The Mermoons of Mauravega

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Nearing the constellation of Lyra, the Old North Star, Vega, anyone could hear the thrum and throb of stars, even through my oxygen helmet. Is this the sound of the mythical harp, Lyra?

Orpheus played the harp of Lyra, more beautifully than anyone, the harp that performed many miracles. When he failed at winning back his love, Eurydice, from the Underworld, Apollo buried his magical harp with him. Even with the power of song and beauty, he died of a broken heart.

Greek mythology is so cheery; yet, what else is there to keep my mind active except routine ship maintenance and canteen drama? What brings me to such a journey on the Canaveral 240-Myrmidon to a land rumored full of strange life?

My story is that of Eurydice's, or Orpheus's, depending on your perspective. I left my boyfriend on Vega, System Marimo, Alpha Planetoid Maura. No, I didn't leave him. He left me. Not on purpose. He was swallowed whole into the unknown. With no signals. Into nothing.

The three planets in the system near my view, tiered and cantilevered like a grand mobile at my high-school's science fair. What is keeping anything in the balance? I squeeze my seat tight and my heart flutters, anxiety from childhood agoraphobia rising. I levitate but not from 0-G as anticipation draws me near. I remember reverse logic my therapist taught me to recite when anticipatory anxiety arises: "What is really keeping anything out of balance?"

I am smacked with awe at the swirling diatomaceous planets, with greens, purples, pinks, and oranges like metallic paint. Broken lands interspersed the watery continents. One planet is more purple, one more green, and one more blue like Earth, the farthest. The first stop is Alpha Planet Maura, the blue, where our signal first fell to the emptiness of our universe and took our beloved crewman.

"Where are you? Come to me! Don't let me die alone! If you let me die, don't let me do it ALONE!" Discordant memories in space time ripped through the mysterious harmonics surrounding Vega, (the phenomenon of which the cause is still unknown even in 2124).

The memory shook from view, but I couldn't stop shaking from Xavier's echo. Recollection won't help me save him, like he has saved me so many times. He is the first person who has actually treated me like a person.

I focused again on the thrum and throb of Lyra's celestial bodies, now all around me. The song of the sirens came closer as Canaveral neared the planets. Perhaps, it was just the hum of my respirator and the ship's environmental control regulators. I fooled myself to stay calm. When one is lost and panicked, the mind focuses more on beauty, the piercing orbs that shine through your soul, and the sacred silence. You notice everything and go into hyper-aware survival mode, but maybe it's also something else that keeps you imagining--the realization that it may be your last chance to notice these wonders, called mortal gratitude.

I may be conceited in comparing myself to reverse Eurydice; but, the story gives me the motivation of a god. Our training officer taught us that space gives humans a "god complex" and a psychologist, Adra, was sent aboard the Canaveral to make sure "god complex" doesn't interfere with our quests in other worlds. Adra has become my best friend. I don't see our relationship as work, or work-related.

"Aurora, Rory, Roars! I have something juicy to tell you!" She always gave me the down-low on the older veterans, not treating me too much like a kid, or too much like a genius to ogle at. She related to my disposition of being a child genius. I was recruited for NASA, interning at 16.

Now I'm 20, but I wish my life was parties, extracurriculars, and even crappy charging station jobs. Now I'm rescuing my only love from a maritime Underworld.

"Descending on Landmark Alpha-Base Continent Myrm-A." The intercom jolts me awake. I lock in my front, back, and side harnesses. A rover was prepared to meet us at base to transmit video to-and-from Earth. In ten seconds, the heat shield turned on as we freefell. Ten more seconds and we didn't know what happened.