#my software must’ve not been processing them properly

[kendrysaneela]

Helena Eagan

[flipomatic]

A New World Chapter 5: Parts of a Composition

Author Note: I know even less about guitar and music composition than I do about piano. The composition program Sayo uses in this isn’t real, I made it up.

First Chapter Previous Chapter

_________________________________________________________

As Sayo misclicked yet again, dropping another note in the wrong spot, she muttered a curse under her breath. She was still getting used to using this program, to trying to compose music on the computer.

Right now Sayo was working in her room, on a laptop she carried to school with her each day. Part of the requirement for her major was to buy the composition software and to have hardware that could run it.

One of Sayo’s classes was entirely focused on how to use the software, which was good because she needed all the help she could get with it. They had learned to place all the different types of notes, a variety of shortcuts within the program, how to export the music, and many other things.

When each part was broken down, they were easy to understand. But when Sayo had to work in the software herself, to utilize all aspects of it together, it became more challenging to manage. It was much harder than writing the notes down on paper.

That was just the program. There was also the issue of actually composing music.

Most of Sayo’s other classes were focused on this topic, on how to build compositions. She had learned about chord progressions, utilizations of major and minor keys, creating flow, setting tempos, and much much more. Every day there was something new to add to the mix, another moving piece that made up the gears of the machine that was composition.

Just like with the software, Sayo could handle the smaller aspects of it. She memorized each new technique and how they were used. In practice, she could apply them individually.

However, putting them together, creating something new from scratch, was a significant challenge. Sayo didn’t like to admit it, but she’d been struggling in class with even short compositions. Each time, Sayo buckled down on the strategies she had learned. She used them one at a time to build her compositions, with varying levels of success.

One of Sayo’s professors had assigned a composition as homework. This was the first time they were working without a template or on a specific skill. The instructions were to create a short, two page composition, utilizing the techniques they had learned in the first month of class. They were given one week to complete it, with an online dropbox to turn it in.

This led to Sayo working on the assignment in her room, sitting at her desk with the door closed. She had her notes open on the table next to her so she could reference them.

The assignment was due tomorrow, and she had already spent time earlier in the week working on it. She didn’t have much done past choosing a tempo and key signature; she had spent a long time thinking with the blank composition in front of her.

Her guitar was sitting on her bed, out of its case. She had taken it out when she started, but hadn’t played anything beyond tuning it.

The clock ticked on her desk, marking each passing minute.

Sayo’s progress on the composition was slow. She focused on each technique that she’d learned so far, applying them to the piece one by one.

Sayo could hear the guitar parts from Pasupare’s songs quietly through the wall. Hina must’ve been practicing in her room, which was just one room over. Sayo tuned it out to focus on her composition.

She placed each note and rest carefully, making sure they were all in the right spaces. She compared each segment to her notes and refined them to match.

It took a couple long hours to finish her composition. It was exactly two pages, which was the required length.

Sayo retrieved her guitar; she should at least play it once before submitting it. If she didn’t, then she wouldn’t even know how it sounded.

She sight-read her new piece, playing it from start to finish.

It was easy to play, at a straight forward tempo. The song flowed from her fingers, echoing quietly through the room.

When Sayo finished, she put her guitar back down. She looked back over the music, unsure of how she felt about the song. The sections didn’t connect together very well. She also wasn’t sure about the melody, it felt like something was missing.

Sayo went back to working on the composition, making tweaks to chords and trying to improve the flow.

The next time she looked at the clock, it was already 11:30. Sayo had class in the morning, so she needed to go to bed soon.

She looked over her composition one last time, not sure exactly what she was checking for.

Then she exported it from the program. This actually took a few minutes, since she had to go back to her notes on how to do it properly.

Once she had the file, Sayo located the online dropbox. She uploaded the file to it, decided not to write anything in the comment box, and then submitted it.

The webpage said, “Thank you for your submission!” in big, bolded letters. Sayo stared at it for a moment, before closing the window. She shut her laptop, leaving it to put her guitar away.

She was certain that her composition would be sufficient for the assignment.

