Gabrielle Lucille Fuentes

Flori Mar La Mancha: Intergalactic Female!

Episode 29: The Shell

© A Live-Auralic Presentation

(Audio Content Compatible with all in-habitat Live-Listeners™)

FLORI MAR: I knew I couldn’t catch the sucker. He blasted into the Bunnies like he wanted to and entering their territory is not a part of my contract, never is. Especially for that payload, which I won’t be receiving because, well, whoever I’d been chasing, whatever he’d done, no one in this life would know him now. The Bunnies will have doped and dozed him irrecognizable. Converted him completely to their copulating fervor. Nobody can do business with Bunnies. They’re not interested in protection, in resources, in parts. All they want is to convert and copulate till their numbers are big enough to bring on the Revelation. That’s the Nub for you, end of days on the edge of the horizon. Madre de diosa, I talk too much. I need some kind of pet. 

(Theme song: Intro.)

EMCEE: Welcome, Listeners, to the live ranting and raving of Flori Mar La Mancha: Intergalactic Female! Join us on the edge of space, a stubby offshoot of the known universe, thumbing stupidly at the end of it all. Welcome to The Coast, The Big One, Where Everything Ends. The weary inhabitants of this peninsula call it “The Nub” for it gives them nothing and they ask less in return. Like all Live-Auralic experiences, sound data has been condensed and transferred directly to your Live-Listeners in the tradition of Ancient Radio Plays. Nothing has been digitally altered or interfered with by Live-Auralic affiliates. Though moments of inaction may be cut for your listening pleasure, remember all Emcee Captioning, from yours truly, is recorded live. Due to Flori Mar’s Locatable Status, she is blissfully unaware that her actions are being recorded, which means your experience of the wilds of deep space is both unedited and authentic! Live Auralic: Bringing the Sound to Space!

FLORI MAR: I am not an idiot. I know I’m being tracked. Damn Locatable. Every time I try to pay that debt something on this ship breaks. Not my fault my mother used me as a fetal poker chip, even if it was to buy her way out of the Armando Crime Syndicate, which, you know, I get. Anyway, for first time listeners—though I don’t know why there would be any listeners at all—I know what you’re thinking. But I am not a bounty hunter and I’m not some thin-toothed transporter hiding behind ethics. Bullshit “not guilty,” bullshit “just a deliverer.” Everyone’s guilty. I am a hired gun. Which means I do anything as long as it requires a pistol and pays in parts or calories. Maybe I’m a sucker too, but at least I’m a clean one. Washed of any allegiance, I serve only my gut and my ship, the noble Rosiana— 

EMCEE: As Loyal Listeners have heard this speech before, I’ll interrupt to remind you that the sound you hear underneath Flori Mar’s pontificating (control panel lets out a faint, anxious sigh) is the region’s Population Geiger spiking. With the addition to the Bunny Colony of the “sucker” Flori Mar failed to detain, the available resources in The Nub are divided once again.

FLORI MAR: I should rip that damn thing out. I live with a pack of Bunnies in my sight. I know the population’s going up and resources are split down the hairline. I can see it happen! Population Geiger, get out!

(Gnawed-on fingernails scrape against metal, electricity crackles.)

FLORI MAR: Coño! My own ship against me!

(Boot toe bounces off control panel.)

FLORI MAR: Be that way, Rosiana! I am outta here. Best to make a quick getaway and sleep this one off for a few months. Recharge as it were. I’ll just enter some new coordinates. (Tinny buttons, each trilling their own note, followed by a siren.) Cabrón, I’m on lockdown. I can’t move an inch. 

EMCEE: Listeners, through the viewfinder, I can see the Bunny Colony digesting its prey and expanding. A new section of their sprawling ship emerges like a tumorous mushroom, white and gelatinous, from the Colony’s center. A thrilling sight. Don’t fear for me, your trusted Mistress of Ceremonies! I am far from this place of danger, though I do attest that bearing witness is a burden of its own.

FLORI MAR: My ship won’t move—those Messianics must have put me on lockdown. They’re mad I didn’t catch their man. O! I do not like like this! They’ll probably force their way on board and try to chant me death. (Flori Mar whistles nervously.) While I’m waiting for these Messianics to fry my ship or not, I’ll tell you one thing. I do think “the Nub” is a good name. It’s a small place, kind of stunted. Unlike other parts of the Coast, of which I’ve seen a fair amount. The edge of space is not exactly limited real estate. Most of the Coast is always changing, it stretches out, bends back into the Known, but the Nub’s stopped growing. It just hangs there, like a dead thumb trying to catch a ride. That’s why the Bunnies love it. Now, it may be that I’m immobilized by a group of religious fanatics that I’ve severely pissed off, but it seems to me like “the Nub” is a sort of prayer. Not for a ride, for a likeness. I have hollowed myself out, it says. I contain no planets, no stars, no valuable life forms, no sound. I am ready for you to take me.

