Lost to the Language

   You look out the window and, not for the first time, think about how wrong the forecast had been. Not that you’re complaining; the more trash in the skies, the more excuses you have for going Out.

   A vibration at your wrist makes you tear your eyes away from the copper colored landscape. The green light blinks spastically as though mimicking your heart rate. Excitement rushes through you at the sight. Looking out over the sandy hills one last time, you let a wild grin grow across your face before pushing yourself off the wall and over to the closet. You go into auto polite as you tug on the tight shirt that settles snugly against your ribs and small chest. Next come the once white pants that are two sizes too big. You try to pose in the mirror and convince yourself that they’ll stay up, but that only makes them slip right back down your legs. Rolling your eyes, you grab extra cloth and wrap it tightly around your waist and into a messy knot. Using the rest of the wrap on your arms and neck, you double check to make sure the burn on your arm is still visible. Sand that was trapped in the fabric now scratches against your skin, making you bounce in anticipation. Most complain about how the stuff never comes out, but you’ve never seen how anyone couldn’t absolutely love the feeling.

   The feeling of utter freedom.

   Tucking your long, white hair under your shirt, you stride into the tunnel, shutting the door behind you. Letting your eyes roam the hall, your hands trace the veins of frozen water embedded in the brown rock. You don’t think you’ll ever get over the beauty of your home. The ice spirals along the hall, casting dancing light onto the brown stone and your pale skin. Ocasional doors lay open as you pass, and you can’t help but peek in at the sights. Most are just holding rooms with piles among piles of dirty scrapes from Out that have been deemed useless. Others have sparks spewing from the openings, blocking your curious vision.

It’s a quiet morning, which isn’t surprising; there’s really no point in getting up before midday. Before that, there’s not enough light to get through the tunnels without smacking into somebody. Even now you find yourself squinting through the darker parts of the hall. The little ones always try and sneak out around this time, but their tries always end in bloody noses and a scolding. You used to be one of these kids, after all.

   You’ve had quite the upgrade since then.

   Those you do pass look at you with wide, dilated eyes. Many find themselves staring at the intricate burn that you show off on your arm. Some even give you respectful nods and widen the space between you. This only makes you lift your head higher and stand straighter to your full, towering height. One, however, has never treated you with such esteem. He also happens to be stumbling backwards out of one of the doorways, pinwheeling his arms madly through the air while cursing quite fluently at whoever’s in the room. You catch him with one hand to steady him. At first the boy shoots you an ungrateful and embarrassed look, then does a double take when he recognizes you.

   “Heya Kit,” he grins, pulling himself out of your grip. You look down and smile at him even though you cringe at the old nickname.

   “Heya Marlo,” you reply.

   “Didn’t ya get the call?” he asks, tilting his head up to you and crossing his arms. Clearly he’s already forgotten all about why he practically fell into the hall.

   “That’s where I’m headed,” you say, gesturing down the hall.

   “Jupiter’s Moons, it seems like we’re getting called Out more and more frequently.” Marlo shakes his head.

   “We’re getting called Out?” you snicker.

   He raises his hands in surrender, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re the Hopper, I’m the Sparker. My job is just as important, mind you.” Marlo sticks out his chest to prove how tough he is.

   “Oh, right, I’m sorry. I forgot that staying inside took such courage,” you say sarcastically, making Marlo roll his eyes.

   “Get your legs back in here, Marlo! You’re not done yet,” a voice calls from inside the doorway. His black eyes widen, and he grabs your arm.

   “Heya! I gotta meet up with Captain before she kills me,” you protest.

   “You’ll be fine; she loves you. Besides, you’re always late anyway.”

   “I’m always late because of you.”

   “You’re welcome.” You close your eyes against the bright flashes of fire and screens as you’re forced through the room. Marlo pulls you past tables full of half constructed machines, many of which have red stains streaked across one side or foreign scribbles marking them up. A female, short for her gender, is pushing her way towards you and Marlo with the anger of the sun on her written in her eyes. She steps into our path and points a finger right in Marlo’s face, making him bend backwards to avoid her nail.

   “What are you thinking, Marlo? No Hoppers are allowed in here!” the female yells despite her close proximity. You recognize her as the voice that called your friend back inside, and, judging by the poorly hidden fear on Marlo’s face, this is also the girl who threw him into the tunnel.

   “She’ll be out before you know it, Tarel,” Marlo promises. “She’s just gonna help with the translation. She’s a nerd for that kinda stuff.” When the girl doesn’t look convinced, Marlo adds, “This is Kathra. You know, the youngest Hopper recruit in history?”

   “I know who she is; I didn’t grow up in the Out,” Tarel scoffs. “Rules are rules.”