_________________________________________________________

Sayo glanced up periodically as she took notes, making sure to write everything down.

The professor, a shorter elderly man, stood at the front of the classroom. He was introducing the next component of compositions, the next piece of the puzzle. He was writing on the whiteboard, demonstrating how to do it.

There were about 30 other students in the room, all taking notes just like Sayo was. The sun beamed in through the windows, high in the afternoon sky.

Sayo needed to make sure she had it recorded exactly right, so she could use it later. She needed every tool at her disposal if she was going to get better at composing, if the pieces were going to work together.

“We have one last task today.” The professor transitioned out of lecturing, erasing the board as he spoke. “Open the assignment dropbox from last week.” He waited after speaking.

Sayo followed the directions, retrieving the laptop from her bag and opening it on her desk. She logged in to it and opened the online dropbox. The dropbox looked slightly different than when she submitted the file. Next to her submission, there was blue text that said “feedback”.

At the front of the room, the professor continued. “Click on the feedback and download the attached file. You’ll notice that you do not have a grade for the assignment.”

Sayo complied, clicking the link and then downloading the file. Indeed, she hadn’t been assigned a grade on the dropbox. It still said grade pending.

She located the file in her downloads. It had the same name as her composition and appeared to be the same file type. She also opened the composition program, since she figured she would need it.

“Next, open Compositor. On the top bar, find file, import, then select the downloaded file.” The professor walked around the room, checking to make sure they were doing it right.

Sayo followed the designated path, importing the new file into the program. Her composition appeared on the screen. It was slightly different though, there were a handful of what looked like yellow highlights spread throughout the measures.

She moved her mouse over one, to see if it would do anything. When she clicked it, a window popped with a few lines of text in it.

The professor, after making his way around the classroom, had made it back to the front. “Once it’s loaded, you’ll see yellow marks where I’ve left feedback. You can click to read them. Use my feedback to revise your work and resubmit by Friday.” He wrote that date on the board, told them to use the rest of their class time to get started on it, and let them get to work.

Sayo jotted down the new due date, before reading through the notes one by one. The first one was placed near the start and was positive, complementing her chord progression. The second criticized her technique in the middle, suggesting a specific change. The third, near the end of the piece, also recommended a specific tweak.

The fourth was at the end, after the last measure of the piece. This was longer than the previous notes, giving the professor’s overall impressions of the piece.

This was what the last note said:

“Sayo, this is a solid first attempt! Your technique is sound and you have utilized the strategies from class well. For the second submission, work on the melody. I’m having trouble identifying the tone of the piece. What emotions are you trying to convey? Integrate them into the melody of your composition.”

Sayo read the message twice, absorbing its content slowly.

What kind of emotion was she trying to convey with this song? Had she done that at all?

No, she hadn’t. Sayo composed the piece with technique, not with emotion. They hadn’t learned how to do that in class.

A wave of anger rose under the surface, as Sayo frowned at the screen. She’d been instructed to use the techniques from the course, not to create with emotion. Now here she was, receiving criticism for something that wasn’t part of the assignment.

She scowled, reading the comment for the third time. Sayo glanced up at the professor, who was helping a student on the other side of the room. He hadn’t so much as glanced at her during class today.

For a moment, Sayo thought about calling him over. She had done exactly what she was supposed to for the assignment, with only small changes needed.

As she thought about it though, as she continued to process the information, Sayo realized that would be a mistake. She didn’t want to make a bad impression on this professor, especially since she would be in the program for the foreseeable future.

Sayo sighed and read the comment one last time. Her anger was fading, being replaced with resignation.

What technique would help her put emotion into this piece? She didn’t know.

She had a lot of work to do.

__________________________________________________________

As usual, Sayo went early to Roselia practice. She had been working nonstop on fixing her composition assignment, and she really needed a break from it.

She had already rewritten the melody twice, changing it out for a new one. Each time she finished she played it on her guitar, listening to how it sounded and flowed.

Each time it still felt wrong. Each new version felt worse than the last.  There wasn’t any emotion to it.

