A Spacewoman Came Travelling
Hope.
It was the last thought of the spacewoman as her craft spun out of control and plunged downwards, taking Joy with it.
Below was the source. The root of the problem that had seemingly taken hold of all the universe. The anchor tied to the feet of jubilation as it tried fruitlessly to crawl uphill but was instead dragged inexorably backwards towards the pit of gloom.
But perhaps, just perhaps this was the one place the problem could be resolved. And even as she spiralled closer to the surface, the spacewoman couldn’t help but cling to that one thing that kept her going, the inspiration for being here and trying against all odds to overthrow whatever great power had its lethal grip tightly clenched around the very throat of all things gleeful.
Hope…
***
The engine was dead: the only sound breaking the enveloping silence was the light flutter of snowflakes as they hit the warm spacecraft, solemnly joining it in its demise. Yes, there was no doubt whatever about it; the condition of the ship was one of two major things that Joy noticed upon waking up. The other being that she had made it. She had arrived.
Outside of the cracked window, Joy observed a frozen planet. The ship had crash-landed awkwardly, with the rear end plunged into several feet of snow, and she had awoken at first to find herself staring upwards, straight into a sun. Instinctively, she had squinted before realising that this planet’s sun was much further away than the one she was used to seeing from her own home planet, and besides this, it was veiled behind a thick cluster of clouds, from which the snow fell with grief, like a mourner at a funeral throwing white flower petals before a coffin.
When she looked below this, Joy saw a cold and barren landscape, rolling white hills surrounding patches of forest filled with leafless trees too frozen to sway in the frigid wind that sent the snowflakes crashing quietly to the ground. She let out a few quick gasps of air and watched as it escaped her and joined the smoke soundlessly rise from somewhere on board.
The radio.
Reaching towards the console, Joy found the small, rectangular radio and glanced at the screen. Seventy-eight per cent charged. No signal. Could be worse. She unbuckled herself from the driver’s seat and carefully slid out of it, wincing in sudden pain from her ribs and right arm. Glancing outside once more, she felt glad that she’d thrown on her winter coat and gloves, but wondered if it would be enough; this planet looked cold beyond anything she’d experienced back home. Placing the radio in her pocket and walking behind the chair, she fumbled and found the handle to the door, then pulled it before stepping cautiously outside.
The freezing air hit her like an icy thump to the chest. She sharply drew in a breath followed by several gasps of cold, shaking exhales. Climbing down the steps of the ship, her feet eventually found the snow and sank into it. She clumsily flopped forwards as she disappeared almost waist-deep into the snow, her hands racing out in front of her and landing in the cold matter. Catching her breath, she scrambled to an upwards position before wading with great effort towards a small hill with a single, lonely tree at the top; an oyster in a vast white sea of desolation.
Reaching the foot of the hill, Joy clutched on to the roots of the tree and pulled herself upwards, out of the deep snow and underneath the leafless branches where she now sat and brushed the lumps of snow from her trousers, shaking with the raw chill as she did. When she was finished, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the radio. Her heart leapt to discover that it had now found a small signal.
‘Come on, come on…’ she whispered as her gloved fingers pressed the buttons on the device. The screen flashed a single word:
HOPE
Joy raised the radio high above her head and watched with anticipation for the radio’s next move. When it came, her heart sank further into coldness than her ship had:
OUT OF RANGE
‘Damn!’
Joy felt like throwing the radio away in frustration, but clutched on to it tightly as she leaned against the bark of the tree and looked at her stolen spacecraft as it sent smoke upwards through the snowflakes and disappeared into the cloudy sky. She crossed her arms around her body and clenched tightly. She would have to move. But in which direction? The radio was of no use and she knew nothing of this place. Which way was north? And even if she knew that, how would this help her? Would her Sense work in a place like this?
She decided to sit and think. Think about what it was that led her here in the first place. About her search for the cure to this… this epidemic of grief and despair.
She closed her eyes.
***
Joy was born into a universe that had begun to give up on itself. It had been happening for years, but nobody could say precisely how many. For a long time, people had begun to be… sad. It was the only way to describe it. Despair took the place of happiness everywhere, and for the lengthiest of times, nobody spoke of it. Friends wouldn’t dare to console one another, family members watched on quietly as their loved ones became dejected and despondent, preferring their own lonely company over spending happy time in others’ comforting presence.