EMCEE: Is she still talking? I apologize Listeners, I was narrating a different feed. Not everything is about you, Flori Mar! Even Loyal Listeners might be unaware that I, your beloved Emcee, currently narrate six Locatable Feeds for Live-Auralic. At the same time! I also host an early-morning current events cast, a late-night fashion show, and just began collecting asteroid gemstones for profit and fun. I also have a couple of personal time drains, but I don’t need to bore you recounting those! You know what they say: don’t stop when you’re tired, stop when you’ve sold every single last organ and you’re just a dehydrated pile of picked-clean flesh!

(The ship shakes and jostles. Metal on metal on something very unpleasant.)

FLORI MAR: You can’t scare me, pendejo Messiánicos! Clean guns don’t fear God! Board me for all I care! 

(The ship’s airlock opens, a wheeze of generated fog.)

EMCEE: I am definitely narrating this! A group of ten hooded figures has just boarded Flori Mar’s pilot deck. Hands clasped in front of them. Faces hidden. From the looks of it they’ve even brought a smoke machine or some kind of weather imitator for added dramatic effect. Flori Mar faces them, pointing her gun at the center of the group.

FLORI MAR: What can you do to me? I’ve got your oxygen on lockdown! Timed to my pulse. You kill me and your air stops with my heart. Level A Hired Gun has those kinds of perks. Big catch, big pay, big protección. I’m 110% regulated. You want to put me to sleep and sack my ship, go ahead. I’ll wake up and I’ll get another job. 

EMCEE: The hooded figures do not respond, but advance slowly towards Flori Mar. More fog. Maybe they each have their own smoke machines? It’s a lot of fog. Very spooky. If it wasn’t clear, Listeners, Flori Mar is bluffing about the whole “oxygen timed to my heartbeat” thing. She has zero cards to play here.  

FLORI MAR: Listen, Messianics, I did you a favor losing your man to the Bunnies. You should be grateful. Whatever punishment you were gonna wreck is nothing compared to what the Bunnies are doing to him right now. Their fervor is something terrible. Copulating frenzy. Bunnies will screw your brains out. Fetuses growing out of your frontal lobe. I’ve seen it—I mean, I waved with someone who saw it. 

MESSIANICS: (singing in complicated, monastic, Auto-Tuned harmonies) We will put the fear of God in you! Errant Soul! 

FLORI MAR: I’m clean, space-droids. I can’t get the fear. 

MESSIANICS: You will fear Him that holds all universes in His mouth! You will supplicate to His abominable love!

FLORI MAR: Do you ever think that what you’re afraid of has already happened? Like maybe God already swallowed the universe and is digesting us, or is done digesting and we’re just mierda floating around the Coast—

MESSIANICS: Silence, fool! 

(Their multiple octave harmonies reverberate through the tiny ship. Flori Mar forces a yawn.)

EMCEE: The Messianics usually knock “heretics” out for a couple of weeks, and it seems Flori Mar is about to take a forced nap. Which means I get to go on vacation, at least a vacation from this job—as I said, I have, like, seven others. (Pause.) Wait, Listeners, just as events were about to become predictable, the line of ersatz-Druids parts. A hereto unseen, much shorter figure emerges from the smoke.

FLORI MAR: O! I’m quaking. I’m used to manipulation tactics, thank you very much. You show me some android negotiator with puppy-dog eyes and a head so big it’s about to topple them over and you think I’ll be on my knees begging to do whatever you tell me? I’m trained against Faux-Thrall and no imitation pipsqueak is going to break me. 

EMCEE: The short figure removes its cloak and Flori Mar immediately drops to her knees. This is stunning, Listeners! A real showstopper. 

FLORI MAR: (whispering) How old are you?

EMCEE: The figure, now revealed to be a girl, an actual Child, blows a big bubble and sticks her tongue in it. She smiles, and the scanner lights blink off her pink, green, and baby-blue braces. Even a jaded soul like mine melts at the aural shift from the Messianic’s electronically-perfected chorus to the sound of a Real Live Child chewing bubblegum-flavored bubble gum. It’s like hearing your own heartbeat after a solar storm. So safe, so distant. Not that you can hear a solar storm—I know space is silent. Believe me, I know. 

CHILD: You wanna know how old I am? I’m 38 and three quarters.

EMCEE: Flori Mar has dropped her gun and kneels before the child, kissing the deck around her feet. She cannot look directly at the girl. Listeners, as I’m only remotely observing this interaction, your trusted Madame of Ceremonies is in no danger of losing her objectivity to Child Thrall. Though this scene does remind me of the time I was waiting in line for Black-Hole Friday at the Galax-Plex on K-Moon and a group of Armed Bandits™ brought a Child with them. Absolute havoc: the workers opened the stores hours early and literally threw the most expensive items at the Child. Everyone in line bowed down in ecstasy and showered the Bandits with credits and calorie cards, myself included. For more stories like that, tune into my Twilight Confessionals channel—I forgot to mention that one before. 