Sayo tried again. She sat at her computer, placing and deleting notes until she was sick at looking at the piece. It was barely the same piece as her original submission. She tried to give it emotion, but didn’t know how to do it.

Roselia practice would be a great chance to get away from the dreaded task, to put it out of her mind for a while. Only four members were coming today, since Yukina couldn’t make it, but it was still going to be a good practice.

Sayo was the first to arrive, so she checked in at the front desk. The studio was ready for her and she headed inside.

A few minutes later and she had her music stand and guitar ready to go. She played some of Roselia’s newer songs, working to master the harder parts so they would be ready for practice.

Playing Roselia’s music like this, she could almost forget the work waiting for her at home.

Unfortunately, almost forgetting wasn’t the same as forgetting. Even as she played Song I Am, Sayo remembered the piece she had left unfinished.

Before she was even fully conscious of it, Sayo’s fingers played the chord progression she’d developed for the piece. That was the one part of the song she wasn’t redoing, the only part that seemed to work. She just couldn’t figure out what should come before and after it.

Sayo played the most recent melody she worked on, wondering how it could be changed to convey emotion.

“T-that’s not… a Roselia song.” Rinko’s familiar voice came from the entrance to the studio, barely audible above the amplified guitar. Sayo stopped playing abruptly as she looked over. Rinko approached slowly, her piano strapped to her back.

“It’s for class.” Sayo admitted with a frown.

Rinko set her piano down, unzipping the case. “You wrote it?” She sounded genuinely interested.

Sayo wasn’t one to lie, but in moments like these she wished she was. “I did, yes. It’s the first full composition assignment.” It was embarrassing, being heard playing something that needed so much more work.

The conversation dwindled as Rinko set up her keyboard. She then set up a music stand, where she placed a handwritten piece of music. Sayo couldn’t see it too well, but it appeared to be a new Roselia song.

She knew Rinko did most of the compositions for their music, but they hadn’t created a new song since before graduation. Rinko certainly knew how to convey emotion through music; Roselia’s music was full of it.

Sayo watched as Rinko started playing the new piece, slowly playing a few measures before leaning forward and erasing something.

What was in the way of asking for help? Just her pride, really. But Rinko had already heard the song; asking for help wouldn’t be a bigger blow than that.

Besides, this was Rinko, this was Roselia. If there was one thing Sayo had learned over the years, and there were many, it was that she could count on her bandmates.

“Shirokane-san,” Sayo got her attention, pulling her eyes away from the sheet music. “Can I ask you something?”

Rinko set her pencil down on the stand.  “O-of course.”

“What techniques do you use to convey emotion in compositions?” Sayo asked about the gear she was missing, the part that would make the whole composition work.

Rinko’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but quickly returned to normal. “I-I’m not sure… that there are techniques… for that.” Sayo’s heart sank; she was afraid of that answer. She must’ve looked upset, since Rinko quickly continued. “It’s more about… the heart.”

Sayo wasn’t sure what to make of that. “The heart…” She repeated the words, turning them over a few times.

“To put emotion in your music…you have to feel it first.” Rinko explained. She lifted her hands to the keyboard, and played for a few moments. The melody was unfamiliar to Sayo, but it was slow and soft. It was comforting to listen to.

Sayo frowned, thinking about all of her attempts so far. Mostly she had felt frustration while composing. “How though?” That was what she didn’t understand.

Rinko stepped around her keyboard, approaching where Sayo stood. She stopped in front of her, lifting one hand to the neck of Sayo’s guitar. Her eyes were down on the instrument as she replied.

“Compose with the guitar… rather than the sheet music.” Rinko always spoke softly, but at this distance her voice seemed even quieter. “D-don’t worry about technique and… put yourself… into the song.” Her eyes came up, locking onto Sayo’s. “It takes practice… but you can do it.” Rinko’s voice was encouraging.

The two stayed like that for a moment, as Sayo processed Rinko’s words. It was completely different than what she’d been learning in class, a whole different approach to composing music.

“Thank you.” Sayo finally replied, “I appreciate your help.”

This brought a smile to Rinko’s face, which was a welcome sight. “A-anytime.” She stuttered as she backed away, returning to her keyboard.