By the time anyone began talking about it, it was already too late; people noticed this sudden grip of sadness that was affecting everyone they knew – but they didn’t care. Most had become so filled with sorrow that they cared very little about anything any more. People had forgotten the things that used to make them happy. Smiles became so rare that they looked as though they belonged to another world altogether, somewhere that spirits still shined as brightly as the light from the stars, a place of unfathomable contrast to the grim, stark world that they knew.
Children were also rare. Joy belonged to one of the very last generations of people and she had been named bravely by her parents, who had no doubt held on to hope somewhere in their sunken hearts. Joy was the name given to her at birth, and it was long remarked that she might have been the very last thing in the universe to have been named so.
But even so, there were times of happiness in Joy’s life; moments that would warm her heart like a close and loving embrace. Though she mostly had to find these herself. She found glee in simple things – the rolling of a ball down a flight of stairs, the taste of fresh berries, the minute but nonetheless ever-present twinkle in the eyes of those she managed a smile for. Most of all, she enjoyed the singing of birds. Joy and her parents lived in the second-largest city in all of Gylfandell, a technical metropolis which, in normal times, would never cease with the hustle and bustle of electric cars, space shuttles, and factories puffing fetid black plumes of smoke into the air. However, when the people had begun to withdraw into their disheartened states of despair, the city grew quiet and the birds came out again. Many areas of the city become overgrown with plants and weeds of all description, and Joy had found it bleakly beautiful; nature had begun to take over, and with it came the birds. Their joyful songs were the cheeriest things in her life, and Joy loved it.
At the age of five, knowing little else about the world and what it had been like before this dimming of all things happy, Joy had no reason to be alarmed when her parents stopped talking. The last thing she could remember hearing from her father was the announcement of news which should have been exciting, but was said with all the cheer of a visit to a graveyard:
‘You’re going to have a sibling. A little sister. Or a brother. We don’t know yet.’
And for the next few months, Joy watched with fascination and the purest of youthful exhilaration as her mum’s tummy got bigger and bigger. She would place a hand on it as her mother slept and feel the baby kick, and a tear would form in her eye as she imagined this little person come into her life and share all the goodness that was still around, the beauty that the world still had to offer which they would surely notice if only the adults would look for it – open their eyes and just see it in front of them, hear the birdsong and taste the berries. Laugh, play and live.
And although she was only small, and didn’t understand things the way the grown-ups did, Joy felt a great conviction in her heavy heart that her parents were missing all of this. They were missing the excitement of a new baby on the way, and they knew nothing of the overjoyed anticipation of their firstborn, who dreamed of nothing else but her unborn little brother or sister and the return of her parents’ happiness.
Joy could remember nothing of her parents’ voices after the birth of her little sister. They had become withdrawn and muted. She remembered being home with her mother one evening, about a year after the child was born. Her mother held the infant as she slept and Joy’s heart greatly desired to take her in her own arms, but she dared not ask. It had been gently snowing that evening, and Joy had gone sledging by herself. She’d wondered if her sister might have enjoyed it. Perhaps she was still too little. She watched her sister now as her little belly expanded and then quickly sank. She was so small. So delicate. So in need of love and support. And she had it. Didn’t she?
‘Mum?’ Joy had piped up. Her mother hadn’t answered.
‘Mum?’ She tried again. ‘Can I hold her? My little sister? Can I hold… Mum? What’s my sister’s name?’
And through the many weeks and months of silence meeting that very question, Joy had slowly realised that her parents never had named the child.
When Joy was eight years old and her little sister was three, their parents disappeared. It had been a dull day; the smog which had once filled the city skyline had almost completely vanished some time ago and looking upwards, Joy could often see the sun peak through the grey clouds. But the day her parents left, the sky had been filled with nothing more than a dark canopy. Joy had been rolling a ball towards her sister, who gladly took it and gently rolled it back to her with a faint smile on her face.
She’s still okay, Joy had thought then. Whatever darkness it is that’s taken hold of our parents and everyone else in this city hasn’t touched her. Not fully. Not yet…
‘I’m going out,’ a low voice had called, and Joy had jumped, startled, for she had long been accustomed to silence in the house but for her and her sister. She glanced up from the ball. It was her father. He already had a hand on the front door and was swinging it open when Joy had spoken up.
‘Where are you going? Where’s Mum?’
Her father didn’t look at her. His eyes lulled downwards and he stared at a part of the floor between his two daughters. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, and then he was gone.
When neither of them had returned that evening, Joy had tried to comfort her sister as she wept and called for her parents. At first, nothing could calm her, but eventually the child’s cries quietened and Joy knew in her heart that this was not due to the care she had shown her sister, nothing to do with the warm hugs and the assurances that everything would be fine. No, her sister had ceased crying because she had begun to understand. To understand that her parents were gone and that things wouldn’t ever be the same again. There was no point in crying, no point in begging for things to change.
