In the gloom, the instruments ticked and flickered, following the founders’ instructions. Kahlia wondered at their ingenuity, recalling childhood lessons about First Contact, achieved here, in this facility, lifetimes ago.
Now, her world lay buried beneath ever-deepening ice, and her people, perishing in underground shelters, relied on her dutiful attentiveness to her nightly task. Confidently, she approached an ancient artefact, battered but intact, and reverently, gently, rotated its small golden disc.
Its voices and harmonies exploded into life and boomed out into the silence. Kahlia added her prayer, begging for rescue.
The Voyagers had found them once. They would hear her call and return.
This story is for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. To read more about the golden disc, click on the photo of Voyager 1 below.
This week, the region where I live has been pounded by a huge storm, tragically resulting in four deaths and much property damage. Trees are down, roads have been cut and traffic lights out of service.
We’ve been without power for three days now. The freezer has defrosted, the hot water gave out this afternoon, my laptop battery is flat. I’m grateful that the temperature has been cool and my house is dry and safe.
Perhaps this has coloured my response to this week’s beautiful picture. How different life seems when our support systems are interrupted.