Sayo flipped open her bag to grab her notes. She jotted down Rinko’s advice, so she would be sure not to forget it. She committed to trying it later.

It wasn’t the same as the techniques she’d been learning, but it would certainly be just as helpful.

___________________________________________________________

Sayo sat on her bed, guitar in hand. Her bedroom door was shut.

She took a deep breath, and began to play.

She thought about Rinko’s advice.

How did she feel today? She felt frustrated, but also hopeful. She had enjoyed Roselia practice, but messing up notes during it was irritating. Which of those emotions did she want to channel into her composition?

Sayo played her guitar, searching for the melody to match. She put aside the strategies she had learned, at least for now, and listened carefully to her own playing.

She looked for not just a gear or part of the composition, but for its heart.

After a while, after strumming and playing and searching, she found it.

_________________________________________________________

End Note: I’ve been adding things to the outline and the project is slowly growing.

Next Chapter

[brokenjardaantech]

captain allen appreciation week 2020 day 1 + 7: vacation + acceptance

notes:

i combined day 1 & 7 as they happen to be the theme of the same story. it's also a prequel to a fic that i haven't written a word yet.

a little bit background since i think things can be confusing:

allen's full name is Louis White Allen. his dad's french and his mom american, though he's raised in alaska. his sister, anna allen, is a commissioned officer in the air force. the siblings speaks both english and french fluently.

sara ryder replaces elijah kamski as the inventor of androids.

this fic is set in september 2038, about a month after connor was first deployed at the phillips' hostage situation.

tags: griefing, family issues, brief mentions of childhood neglect and parentification

ao3 link if that’s what you prefer

-----

To this day, Lou's heart hammers when he sees a call from the military. Last time he received one was ten years ago, and he ended up with more questions than answers, answers that he knows he and his father very likely will not get in their lifetime. Staring at his phone vibrating on the coffee table, Lou debates whether to induce his cats' wrath - one sleeping on his lap and the other he hasn't stopped petting since they finished dinner - by standing up and interrupting their naps. It's not like he's at his full mobility anyways; his cybernetics still needs about half an hour to sync with his nervous system properly and to download the newest software. Whoever the fuck is in charge of calling the family of a soldier who went AWOL in Göttingen can wait.

It seems that the universe has other plans, as the air suddenly becomes charged with static and the phone launches itself towards Lou's chest. The tip of his fingers are numb, a common occurrence after his and his sister's unexplainable outbursts, but he manages to catch the phone before it hits his chest or, heaven forbids, his cat, who is startled awake and promptly returns to sleep after her favourite bed has no intention to move.

He accepts the call. 'Allen speaking. I don't think I have family members in the military anymore.'

'I don't know how many of yours are with us,' the voice from the other end lacks the robotic quality of an android's, so it seems the military is still using humans to contact family members, 'but this concerns your mother, Commander Deborah White. You're the only next of kin we can reach, Mister Allen.'

Lou does sigh. Just as he thinks he can leave her behind after all these years... 'What about her?' Not that he feels strongly that she was gone, as she wasn't quite there for her family to begin with, but something about a Commander going missing on the flagship of a fleet always sits wrong with him; as poor of a mother Deborah White was, a woman with her service record didn't deserve to simply vanish. 'I thought she went MIA more than twenty years ago.'

'She was until a few hours ago. I wish I can break it to you more gently but... we found her. Her remains, at least.'

The beat of his heart suddenly becomes too overwhelming. The air swells with the familiar buzz of static, and it takes all of Lou's self-control to not break everything in the living room with a shattering hazard. There is also the urge to hang up, to pretend that this is just one of those weird dreams he never can remember the details of, because he doesn't need to be burdened with a closure; he wasn't close enough to her to want that, he tells himself. Knowing that she's gone is enough. However, 'How?' is what he says in the end. He closes his eyes, free hand buried in his cat's fur, trying to convince himself that he is doing this for his father.