It’s begun in her now too, Joy had realised with anguish. There is nobody safe from this dreadful plague.
Once her sister was fully quiet and began to close her eyes, Joy told her a story, memorised long ago when stories had still meant much to more people. It was the story of Suree, the mouse who lived on the third moon and was visited by a little girl. Joy used to love the story, and when her mother had stopped telling it and seemed to have forgotten all about it, she’d known that she would have to keep it alive and safe somewhere in her heart. Because she couldn’t let a thing like that die.
When she’d finished the story, blown out the candle beside her sister’s bed and quietly crept towards the door, a little voice stopped her.
‘Joy? Are you going to leave me too?’
And with a tear in her eye, Joy had turned to face the darkness that had hidden her little sister and said: ‘No. Never.’
Closing the door behind her and wiping at her face, Joy had made a decision.
Hope. That’s what I’ll call her. I’ll name my little sister Hope. Goodness knows we all need it. And I need her most of all.
***
On the frozen planet, Joy was awoken by a loud beeping sound.
The radio!
Her cold fingers fumbled then gripped the device tightly as she read the message on the screen:
HOPE CALLING
I have signal!
She nearly pressed the wrong button in her alarm. Her hands felt stiff from the bitterness, despite being underneath the thickest and warmest gloves that Joy owned. Pressing the correct button now, she awaited the voice of her sister.
‘Hello? Hello? Joy? Can you hear me?’
‘H-Hope!’ Joy stuttered. ‘Yes, yes I can hear you!’
‘But I can’t see you,’ Hope said. Joy looked at the screen. In place of her sister’s face was nothing but a dark box with LOW SIGNAL scrawled across it.
‘No,’ Joy said. ‘There’s not enough signal here. I’m too far away…’
‘Where are you?’ Hope asked. Her voice sounded anxious.
‘I’m…’ Joy began. She didn’t know what to say. How could she describe it? How could she even begin to explain to her sister? ‘You know how I said I think found the source?’
‘Yeah…’ Hope’s anxiety was slowly becoming alarm.
‘Well, I came to find it,’ Joy said.
There was a moment’s silence before Hope spoke into her radio again. ‘What do you mean? You said the source was on another… on another planet. Nobody would take you to another planet.’
‘No,’ Joy agreed. ‘They wouldn’t.’
‘So how…’ Hope began. ‘Joy, you need to tell me what’s going on!’
Full-out panic now. Joy’s heart broke to hear her sister sound so desperately flustered.
‘Listen,’ Joy said as calmly as she could, but failing to keep her voice from shaking a little. ‘It’s going to be okay. I took a ship and I just went. I know I can find the source of all of this, and I can fix it.’
‘How do you know that?’ Hope questioned, and Joy could hear that she was trying to hide the fact that she was quietly sobbing. ‘You don’t even know what’s making everything go all horrible!’
‘I’m pretty clever,’ Joy said softly. She smiled as she spoke now, hoping that the smile would perhaps come through in her voice. ‘They let me work at the observation department and I’m not even twenty yet, remember? I’ll work it out.’
Joy’s smile was destroyed when Hope spoke again:
‘But you said you’d never leave me.’
She went silent. She turned her head away from the radio in fear that Hope may sense her big sister’s total anguish. How did Hope remember this? The night their parents left them flashed through Joy’s mind like a deep cut that refused to heal.
She wanted to tell Hope that she hadn’t left her. That she had come to this planet and that she would fix everything really quickly. And even if she couldn’t fix anything she’d hop back on the spacecraft and zip back to Hope by tomorrow afternoon. No damage done.
Except the engine is dead. No chance of repair. You’re likely stuck here forever. Better to accept it now. Better to just –
She had never lied to Hope and she wouldn't start now. But she didn’t want to destroy her either. So what to say?
‘Hope…’ Joy began. ‘I…’
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The signal was lost.
‘No!’ Joy cried. ‘No, no, no! Come on, come on!’
She shook the radio and held it high above her head, pointing towards the direction of the now setting sun. It was no use. The signal was gone for now. Perhaps it would be best to move. But where?
The Sense.
It was the only thing that might help Joy now. Hope had always been fascinated by it.
When did you first realise you had it?
Oh, I suppose I’ve always known, in a way.
What does it feel like?
Nothing, really. You just sort of feel like going in a certain direction and you… just go.
And it always leads you to a memory?