But my attention wavers! Waiting for Flori Mar to get over her slobbering, the Child scratches her head with an all-consuming attention.  Even searching for lice she is riveting. Her curls a perfect halo. The glow of her skin giving off more light than any star. Yes, the Messianics have really found themselves a Child. Flori Mar is a goner.

FLORI MAR: Where did she come from?

MESSIANICS: (whispering, a little under-thrall too, now that the Child has revealed herself) She is ours. One of our own—

CHILD: You lying little comemierdas! You stole me! Pero like, whatever, I don’t even care. On the settlement they took me from, there were two other Children and everyone listened to them because they were both boys and claimed to be in their twenties, as if I believed them. With the Messianics here, I got it easy. These Gandalf freaks do whatever I say.

EMCEE: Flori Mar reaches to touch the child’s hair, slowly, uncertainly, like the first steps of a three-legged giraffe. The child smacks her hand. 

CHILD: Don’t touch me, pond scum. Do you know how long it takes to wash age-crust out of these curls? Worse than cooties. 

FLORI MAR: I’m so sorry. It’s just your hair. It’s like the purest orchid petals woven into coiled silk— 

CHILD: That’s a weird ass simile. Look, space marm, if on the very off chance you actually did have “our oxygen supply on lockdown” with an override “timed to your heartbeat,” you know we could override the override. 

FLORI MAR:—washed with heavenly nectar, tossed by the gentlest sea breeze—

CHILD: And if that failed, we can keep your heart beating for decades after we’ve extracted it from behind your shriveled, sagging boobs. 

FLORI MAR: Let me make a shrine to your radiance!

CHILD: Counter offer. How about you transport something for me? In exchange, the Messianics won’t report you to the guild for Bunny Baiting and defaulting on a deal.

FLORI MAR: Yes, yes, of course. I’ll do anything you ask. Just let me stay by you. Don’t leave me. 

CHILD: Whatever. Look, we’ll give you the goods at sun drop. You’ll take it to the Interior. Ye Olde Robèd Ones here will tell you the next steps when you need to know the next steps.

FLORI MAR: To the Interior? You mean through the Bunnies?

CHILD: Uh, yeah, mami. This isn’t some Coastline trash. This is a serious shipment. 

EMCEE: Flori Mar hesitates. The girl brings her gleaming face to Flori Mar’s and slowly blows a gigantic pink bubble. It pops on Flori Mar’s many-times-broken nose. 

CHILD: I thought you said you’d do anything for me?

MESSIANICS: (slowly, their crescendo building) We will take the girl from you! You will never see her again! (Breaking into multiple harmonies) Now that you have something to lose—now you are afraid! 

FLORI MAR: I’ll do it! I’ll do it!

EMCEE: The Messianics and the Child all turn to leave. The Child turns back, as if she’s forgotten something. 

CHILD: Here, you can have some of my lice.

EMCEE: Flori Mar catches the writhing dust flicked in her direction. She reverently brings it to her own head. The child disappears into the row of Messianics. They back slowly into the entry portal. (Airlock door opens.) I was right, they definitely have portable smoke machines affixed to their robes, which accomplish the double duty of creating ambiance and hiding their off-brand sneakers. Mental note, one of those would be quite useful for my late-night channel. 

FLORI MAR: Delivery’s at sun drop. That’ll give me just enough time to see Dulce. Wonder if she’ll be able to smell it on me. The fear. I know she’ll be pretty pissed about the new lice.

EMCEE: Still kneeling, Flori Mar licks her hand that caught the lice, then crawls towards the door, sniffing the spots on the deck where the Child stood. Flori Mar types in the course to Dulce’s Hub, then rolls around in the Child’s fading footprints. 

(Space Silence followed by Musical Interlude.)

INTERCOM: You understand all protocol? Anyone wishing to enter Dulce’s Palace of Wonders must first hand over all weapons. You must then wave link with Dulce, giving her the ability to immobilize you if you attempt any behavior not agreed on in the contract. I see you have made your payment for this month, but that this is an unscheduled visit? 

FLORI MAR: Yeah, yeah, I agree with the contract and all. I know I gotta extra pay to come last minute like this. But I need to see Dulce. Tell her I’ll pay. She knows I’m good. 

INTERCOM: Awaiting approval. 