'Your mother's bones were found in a sealed compartment in the USS Blue Ridge when we were scrapping her. She must've been sitting there for years. Her skull indicates that -'

'Thanks, but I don't think I need to know that,' Lou swallows, willing himself to not think of the implication of an intact skull. It would've been a horrible way to die, sitting in cold seawater for days, feeling her skin rot away before dying of starvation; he'd rather her snap her neck upon impact and go painlessly. 'Anything more?'

'Yes. How would you like to deal with the body?'

Something tickles Lou's chin. When he opens his eyes, he finds the third cat trying to squeeze himself onto his already-occupied lap and purring as if having sensed the human's distress and wanting to soothe him. He recalls how his mother joked that she would probably die at sea and his father's reluctant acceptance of the entire affair; Papa's resignation after he received the news, saying, 'At least she got what she wanted.'

'She spent most of her life at sea,' he replies. No need to rub salt on his father's wounds. 'Let her rest there as well.'

'Very well. If you wish to, a memorial will be held in two months' time. Families of other deceased will attend. You may find support there.'

Support my ass, Lou thinks. It's been twenty-something fucking years. Yet, for some reason, he still promises that he'll consider going before hanging up. His finger hovers over his father's contact afterwards, but remembering that it's midnight in France and that he has a month worth of leave accumulated, he opens his browser instead and starts searching for plane tickets.

----

A month later, Lou finds himself in the commune of Gâvres with a large backpack on his shoulder and missing his cats very dearly. They aren't even his cats, technically; his neighbours keep them as outdoor cats, and Lou, unable to stand the thought of them suffering out in the winter cold of Detroit, took them in, and now they spend more time at his than at their original owners'. Having dropped them off at Hank's - that man takes better care of his pet (now pets) than himself - Lou isn't worried - he doubts his neighbours will even notice that their cats are gone. Emotions are terrible things, however, and the purpose of this trip alone makes it different from all the time he has visited his father before. At least he hasn't just recovered from nearly dying from implant rejection this time.

'Louis?'

Lou turns when he hears his father's voice and the awkward weight reminds him that he hasn't taken off his backpack yet and has been standing in the living room of his father's house staring at nothing for the past few minutes. Not waiting for his son to take it off, Papa Allen crosses the room and embraces Lou, sweat and all. 'How are you?' he asks in French, and when Lou answers truthfully in the same language, 'I missed you,' somehow everything in the world goes right again. Fuck the deviant crisis, fuck the android-infested America that makes his nerves buzz every single waking moment, fuck absent mothers still managing to make a comeback years after she died. He's just Louis Allen, absolutely not a SWAT captain, not the only survivor of the Blast, not the pioneer/guinea pig of CyberLife's groundbreaking cybernetics technology.

He has to let go of his father. 'I hope it's okay. What I did with Mom.'

Papa sighs. 'How about you take off that thing first,' indicating the backpack, 'and settle down for now.'

So Lou walks up the stairs and deposits his backpack in the room designated as his, and, catching sight of the other bed in the room, his legs suddenly feel weak, and he lowers himself, trembling, onto his mattress. Smart, fearless Anna, whose brain always runs - ran - a lot faster than the rest of the world.

Who graduated top of her class and as the Valedictorian of the academy, and subsequently disappeared without a trace.

His left leg twitches. The feeling of something foreign using his body returns, and when he leans forward - with a difficulty that wasn't there before - to take off his sock, it reveals white and grey chassis. A stark reminder that he owes her his life two times over despite her being the younger sibling.

‘How come I’m still alive?’ was the first question he asked after he regained his voice. ‘Ryder threw a fucking building on me.’

‘I dug you out, Lulu,’ replied Anna. ‘Freaky glowy telekinesis finally has its use. I was hungry for hours afterwards.’

At that moment, Lou made the mistake of looking down and seeing his pure white leg. ‘What the hell happened to my leg?’

‘CyberLife’s newest tech.’ As if to demonstrate how he should use his new leg, she gave his feet a poke, and Lou nearly screamed from the sensation. He did not expect to feel anything at all, but apart from the looks, the leg felt...real. ‘Fucking building crushed half your pelvis, your entire left leg and a rib. It’s already minced when I uncovered you, so they need to rebuild everything from scratch. I asked them to add something that can help you control the telekinesis better as well, so we’ll need to test it out later. No more randomly exploding shit. And before you ask, yes, your junk’s unharmed.’