No, not always. Sometimes you’ve no idea why you’ve been led to a certain place.
Did Mum and Dad know you had the Sense?
No. They had already gone by the time I fully knew.
The Sense. They said that one in a thousand people on Joy’s home planet had it. It was a peculiar thing. Something that, up until now, science had no explanation for. Those with the Sense often felt a pull. They felt drawn to a place of apparent importance to them. Joy often found that she would lose her keys and yet know exactly where to look for them. Once, when Hope was six years old she had wandered off in the middle of a busy Gylfandell, and Joy had known exactly where she’d find her – three streets down in front of an abandoned building that used to be a bakers. She’d always known where to be, and where to find things. It was part of the reason she’d found herself here now, on this frozen planet in search of the very thing that had caused so much despair in the universe.
And with the Sense came that ever more strange ability. The one Joy had to concentrate a little harder on, but provided astonishing results. Joy was able to experience other people’s memories. Live and experience them as though they were her own. Mostly this would happen when the person was there, standing in front of Joy. But sometimes she could experience the memories of those who had simply been around a certain place. Joy thought that the memories she saw in this way were some of the most powerful. Left behind and stuck somewhere, refusing to leave like a heavy rock at the bottom of a still pond.
But could she use her Sense here, on this frozen planet? It was certainly worth a try.
Joy pocketed the radio and closed her eyes. She thought about why she was here. She thought about her little sister, Hope in name and all else. She would be happy again. The darkness would do no further damage to her. Her spirits would be lifted and happiness would ring out across the universe once more. If only she knew what was stopping it now. If only she knew where to find that cause of it all…
And there it was. A slight pull to her left.
Across that deep snow and up the hill?
Yes. The Sense almost spoke to her – whispered its advice secretively, as though trying to conceal the information from unfriendly ears. She looked in the direction it was telling her to go and she saw something – movement in amongst the gentle flutter of the falling snow.
A bird. The first sign of life.
It was very small. Brown with a red breast and a yellow beak. It flapped its little wings animatedly and sailed straight towards Joy, who instinctively held out her hand to the creature. With a small tweet, the bird happily flew straight to Joy’s outstretched hand and sat there to look up at her, turning its heard to and fro.
Joy couldn’t help but smile. ‘Why, hello there.’
The bird twittered a little more before moving its head and pointing its beak towards the very place that Joy had felt the pull.
‘You want me to go that way too, eh?’ Joy said. ‘Well alright, but I’m holding you responsible if it’s the wrong way.’
The bird made no sound, but tilted its head to the side as if in protest.
‘I’m just kidding,’ Joy chuckled. ‘Are you coming with me then?’
Joy couldn’t help but marvel as the bird appeared to understand what she had said; it flew from her hand and towards the snowy hill where it began circling, seemingly waiting for Joy to follow.
‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ Joy said, and she followed the bird through the deep snow and up the hill. It was a laborious task; the snow here was once again waist-deep, thinning out as she climbed higher but becoming more slippery here. Joy had to throw her arms out in front of her on more than one occasion to stop herself from plummeting face-first into the snow.
The bird had now perched itself on the bare branch of another tree at the top of the hill, and now watched with interest as Joy trudged through the snow and made her way to the top.
When she’d reached the summit, Joy’s breath was taken away.
A village. A little village made up of several small, wooden houses with triangular sloped roofs. Many of them had been overcome by the snow and buried underneath, their chimneys poking out from below like a submarine’s periscope. It looked completely abandoned, and Joy thought that it must have been this way for some time; great clumps of snow had now invaded parts of the village that must have been paths long ago. Not one of the houses emitted a light of any sort, and several unlit lanterns hung frozen all around. And much further away from the last house, perhaps a mile or so, a great and solitary mountain stood, watching over the village like a broad sentry.
‘Wow,’ Joy breathed to herself. ‘Look at this place. But where is everyone?’
She felt a light tap on her right shoulder, and looking around she saw that the bird had now joined her, perched on her shoulder as the pair of them looked down the hill to this quiet, lonely place. A light wind whistling through the branches of the trees and darting around the wooden houses below was all that Joy could hear. She felt as though the wind itself pointed to ancient memories from long ago, too miserable and despairing to consider. And yet she now made her way slowly down the hill and towards the settlement, hoping that perhaps if she found the right memory hidden somewhere within this place, it may lead her to what she was looking for.