FLORI MAR: O, that Dulce—takes a lot of scratch to keep her in fat squab, acai juice, and uranium-free water filters, all for just one visit a month, but it is worth it. (Sighs.) The thing with Dulce, she’s the cleanest of the clean. Just last year, I got in this bounty-hunter-double-agent-triple-cross mess. Short story—multiple factions on my tail and I came here looking for safe harbor. I didn’t have the money to pay for an unscheduled appointment. Basically, I was begging for asylum. Dulce wouldn’t hear of it. Turned me out. She said, and I quote, “Your next visit is not for two weeks.” I said, “I’ll be dead in two hours.” She cut off communication. She is cold. Freeze dried. It was her shutting the door that saved me. She showed me I could always count on something. That’s what keeps you alive out here. Being able to count on something. 

EMCEE: Listeners, you are in for a treat. Dulce is a several flights above Flori Mar in every way. Stylish, tasteful, very classy. Her quarters are lavishly decorated—most of the items acquired from patrons far more well-heeled than Flori Mar. She has relics of the Old Interior, built-in Plexiglas shelves, leather-bound books, shells from the Once-Ocean, a living-diamond iguana. She keeps her table set for one, but with a dozen utensils. Once, while Flori Mar was napping, I did a direct wave and Dulce gave me an I-Ching reading—at a fabulous discount—using an authentic set of ancient Royal Corgi Bones. Her insight gave me the strength I needed to maintain balance between my different streaming channels, my newfound gemstone hobby, and my most pressing personal concerns. In fact, I’m continuously at a loss as to why Dulce even accepts Flori Mar as a client. 

INTERCOM: Thank you for holding. Dulce is unavailable to see you at this time. 

FLORI MAR: What!? Wait, what? Wait, wait did you tell Dulce who it was? Did you say, Flori Mar La Mancha, Intergalactic Female, pilot of the one and only Rosiana has an urgent, dangerous delivery and needs to see Dulce now and if she doesn’t get to see her now, she might never be able to see her again?

INTERCOM: Yes. 

FLORI MAR: Are you sure? You said all that?

INTERCOM: Yes. Dulce is unavailable at this time. 

FLORI MAR & EMCEE: Noooooo!

(Wails crescendo. Musical Interlude.)

EMCEE: Back on her ship, Flori Mar stares at her control panel. The Messianics came with their package for delivery, but they didn’t bring the Child. That was quite the scene, Listeners, lots of slobbering from Flori Mar’s corner, too humiliating for even me to relate. Flori Mar, only partially recovered, plugs in the coordinates the Messianics gave her, which will point her ship straight towards the Interior and straight into the Bunnies. 

FLORI MAR: They say Child Thrall fades once the kid leaves a vicinity, but here I am on a suicide mission and I can’t to do anything to stop myself. 

EMCEE: Flori Mar walks over to the hidden hatch on the deck where she stashes contraband goods and where she hid the Messianics’ shipment. 

FLORI MAR: Usually I never want to know what I’m carrying. Ignorance is a customary part of contracts, but this trip is different. There’s a high likelihood I’m not coming back. 

EMCEE: Flori Mar readies her gun. 

FLORI MAR: I can’t imagine what those Messianics would have to send to the Interior. Thought they were kind of bottom of the barrel. But I guess they did find themselves a Child, so it shows what I know. One peek, just so I know what I’m getting into. Preparation is key. Huh, looks like this package has got itself a No Access Label.

EMCEE: Listeners, as you may or may not be aware, if Flori Mar breaks the No Access Label on the package, she’ll immediately give herself another one hundred years on her Locatable Status. 

FLORI MAR: There’s a cryogenic seal too. No, wait, it’s an off-brand cryogenic seal, a fake. Coño. That means if there’s anything organic in there, it’s either gonna rot or suffocate. Either way, it’ll stink up my ship.

(Seal pops: air hissing, ice cracking.)

EMCEE: Yep. There she goes.

FLORI MAR: What the—?

(A frosty bubblegum bubble thaws and bursts.)

CHILD: You just broke the seal, like totally broke it. Pero like, I’m kinda happy about it. I was getting so bored. I know you’re supposed to be frozen in those cryogenic packages, but I think I was only half-frozen. It was like I was sleeping and I had this dream that I could feel time passing. Second by second, I could feel my skin getting dusty and aging. It was so gross. Ok! Thanks for the entertainment, now seal me back up.

FLORI MAR: The thing is—the seal is fake. 

CHILD: What?

FLORI MAR: It’s not really cryo in there. It’s just kinda cold. And there’s not enough oxygen. 

CHILD: What do you mean?

FLORI MAR: If I put you back, you’ll die. 

CHILD: Mierda. 

FLORI MAR: You do look a little different—

CHILD: Shut up. 

FLORI MAR: I mean I can put you back, if you really want. It’ll be pretty painless, as deaths go.

CHILD: I said, shut up. You are being totally un-reverential. Ok. Plan B. I’m just gonna stay awake.