Lou’s coma-addled brain struggled to process the influx of information, and all he got was, ‘I should’ve died.’

Anna hit the break to what seemed to be the beginning of a technical jargon-filled rant. ‘Well yes,’ she gestured just like the meme, ‘but you lived.’

‘No one survives after being crushed by a building, Anna,’ he said, voice rising. Then he asked in French since English felt too raw, ‘Exactly how much tech is in me right now? And how long was I out for? Why did CyberLife choose me?’

She looked away.

‘Anna?’

‘I don’t fucking know, okay?’ she replied in the same language. ‘You were on the brink of death when I dug you out, and there Ryder was, offering to save your life for no cost. You were in a medically-induced coma for one month and was out for reconstruction for another. It took your body two weeks to get used to the cybernetics and...here you are.’

‘Ryder offered,’ Lou said slowly, ‘to save me? As in Sara Ryder?’

‘Yes.’

‘Anna, she was the one who threw the building on me!’

‘I know. One more reason to let her save you.’

‘But you did it anyway.’

‘I did.’

‘Even though you know it’ll probably come back to bite our asses.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘You know the answer, Lulu.’

And Lou has stopped denying that he does a few years ago. Anna joined the Air Force to fly, to be closer to the sky, but he knows that it wasn’t enough; from the way she turned her eyes towards the aurora when they were young, the attention she paid towards all news related to space observation and exploration, to the talks about leaving the wasteland that is known as earth behind and finding a new home in the cosmos - Anna belongs to the abyss of space. The military was simply a stepping stone towards something greater, a greatness that she must be working towards somewhere on this god-forsaken piece of rock.

The place where Lou’s flesh meets his implants aches in anticipation of the storm that will no doubt force them to remain indoors for days. Grinding his teeth in the numbing pain, he uses his hands to put his non-functional left leg onto the bed and lies down sideways with his back towards his sister’s bed, his phone buzzing in his pocket to notify him of an unexpected software error that may take hours to fix. Switching on do-not-disturb, he shoves the offending piece of technology underneath his pillow and loses his fight against jet lag and pain.

----

Lou wakes up cold and hungry. He is covered by a blanket that wasn't there when he fell asleep, so his father must have checked on him when he realized that his son was doing more than putting down his luggage, and the dark sky outside the window almost brings him back again before it flashes.

Then the booming thunder reminds him that it isn't dusk at all.

He successfully rolls over on his other side, which means that his cybernetics are functional once more. Kicking the blanket away, he sits up and grimaces at the taste of his mouth.

He feels better after his regular morning rituals, though the lack of three furry friends harassing him and brushing against his feet is something that he'll need to get used to, and his father is cooking lunch when he reaches the kitchen.

'Morning, Louis,' Papa says as he hands the pan over to his son. 'What did they drag you through to have you sleep for so long?'

Lou is glad that he can use concentrating on not burning his food as an excuse to buy himself a minute. Should he tell his father the truth, or should he avoid talking about work just like many people do during their vacation? 'Things are getting bad in Detroit,' he decides in the end as going on a vacation at one's father's house isn't exactly normal either. 'Androids are breaking their programming and starts having their own thoughts. CyberLife's trying to cover it up, but I've dealt with enough violent deviants - that's what they're calling those androids - to know it's gonna be a problem real soon if they don't solve it now.' A pause to think of how to continue. 'I'm glad you're not in America anymore.'

'It must be exhausting,' is his father's reply, and that's all Lou needs to realize that his father has no idea what he's talking about. Then again, the man moved back to France before androids were a thing, and although they kept in frequent contact, Lou never talked much about his work; the police getting reformed means that SWAT is deployed only when peace is not the option - that means seeing people get hurt or die constantly. Androids aren't really a thing in Europe, so his father never experienced the 'androids taking over everything and making everyone lose their jobs' shit. He won't understand.

