The Last Cuentista: Chapters 1–7

She holds out a silver pendant in the shape of a sun. Its center is filled with a flat black stone. “If you hold it up to the sun, its light glows through the obsidian.”

A half hour of that time was filled with a speech from Dad, explaining to Javier and me how we needed to stop squabbling, be kind, and work hard.

Even three massive interstellar colonization ships meant for the exodus off Earth could get lost out here.

Chandeliers with Pleiades Corp’s signature color, royal purple, illuminating the faces of actors in fancy clothes, holding martini glasses and smiling as they stared out at a fake nebula.

A man with a voice like he gargled avocado oil each morning speaking over tinkling piano music: “Pleiades Corporation. Reimagining what you thought interstellar travel would be. Luxury living among the stars, reserved for the adventurous elite.”

My parents told me that chatter tracking showed too many fringe and conspiracy groups suspecting something was up out here.

At the opposite end of the field sits an exact replica of our ship. So far away, it looks half the size of the behemoth in front of us.

Mom glances furtively at the other family.

I took his hand in mine and rubbed my finger over his constellation birthmark, a smattering of freckles in the crook of his thumb, our silent message only he and I know.

I settled into his pillow, my head next to his, and we watched his African dwarf frog swim back and forth from the bottom to the top of the tank. With his lanky legs and webbed feet, he looked like a tomatillo with toothpicks jutting out of it.

“It’s sort of morbid,” Mom said. “One hundred and forty-six people, exactly the number of Monitors on each ship, is all it takes for humans to continue with enough genetic diversity in case the rest of us die.”

They were always posing some scientific hypothetical with each other for fun.

Imagine a world where humans could reach a consensus.

With collective unity, we can avoid conflict.

“Inconsistency and inequality are what have led us to such unrest and unhappiness. This collective effort ensures survival,” the man said.

Sometimes those who say things without really contemplating what it truly means…

That dogma runs a thin line.

“I guarantee at least Japan and New Zealand have a few leaving in the next few days. The question is whether or not they have a secret viable settlement too.”

Apparently, the guy who invented En Cognito (aka Downloadable Cognizance) bought his way onto the third ship by giving access to every passenger leaving Earth.

Its outer walls are made entirely of rounded glass, but a circular tube of dark metal encapsulates the glass walls.

Windows on one side of the elevator stare down into the cavernous body of the ship.

Billowing clouds drift across what looks like the real sky.

There’s no way that sprig is the tallest tree in the world.

“We’re leaving behind so many beautiful things. Bringing the offspring of something with such strength and resilience was the one thing that made the most sense to me.”

Mom’s smile falters a bit as Dad pats her back.

“Teen stasis room,” Ben says, motioning to an open door to our right. An empty row down the middle of the room is lined on each side with what looks like at least thirty white coffins with glass-domed tops.

Dr. and Dr. Peña, you’ll be on the fore- starboard of the ship. Your children will be housed on the aft-port.

“Wait, no one told us we were going to be separated.”
Ben turns back toward Dad, stumbling over his words. “It’s...it’s protocol.”

He lowers his voice, and his tone shifts like he’s already said the exact words a hundred times that day: “En Cognito’s downloadable cognizance puts the organs and brain to sleep immediately. The gel preserves tissue indefinitely, removing senescent cells and waste. It not only provides nutrients and oxygen the body will need for such a long stay in stasis, but lidocaine in the gel numbs nerve endings, making the gel’s colder temperature comfortable upon awakening.”

At least I won’t have to actually “listen” to the lectures, since the En Cognito device that puts us to sleep is also programmed to embed those topics directly into our brains.

My body feels like it’s held together by strings that are splitting and fraying inside me.

Just like with Javier, the ropes cinch around my head, waist, and feet, holding me steady.

“En Cognito’s Cogs are bio compatible,” Ben says.

It gouges into my skin like a jagged rock.

Ben’s words are garbled, but I still hear them.

Deep thumping now reverberates like someone hammering on the shell of a shuttle-port.

Suma’s hyperventilating halts abruptly.

“Confirm pod bases locked,” Ben says.
Another beep. "Confirmed. Bases locked for takeoff and flight mode.”

“Vitals down. Brain function intact.”

At what must be close to Ben’s bedtime, I hear the distinct chime of a librex opening.