FLORI MAR: The whole time? The trip’s a couple of weeks. 

CHILD: Sleep ages you. 

FLORI MAR: Yeah—I mean, it’s just you look— 

CHILD: I’m cold. I was frozen. Get me a blanket! 

FLORI MAR: Here, here! Please don’t be angry with me. 

EMCEE: As she warms, the Child’s glow returns, and with it, Flori Mar’s inability to do anything other than grovel at her feet. This gets pretty repetitive, but the best part is that Flori Mar keeps intermittently kneeling while trying to go about the business necessary to fly her ship, as if she’s caught up in a very non-ergonomic line-dance craze. 

CHILD: This blanket smells and you look stupid crouched over like that. 

EMCEE: Flori Mar tries to straighten up, but every time she looks at the Child she involuntarily begins to kneel. Finally, she fastens herself a set of blinders out of old ration boxes. Once the ship is in order she sits with her back facing the child, fighting hard not to turn around. Despite these antics, it does seem as if her mission and Dulce’s refusal is beginning to, well, weigh on Flori Mar. She has that dullness she gets right before a week-long nap and she hasn’t made a pun in ages. 

FLORI MAR: Are you hungry?

CHILD: Yeah, right. Like I’d touch your scuzzy calories. 

FLORI MAR: It is a long trip. 

CHILD: Whatever. 

EMCEE: Flori Mar fiddles with her controls, momentarily transfixed by the Population Geiger. Yesterday, the Bunnies captured more converts—this time a transport of Ceramic Masons, who are useful to keep ships running, but have no sense of aesthetics, so not too many tears on that front.  

CHILD: This is boring. What’s your plan for getting through the Bunnies?

FLORI MAR: I haven’t figured that out yet. 

CHILD: Jeez. You are under. 

FLORI MAR: You’re the one who did this to me.

CHILD: I know how to undo it too. 

EMCEE: Flori Mar stills her fidgeting, slowly absorbing this information through what I can only believe are willfully-limited capabilities. 

FLORI MAR: Why are you the shipment? 

CHILD: I was bored. I wanted to see the Interior. 

FLORI MAR: You’ve never been?

CHILD: No! Why does everyone think all Children come from glamazon Central? I’m a Coastie like you. Although that is all we have in common. 

FLORI MAR: I was a Child once too. 

CHILD: What, like 40 million years ago?

FLORI MAR: Yeah, about that long. 

CHILD: Whatever. I’m never turning into you. Never. 

EMCEE: The Child disappears deeper into her reflective blanket until only her dark eyes and halo of curls is visible. The Bunnies’ ship begins to fill the viewfinder.

FLORI MAR: Look, I don’t know how we’re gonna get around those bastards. I’ll fly as fancy as I can, and there’s a chance, but it’s skinny. 

CHILD: Just wait. 

EMCEE: The Rosiana approaches the Bunny Colony. Their glistening white ships, dotted in beady red lights, bend and contort, preparing to swallow a new victim. (Rosiana’s warning system, a grating siren, goes off.) Flori Mar’s ship is heading towards a direct collision.

CHILD: Turn your siren off.

FLORI MAR: I’m not putting a muzzle on my ship. 

CHILD: Your ship isn’t a pet. It’s not alive. If it was, you would have accidentally killed it a long time ago. I know you can turn the alarm off. 

FLORI MAR: Wait, you listen to my show?

CHILD: Yes! It’s boring out here. Now, cut the alarm, it’s giving me a headache!

EMCEE: The Bunnies are closer still. No comforting space-black is visible, just the Colony’s bulbous white jaws, ready to absorb the Rosiana and convert everyone aboard to copulating frenzy. I know it’s in my contract to narrate everything of interest to you, my Loyal Listeners, but I’m not really looking forward to what’s going to happen next.  

FLORI MAR: I can’t believe you listen to my show! But if you do, then you know I’m not exactly great at evasive maneuvers. 

CHILD: Just turn off the alarm!

FLORI MAR: Fine, but you better be able to get me through this.  

EMCEE: The siren stops and a mausoleum silence fills the ship. The Child, wrapped in her reflective blanket, waddles over to Flori Mar. She types into the control panel. The ship moves towards the Bunnies until all you can see is the bubbling white of their ever-expanding colony. Like the edge of the Nub, but in reverse: a great, white mouth, a certain end. Listeners, this might sound gruesome, but I’ve always wondered what the Bunnies devouring and copulating sounds like, if—without the vacuum of space—we could hear the burps and gurgles, the screams and wrenching of steel. I suppose seeing it will be bad enough, but sometimes I can’t stand for another second how silent it is out here. It’s like my mother always said, no matter how much noise you make in your ship, you’re still in space, you’re still surrounded by an unimaginably huge, always-expanding silence. That is gruesome. And now, because of her dementia, my mother can’t stop saying that, which is extra gruesome. But at least I have my channels and my gemstones, and you, Listeners, who need my voice and won’t allow me to fall into interminable silence. Anyways! Farewell, Flori Mar, I will miss the measly calories that narrating your jejune existence provided! Cue outro music! 