'That's why I'm here.'

They lapse into silence as Lou finishes cooking and empties the content of the pan onto two plates. Never one for formality, Papa brings them to the living room, sitting at the corner of a couch while Lou retrieves his plate and fork and curls onto the window sill. At this proximity, he can feel the raindrops hitting the glass as if he is standing in the rain.

Papa clears his throat. 'About your mother, Louis.'

Lou tears his eyes away from the raindrop he's betting on to win. He hastily shoved some eggs into his mouth to buy himself some time to mentally prepare for the conversation. 'What now?'

What he actually says isn't what Lou expected. 'I'm glad about what you did with your mother's body.'

'Her skeleton, you mean,' he replies. 'What's left of it anyways. I don't think they found the whole set.'

'Still,' Papa isn't looking at him. 'That's what she would've wanted. And by I'm glad - I'm not opposed to it.'

'That's it?' Lou turns back towards the rain. 'That wasn't your reaction when they told you that she was MIA.'

'I was young - younger - back then,' a sigh. 'It wasn't fair to you. Or to Anna. Especially to Anna. I'm sorry.'

No it wasn't, Lou wants to say, but - 'I've made peace with it a long time ago. Mom, me and Anna, Alaska; that was all you knew. I... I don't blame you for it.'

He has to close his eyes and press his forehead against the glass. He considers switching to German to further detach his emotions, but then he realizes that nearly everything has fled his mind from disuse. Why does he think spending his vacation with his father right after they discovered that his mother might have died painfully a good idea?

'That's what I thought I'd react when you called me, you know?' Papa says. 'I thought I'd break down. Then I realized that I've moved on and... that's it. Hard not to after more than twenty years.' Even with his vision gone, Lou can still feel his father's gaze on him. 'You've done that for your mother. Have you, for Anna? It's been ten years.'

'Have you, Papa?' Lou asks instead of answering even though he knows his answer. 'Can you stand the thought of your daughter gone as well?'

'After your mother?' the father feeds himself a mouthful of food and swallows. 'Kind of have to.'

'Of course you did. I raised her, not you.'

That is the last thing he says to his father before the storm goes away.

----

Emotionally exhausted, Lou goes to sleep early despite waking up not ten hours ago.

He knows he’s dreaming as soon as he opens the door and discovers his childhood living room behind it. The room is dark, so the lights must have been switched off, and even though it feels like he has smacked his hand all over the wall it’s on, he still can’t find the switch. It does bring him closer to the window, outside where a storm is going on at full force and paints everything white, and although he knows that what he is seeing isn’t real, he dreads the upcoming and necessary shovelling.

The world is suddenly lit up from behind him, followed by the voice of Neil deGrasse Tyson and the clicks of a keyboard. When Lou turns, Anna is there sitting in front of the couch, her brother's homework scattered in a semi-circle around her, and an old, bulky laptop snug between her crossed legs. It should have been a normal day in their house in Anchorage had Anna been a child but not an adult, which is the form Dream Anna is appearing in - she is younger than him by nearly eight years.

‘Where’s the light switch?’ Lou asks, looking around for good measure. ‘As much as you enjoy Cosmos, a documentary about space isn’t sufficient lighting.’

‘Relax,’ says Anna. ‘Eye problems aren’t in our genes.’ Then, waving at the papers around her, ‘Everything’s done. Your teachers didn’t suspect a thing,’ she gets younger and younger following each syllable until her age makes sense, ‘but you asked me to do it on a separate piece of paper, so I did. Feel free to copy directly if you wish.’

That is when Lou realizes that she’s playing games on the notebook, something that looks like a simplified version of Temple Run but set in space. ‘No thanks,’ he says. ‘I’d like to keep the creases on my brain.’ Then he notices that his sister didn’t really answer his question, so he asks again, ‘How am I supposed to switch on the lights?’

‘With your phone,’ is the matter-of-fact reply. ‘Don’t tell me you uninstalled the fucking app for cat pictures.’

‘For one last time, Anna, I don’t download cat pictures.’ And it hits him. ‘Wait, phone? The house isn’t automated when you’re at this age.’