The bird flew off again. It fluttered alongside her, occasionally landing softly on top of the snow, much too light to sink into it and leaving delicate footprints beside Joy’s wide trudges. Joy shook with the cold as she waded onwards, keeping her eyes fixed on the centre of the village and hoping that there may be a place where she might dry off a little. As she approached what she thought was the first of the wooden houses, Joy spotted one of the small chimneys in front of her and realised that she was already on the roof of one. The bird perched on top of the chimney and chirped at Joy.
‘Yeah, yeah, I know,’ Joy said in reply. ‘I’ve come a silly way. If I tread softly enough I should be fine, though.’
She carefully walked past the chimney and set one foot gently down at a time, allowing it to sink deep enough into the snow that she was able to lift the other leg and plough forwards. She continued in this way until she moved past the first set of houses buried in snow and into an area of the village that wasn’t so covered. Here, walking was easier, and Joy spotted a large building with a wooden cart beside it. Inside the cart were several thick logs, the snow on top of them making them look like some sort of iced cake. Many more wooden logs were gathered in neat piles here and there.
Perhaps an old lumberjack’s cabin, Joy thought.
The door to the cabin was raised out of the deepest parts of the snow by a front porch. Joy walked over to it, tried the door and found dishearteningly that it was locked. Peering through the glass panel of the door, she could make out very little through the darkness inside, besides some candles that had been placed by the door.
The bird, who had been sitting happily on the raised wall of the porch, chirped once again and flew off towards another of the houses, circling around it and whistling for Joy’s attention.
‘That one?’ Joy queried. ‘If you say so, little one.’
Before she left the cabin, Joy felt a sudden but soft memory come to her. It was not strong or detailed; simply a feeling. A feeling that a happy family had once lived here, but all that lingered now was a mournful shadow of things that might have best been forgotten.
On her way towards the house the bird was circling, Joy observed more about the village. Many old lanterns hung from long ropes that had extended house-to-house through large parts of the place. They were an assortment of faded colours and now hung ice-covered and crestfallen in the emptiness. Many of the houses had painted models of various animals sitting in the snow beside them. Joy spotted what looked to her like deer, rabbits, squirrels and more birds. Beside many of these, a tree had been placed, decorated with coloured wooden balls and wrapped with brilliant pieces of silver and golden materials. At the top of many of these trees sat a silver star. And in the very centre of the village stood the biggest tree of them all, partly sunken but standing tall and grandiose, decorated in much the same way as all of the others.
Perhaps there had been some sort of festival or celebration here, Joy thought. Must have been a long time ago.
Reaching the house she’d been walking towards, the bird fluttered down and sat softly on Joy’s shoulder as she reached for the door handle, turned it and found that she could swing the door open easily. The sun had almost fully set now, and darkness enveloped the inside of the house. Yet, Joy knew exactly where to look. To the side of the door was a small cabinet and on top of this, a lantern. Reaching down below, Joy pulled open a drawer and found a box of matches. She lit the lantern.
She was thankful for the light, but ever more grateful for the warmth coming from it. She shut the front door behind her, hoping to keep much of the warmth inside, and held the lantern close to her. Looking around, she saw a neat house, but nothing lavish. Mostly everything was made from wood, besides an old-fashioned iron kettle and a stone fireplace.
Fireplace!
Joy immediately made her way to this and saw that there was much fresh wood to be used. Having little experience in making fires herself, she didn’t know what to do quite yet, but her Sense once again whispered to her, and a fire was going before too long. Joy found a comfortable chair and pulled it towards the fireplace. The bird, who had been watching Joy curiously from afar, now swooped over to her and sat on her lap beside the glowing fire.
‘You like that?’ Joy asked. ‘I thought you’d be used to this cold.’
Joy removed her gloves before pulling the radio out of her pocket. Her hands were red. She looked at the screen.
SEARCHING FOR SIGNAL…
Give it a few moments, she thought. It may find something.
She looked down at the bird on her lap. Its eyes were half-closed and it sat as still as undisturbed water. Its red breast and yellow beak made it look very similar to a type of bird from Joy’s home. Her favourite, in fact. Once the birds had started coming back into the city, the red-breasted ones were among those who had sung the merriest and lifted Joy’s spirits. She had never known what they were called; asking her parents had proven futile, and she hadn’t known where else to look for this information.
‘Why did you lead me here, then?’ Joy asked the bird. It looked up at her inquisitively, but made no sound. ‘Is there something important here? Did you know whoever lived here?’
Joy pondered this as she begun to feel light-headed. She sunk deep into the chair and slowly began to close her eyes. She could feel it coming. It was very strong. There was memory here, yes. Vivid, powerful memory. And it may have been just what Joy was looking for.
She closed her eyes fully and let the memory take her.