(Outro music starts, then stops abruptly.)

EMCEE: Listeners, I can’t believe what I’m seeing! Rosiana is head-to-head with the Bunny Colonies, but the white globes of their ships are parting, their massive glaciers silently shifting. Rosiana is moving through them. No insatiable maws crash down on the ship, no tentacles drag her to oblivion. A breathless moment and now all that is visible before us are the distant stars of Central Space. Rosiana has passed through the Bunny Colonies and is on a direct route to the edges of the Interior!

FLORI MAR: What just happened? Why aren’t we dead? 

CHILD: Maybe it’s because I’m the chosen one and the future of the universe.

FLORI MAR: I don’t understand. We should be dead. 

CHILD: You so are out of it. It’s Easter, you bobo! 

FLORI MAR: What? 

CHILD: Easter! The one day of the year Bunnies always take off. I planned this! You never know what day it is. 

FLORI MAR: Why didn’t you just tell me? 

CHILD: Because it was more fun if you thought you were gonna die. I wanted to see how far you’d go.  

FLORI MAR: I didn’t even try to do anything to save myself. 

CHILD: And that’s something to sort out with someone other than me. 

EMCEE: The Bunny Colony still fills up most of the rearview panel, blocking the dark edge of space from sight. 

CHILD: I don’t think it would be so bad. To, like, be one of the Bunnies. It would make things simple. They know how it’s all gonna turn out. In the End. And you like that, don’t you? Simple, clean. 

FLORI MAR: I didn’t know you could catch much radio action out in the Nub.

CHILD: Most people can’t. But I got those Dungeon Masters to make me a bootleg Live-Listener. I get so bored.

FLORI MAR: I just sleep a lot. 

CHILD: I can tell. Sleep ages you. I try to never sleep. 

(Space Silence followed by Musical Interlude.)

EMCEE: Welcome back, Listeners! Flori Mar just took a several-days-long, much-needed nap, which you can thank me for fast-forwarding through. It was a literal yawn-fest. Check out my lunchtime stand-up for similar zingers! Now, Flori Mar has woken to find the Child standing right in front of her.

CHILD: You are so ugly when you sleep. I told you it totally ages you. Especially if you sleep while going this fast. It’s, like, quadruple-aging. 

FLORI MAR: You don’t look so hot yourself. 

CHILD: Excuse me?

FLORI MAR: O, no—I mean—it’s nothing, I just can’t see straight when someone’s so close to me. 

CHILD: At this distance, I should be blinding you with my radiance. 

EMCEE: The Child moves closer to Flori Mar until their noses almost touch. Flori Mar blinks and squints uncomfortably. 

CHILD: That’s better. Now make me some breakfast. 

FLORI MAR: I thought you didn’t want my scuzzy calories.

CHILD: It’s been a week!

EMCEE: Flori Mar fishes through her storage boxes for the most recent ration packs, polishes off a piece of scrap metal for a tray, covers it with her least oil-stained handkerchief. She’s moving as fast as she can, hampered by trying to keep her preparations secret from the Child, which is difficult, considering it’s a one-room ship and they’re five feet from each other at most. 

FLORI MAR: Did those Messianics treat you all right? I always thought they were pretty low down. 

CHILD: They treated me with utmost respect. Unlike you and your questions. 

FLORI MAR: Why did they let you go?

CHILD: More questions! Obviously, I escaped! I told them the shipment was in the CryoChamber, and then I got in it when they weren’t looking. I didn’t know the chamber was some off-brand cheapo that was gonna kill me! 

EMCEE: On a corner of the tray, Flori Mar places a small, handmade doll, fashioned of scraps of cloth, wire, and, is that, yes, ew, her own hair. She must have made it while I thought she was sleeping. I apologize Listeners, but I doubt a by-the-minute description of Coastie Arts and Crafts was worth any of our time. The Child pounces on the food, but eyes the doll skeptically.

FLORI MAR: That settlement where you were before, with the other Children, is that where you’re from?

CHILD: (Between mouthfuls) No. 

FLORI MAR: Where are you from then? You got folks anywhere?

CHILD: How did Dulce like you giving her my cooties?

FLORI MAR: She’s got enough of her own to destroy whatever wimpy mites you gave me. 

CHILD: Whatever, I know you didn’t get to see her. I know you begged and begged, but she was too busy to clear her schedule for poor, little Flori Mar. 

FLORI MAR: Chica, if you don’t want to talk personal, tell me about this drop. Or am I just transporting you to some Interior SpaFunLand?

CHILD: There is a package. 