   “Yes, but what are rules for if not to be broken?” Marlo asks with a grin and pulls me past Tarel with a flourish. The girl practically growls, but doesn’t argue further. The three of us make our way to Marlo’s messy table where a screen takes up most of the space. Pushing stray wires and scraps out of his way, Marlo leans forward to get a better look at the screen before pointing at a section of wiggly lines.

   “That. What does that say, Kit?” You lean next to him, eyes tracing over the alien language that you’ve grown to love. Though you’d never admit it, you almost became a Sparker just to be around it more. You grab a scrap and ink and start to translate the squiggles. It only takes you a handful of moments, and when you hand the scrap over to Marlo you notice the shocked expression on Tarel’s face. Marlo gives you a proud nod, which is all you need to start blabbing.

   “They’re numbers; that’s why you couldn’t translate it,”you start. “Most of the language is composed of ‘letters,’ which is what they use to communicate. See those lines there? And there? Those are letters. But they also use numbers, which are used as measurements. It’s how they make sense of Nature’s laws and stuff.” You stop when you realize that most of the room is staring at you now. Tarel seems to notice this too and has a sour reaction. Marlo just winks and slips a small rectangle into your hand before Tarel starts shooing you out of the room.

   “See you in your ear, Kit!” Marlo shouts after you. This only makes Tarel go into an even worse mood, which is how you find yourself being shoved out the door. You roll your eyes at the female, but smile at Marlo’s words. You’re going Out. But the smile falls as quickly as it starts.

   Oh moons. You’re going to be late.

   Sprinting down the tunnel, you mutter apologies at the startled people you pass. You try to calculate how long you were with the Sparkers, but time always seems to slip past you when you talk about language.

Captain is going to have your head.

Tucking Marlo’s present under your arm wrap, you lengthen your strides as the ground starts to slope upwards. Not soon enough do you see a group of females dressed in similar clothing gathered at the end of the hall. They all have burns on the sides of their arms, some more intense than others. Coming to a stop at the back of the group, you quietly try to catch your breath. It’s no use. Captain is already speaking at the end of the tunnel, and she gives you a look before continuing her spiel.

“We have approximately five new disturbances in the area. You are to jam and bring them back to the tunnels before midday. We will keep the storm up as long as possible, though I warn you not to stray too far today. The machines haven’t had enough time to fully recharge since yesterday, so we are unsure how long we will be able to cover you. Keep your ear pieces on at all times so your Sparkers can update you on the nearest sites. Understood?”

“Understood, Captain,” you say in unison with the other Hoppers. She nods and steps aside, allowing the group to go Out one by one. You glimpse the dust storm now raging outside thanks to the Sparkers. Adrenaline starts to course through your veins, making you bounce on your toes. This is what you were meant to do.

You’re the last one in line, so it’s no surprise that Captain stops you before you can make it through the door. Disappointment still pulls at your chest as you slowly look over to the female next to you. She has her left hand braced against your shoulder, so you get a good view of the marking that twists up her arm.

“When are you going to take this seriously, Kathra?” she sighs.

“I do take this seriously, Captain,” you argue. “I love being a Hopper more than anything in the world. You know that.”

“Then why are you always late?”

“Marlo.”

“Always Marlo,” Captain mutters. You grin and start pulling your neck wrap over your face. Before you can make it fully out the door, Captain says, “No language tapes, Kathra.”

“It’s called music, Captain,” you laugh, and then you’re Out. All you can do is stand there for a moment, taking in the endless rolling orange hills. Well, that is, all the hills you can see at the moment. Most of the landscape is covered in swirling dust, which blocks your view of the dark sky and tiny sun. That’s kind of the point, though; without the storm you’d be spotted by their tech in no time.

You pull out the rectangle from your arm and tap it against your ear. Music starts blaring instantly, the alien language shouting at your brain. Kicking you boots together, you feel the electricity start to hum through your heels. All you need to do is lean forward, and then you’re off. You let out a whoop as you fly down the hillside, hair whipping across your face. Dust parts behind you in ripples of copper, making you lean from side to side to let it arch up in huge waves. Wind tugs at your big pants, but your knot manages to keep them up and appropriately covering your butt. You don’t even feel the cold as you nod your head to the angry noise in your ears, smile growing wider under your mask.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s a beautiful day today, but make sure you stay on your toes. The wild Hoppers are Out to hunt!” Marlo’s silly voice says in your ear, making the music quiet. You let yourself laugh at the joke.

“Thanks for the new music, Marlo,” you say.

“Aye, no problem kiddo. I don’t know why you like the stuff, but I feel bad just dumping it in a holding room.” He lets you speed across the surface for a few moments longer before saying, “Alright, Kit, start heading towards your left. You’re getting close to a site.” You nod to yourself and lean backwards, pointing your toes briefly at the sky before rebalancing. Soon you feel a buzz at your wrist, so you start to slow.

