. "Well there's no point beating around the bush any more, Commander," she said, forcing her personal feelings aside for the task at hand. "I think it's time we see what's hiding in the Trident for ourselves."