FLORI MAR: Yeah, but what is it?

CHILD: I’ll tell you when you need to know. What I’m carrying is way too important to trust with someone like you. I mean, I already admitted I listen to your show, so I know the limits of what you can do and what you can’t. You can get me there, but that’s about it. You’re, like, totally not up for the rest of this job. 

FLORI MAR: That’s fine. I’ll get you there. 

EMCEE: The Child picks up the homemade doll on her tray. She’s braver than I am. 

CHILD: Is this creepy voodoo thing supposed to be me? Or is it supposed to scare me?

FLORI MAR: Um…

CHILD: Because it does not look like me. Do you think this is how I look? 

FLORI MAR: No, no. 

CHILD: Wait, is this how I look?

FLORI MAR: No! It’s just—

CHILD: What?

FLORI MAR: You are getting a little gray around the edges. 

(Tray, plate, and doll crash against the panels on the other side of the ship. Space Silence followed by Musical Interlude.)

EMCEE: A week later, and, thank the goddesses, I’ve finally had time to catch up on edits for my streaming channels—tune in next week—and give my gemstones individualized star baths—to be detailed shortly—all while on hold with the health insurance company, but I promised myself I wasn’t going to mention that part! Anyway, back on Rosiana, our Flori Mar awakes again to find the Child sitting at the edge of her bunk, still wrapped in the reflective blanket, her shrunken-doppelganger doll tucked under her arm. 

FLORI MAR: You been awake all this time? You look different. 

CHILD: You’re so stupid. 

FLORI MAR: Your voice, it sounds funny. 

CHILD: We’re almost to the Interior. 

FLORI MAR: That was fast. Did you put us in double-time? 

CHILD: I’ve programmed in your instructions and coordinates. I’m just gonna sit on the bed here. I’m not gonna sleep, I’m just gonna sit a little. 

FLORI MAR: Are you okay?

CHILD: Obviously not. 

FLORI MAR: You know, I remember reading somewhere that staying awake while you’re going this fast is really dangerous.  

CHILD: You read somewhere? Have you never left the Coast? 

FLORI MAR: No. I’ve never been past the Bunnies. Never mind. You look—

CHILD: I know what I look like. I said we’re getting near the Interior. I just. I thought I could see them one more time. When they could still recognize me, when I was still me. 

FLORI MAR: See who?

CHILD: Stop being stupid and do what I say. 

EMCEE: Flori Mar turns her back to the Child, peers at the instructions. 

CHILD: And don’t ask me any more questions. Just deliver what I tell you. 

FLORI MAR: I won’t ask you anything else. 

EMCEE: The Child places a small, worn cloth bag at the foot of her bunk. 

CHILD: Keep it safe and bring it to who I tell you. 

EMCEE: Flori Mar nods without turning around. The Child curls up in the bunk, covers herself entirely with the reflective blanket. A small hand holding a wad of pink bubblegum pokes out. She sticks the wad into a corner of the bunk above the pillow.

CHILD: (voice muffled through the insulating blanket) You know, there is something else I can show you.

FLORI MAR: What’s that?

EMCEE: The Child walks over to Flori Mar and leans in toward her ear. She’s whispering something, I can’t make it out. Bear with me a moment, Listeners, while I amplify the ship’s ambient speakers. The Child has retrieved a metal instrument from the folds of her reflective blanket. She stumbles slowly towards the control panel, Flori Mar watching her every move . . . Oyé! Now, wait just a second! I see what you’re doing! You little sinvergüenza! Don’t you—

————————STATIC———————

EMCEE: Listeners, my sincerest apologies for the unplanned interruption. Trying to get my bearings here, after the Child tampered with Flori Mar’s Locatable tracker and the ship’s recorders. Which is completely illegal! But you’ll hear no complaints from me, just uninterrupted entertainment, that’s what we promise at Live Auralic. Live Auralic: Bringing the Sound to Space! I’ve temporarily lost audio and visual, but I’m doing a work around. It might take a moment, this was not in my one-hour virtual training conference. But I’m gonna find that Flori Mar. I have waited too long to see the Interior. I want to see gold-infused infinity pools, shape-shifting orchards, multi-course meals of unspeakable decadence, and I want describe them all to you, the listener. It might come as a shock, but while yours truly might not be a hillbilly Coastie, I’m not a glittering Central either. Just a scrappy MidRouter, who works day and night on streaming channels no one watches, hoping to finally get enough subscriptions to be able to buy out of this life-long contract with Live-Auralic, get my elderly parents the medical care they deserve, sleep for a full night, and not have to follow a raving bounty hunter through the entirety of the galaxy. All I wanted was a tiny peek of something beautiful and the chance to describe it. Self-care and resume boost in one go. (Beep-beep-bo-beep.) And we’re back! I’ve got audio and visual. The Rosiana seems to have landed somewhere. Flori Mar’s standing near the airlock, holding a small bag. I’m switching between cameras, but I can’t find the Child. I think we might be about to lose visual again—

————————STATIC———————

(Muffled sound of wind, drifting sand, and indistinct voices coming from outside the ship.)