Lifting your gaze to the sky, you squint to try and find the device. “Come on, come on,” you whisper to yourself. As though it hears you, a metal disc like object comes into view, barely able to brace itself against the sudden storm. “Found it,” you let Marlo know. You come to a stop, allowing your feet to fall to the ground. Tapping through settings on your bracelet, you flick your hand to pull a small cube out. Looking back to the sky, you raise your hand and track the floating device before hurling the cube through the dust. It hits the satellite with a clink, and you wait impatiently for Marlo’s confirmation.

“Okay, system’s dead. You're clear to take that baby down.”

“Copy that,” you reply, digging your heels in a little deeper. You spin the bracelet until a green glow starts to leak from it. Guiding your hand to point at the device in the sky, you take a deep breath and press down on your wrist. You feel the power immediately, making you grit your teeth to keep it under control. The satellite starts to tremble in its effort to stay airborne. Stubborn machine. Sweat starts dripping into your eyes, but you don’t dare wipe it away. Instead, you start to pull your arm backwards, and you feel the tugging in your veins tighten. A screeching noise escapes the machine as it starts to sputter. Pulling the strength from who knows where, you let out a yell and yank your arm behind you, sending the satellite crashing into the sand.

“Yeah! Kit one, satellite zero,” Marlo celebrates. You grin and start making your way over to the fallen machine. Kneeling down, you take the cube off of its side and put it back into your bracelet. You tilt your head at the creation, marveling at the improvements.

“Looks like they’ve taken some notes,” Marlo says as though reading my mind. “That thing looks way more heavy duty.”

“No kidding,” you confirm, rubbing your now sore burn. “This thing almost took off my arm.”

“Right, well, I can’t wait to get my hands on that baby. Like usual, we just need the main body, so you can dump the rest here.” You nod and start pulling the legs off the satellite, then take the wrap off your arm and secure the thing to your back.

“Do we have time for another one?” you ask once you’re done.

Marlo lets out a laugh and says, “Only Kathra would go out for seconds.” A pause. “Huh, that’s strange…”

“What is it?”

“A new site just came up on the monitors. It’s super weak, though.”

“Which way?”

“Uh, off to the right a for a few moments.” You kick your boots and speed off in that direction. “But I’d sit this one out, Kit. I have a bad feeling about this.”

“You always get bad feelings, Marlo.” He stays quiet, knowing he can’t change your mind. You keep one hand on the satelight to make sure it doesn’t go flying off into the sand, but it’s not long before Marlo’s voice comes cracking through your ear again.

“Almost there.” You let your feet fall to the ground, and you squint up at the cloudy sky. But the sky is empty to matter which way you look.

“There’s nothing here, Marlo,” you say slowly. When only static responds, you bring your hand to your ear as though that will help the signal. “Marlo?”

“H—Heya, Kit? Get outta—something’s—”

“Marlo? Marlo!” Static.

“Moons,” you mutter. Wiping your now slick palms against your dirty clothes, you get ready to kick your boots when a movement catches your eye. You freeze and tilt your head forward to try and get a better look. A figure slowly comes into view through the thick layer of dust. The thing looks like its standing, so it’s definitely not a satilight. It’s stumbling around in the wind, short arms coming up to cover a bulb at the top of its body. Its too short to be a female, so it can’t be a Hopper.

“Heya, what are you doing out here?” you try to shout to him. He doesn't seem to hear you and keeps walking around, trying to fight against the dust before falling to the ground in a cloud of copper. That’s strange. These winds aren't strong enough to knock even a male over. Something slick and cold pools in your stomach, but you ignore the feeling when you realize that the bulb on his head is connected to an oxygen tank.

Jupiter’s moons, someone’s trying to kill him!

Forgetting about your boots, you sprint through the storm towards him. Who would hate someone so much that they would suffocate them? In the Out, no less.

You slide on your knees when you reach the writhing male, reaching for the clear helmet. But when your hands take hold to pull it off, the boy swats your arms away. You furrow your brow and try again, but he does the same thing.

“I’m trying to save you, ya—hey!” You shout when he pushes you in the chest, stopping your third attempt. Letting out a huff, you lean over him, about to pin his arms when you recognize the markings on his sleeve. Though they’re now covered in dust, you can still make out red stripes painted in straight lines underneath a blue rectangle. The symbol you’ve only ever seen on the satellites you take in. Not only that, but something in the foreign language is written beneath it. Why would he be wearing something with their language? You lean closer to translate.

M A R S.

The male seems to realize you’re still here, so his head twists towards you before he starts pushing himself away. On instinct, you grab his arm to keep him in place.

“Why do you have their…” The words die on your tongue when you meet his small, colored eyes. Take in his carmel skin. Dark hair.

Oh. Moons.

He’s a human.