‘Is it?’

Anna stands up and stalks closer to her brother, and she grows and grows and grows until they’re off the same height and she looks... older, how she should look like if she’s alive she’s still here. She is now Major Anna White Allen of the United States Air Force, dressed smartly in her dress uniform except for her cap, which she holds in her right hand. Their surroundings have also changed to that of the Phillips' penthouse terrace, harsh wind whipping around them.

'You aren't real,' Lou breathes, feeling light-headed. ‘You - you’re gone. Just like Mom.’

‘Open your eyes, then. End this early if you want to. Forget that this ever happened. I don’t mind.’

It is followed by a terrifying moment of wakefulness, the images blurring and then regaining clarity as he stays asleep. ‘And Papa wants me to let you go,’ he says with a sad chuckle.

‘Why?’

‘We found what’s left Mom. How long do we need to wait to find what’s left of you?’

‘Why are you talking like I’m dead?’

‘Cause you probably are, like Mom?’

‘I know you think we’re alike,’ an eye roll, ‘but we’re different.’

‘Say you’re not dead. Where the hell are you?’

‘Does it matter?’

A blink. They’re floating in space, Anna dressed in some form of armor, and Lou in normal clothes. He attempts to draw a breath and wakes up choking and crying, the dream completely forgotten save for the faint image of Anna falling towards earth and getting burnt to crisps.

----

A few days later, Lou finds himself walking on the beach with his father. The sky is cloudy and the wind is strong, so it is cool even though it’s September and Lou grew up in Alaska. They started throwing questions back and forth ten minutes into their walk, some of them silly and simple and give them a good laugh, but the others -

‘Answer me honestly, Louis. Do you think Anna’s dead?’

It is easy. ‘No.’

‘Where do you think she is, then?’

Lou’s face suddenly becomes too hot to bear. ‘Does it matter?’

‘If it affects you, yes.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it. She wouldn’t want us to speculate.’

‘But she’s not here, is she? Maybe you’ll feel better after you say it out loud.’

Lou sighs, oh how the turntables… ‘In space, probably.’

‘You’d think we’ll hear about that.’

‘Secret space programs exist, Papa.’

‘Not in America.’

‘I never said it’s an American program,’ Lou says as he kicks a rock away. ‘Do you know what they said when I received the first call from the Air Force? They asked me if Anna has ties with other space agencies even though she’s never been in NASA; she just talked about other countries’ space programs so much that they suspected her having ties with them.’

‘Hmm.’

‘What does that even mean?’

‘You know you won’t see her again, right?’

Lou halts his steps. Anna? Gone forever? ‘Does it matter?’

Papa sighs. ‘You’re in denial, Louis. You didn’t do this with your mother.’

How dare he - ‘Of course I didn’t, she was barely there!’ he has to put a few steps between them. ‘I raised Anna! How do you think that’s even comparable?’

‘I simply don’t want you to live in uncertainty for the rest of your life.’

‘You just don’t know your daughter,’ he counters. ‘She told me she’ll come back.’

‘You know -’

‘You don’t know shit!’

He runs. His lungs and legs are strained when he gets home, his father’s home, but he doesn't stop at that. He packs his stuff (not that there’s much to put back into his backpack), jumps into his rental car, and is back in Brest before he knows what he’s doing. His return flight is next week, so he has a lot of time to kill.

In the end, he takes a trip around the country alone, going to places he both never had time for and, if he’s been there before, misses dearly. He may have forgotten what they’ve talked about, but he remembers Anna visiting him often. The images flee his mind whenever he tries to recall them, but he doesn’t think they’re talking on earth, and he always wishes that he at least remembers some of it.

A few months later, he’ll learn that his speculations are closer to the truth than he thinks. A few months later, Louis Allen will prove his father wrong.

But he doesn’t know that yet. Therefore, after collecting the cats from Hank and unpacking his luggage, he takes all of Anna’s things and puts them into a box, telling himself that it is the first step towards admitting that maybe, it’s a big fucking maybe, he will never see his sister again.