FLORI MAR: I guess anyone still listening has figured out that this is what happens when a Child goes to the Interior. Or returns, as the case seems to be. At least as fast as we were going. I think she thought it might happen, just decided to risk it. Nobody told me though. I never wanted to go to the Interior—never pulled me. What I wanted was to pay off my debt and have my Locatable legally extracted. Didn’t know what I’d do after, what I’d do if I was actually alone out here with no one watching or listening. Anyway, sorry for interrupting and tampering. I know you must be pretty lonely too if this is something you find worth spending your time listening to, but it wasn’t something I wanted you to hear. It isn’t something I wanted to see, but there’s nothing I can do about that.  

————————STATIC———————

EMCEE: Listeners, Flori Mar has control of the feed. She’s turning it on and off when she likes. I’ve got audio, but no visual. And I don’t know when I’m going to cut out again.

FLORI MAR: Who said that?

EMCEE: Who said what?

FLORI MAR: Are you the Emcee?

EMCEE: Have you always been able to hear me?

FLORI MAR: The kid, she messed with the speakers and cameras, she must have linked us. 

EMCEE: Where is she?

FLORI MAR: She said I’d only be able to cut the feed temporarily, but she must have messed something up, created a comm between us.

EMCEE: Where is she?

FLORI MAR: We were going so fast and she wouldn’t go to sleep. I guess she thought if she stayed awake, she wouldn’t get older.

EMCEE: Didn’t she know what would happen?

FLORI MAR: She was a kid. (Audio buzzes, begins to break up.) I’m sorry, but I don’t want you to see this.

EMCEE: Wait! Please don’t turn off the feed. 

FLORI MAR: I have to finish my job. I have to make the delivery. 

EMCEE: Let me go with you.

FLORI MAR: What? No, I’m not letting you record this. 

EMCEE: Please, I’ve been with you this whole time.

————————STATIC———————

(Theme song: Intro.)

EMCEE: Welcome, Listeners, to the live ranting and raving of Flori Mar La Mancha: Intergalactic Female! As always, your trusted Emcee is bringing you live and—well, this time, slightly-edited—content, all courtesy of Live Auralic Media. Live Auralic: Bringing the Sound to Space. (Theme song fades away.) I’ll catch you up to speed, Listeners. Flori Mar is back aboard Rosiana, reversing her journey, hurtling towards the darkness at the edge of space. After I made my deal with the devil, I linked into Flori Mar’s tracker as she went planet side. In exchange for not recording, I got full visual and audio. Sadly, there were no gold-infused infinity pools, no shape-shifting orchids, no orchids of any kind, and the only pools were pools of—

FLORI MAR: Let me tell this part. 

EMCEE: I just want to set the stage. You’re terrible with ambiance. 

FLORI MAR: Let me tell it. 

EMCEE: Ok, ok.

FLORI MAR: Yeah, so I, we—I mean me and the Emcee here—we went to the house that corresponded with the kid’s coordinates. Nothing like the images I’d seen of the Interior. Just a shack of scrap plastic. One side half-melted and intermixed with the sand, the other ready to blow away, join the trash tumbleweeds over the ridge. It looked—I don’t know what to say. It looked—

EMCEE: It looked like the Coast, like it could be anywhere. Like we hadn’t gone anywhere. In the distance there was a city or something, but that was far away. Flori Mar walked up to the shack.  

FLORI MAR: Yeah. Yeah, and in it were just these two old folks, real old, and a generator. I brought them the girl, wrapped in that silver blanket, kept her eyes closed. The man gave me a seat and I gave him his kid’s little bag. I knew by then that she’d been lying and that there wasn’t anything valuable or important to deliver. But I told him what she’d told me anyway. Just to complete the drop. The old man opened up the bag and reached inside. Brought out something smooth and hard, like words from someone you love. Or how you remember those words when you know no more are coming. What did he call it?

EMCEE: He said it was a seashell. A conch. 

FLORI MAR: A conch. Yeah, I remember seeing something like it once at Dulce’s. The old man put the shell up to his ear. Dulce would hold her shell that way sometimes too, but she never let me touch it. The old woman was heating protein tea on the generator. She stopped stirring and looked out the window at the shifting dust. The man handed the shell back to me. I thought, if I could, I’d bring all the sand in this little world back to the Nub and make an island, just for me and Dulce. All we’d do is sit, me and her, toes in the sand. I put the conch up to my ear and closed my eyes. The world became nothing but sound. 

(Theme song: Outro.)