Story Snacks: A Collection of Bite-Sized Ideas

Requiem

Eon Roe had a splitting headache. 

He had had been a bit reluctant to participate in the Council of Galaxies as a Cultural Ambassador in the first place—those kinds of jobs were better left to Avon with his close-up magic (that was always a hit at parties), Reto'em and his endless supply of traveler's anecdotes, or even Phil, who had multiple mouths for socializing, drinking, all that jazz. But to everyone else, he, the band's front man, seemed a natural choice, and it wasn't in Eon's nature to complain, or to speak much at all, really. So, they took his silence as affirmation and sent him off on the Re-Re-Renaissance without a thought.

From the time he boarded the gleaming silver testament to technological advancement, Eon felt like he didn't belong. Here, up close and personal with the upper echelons of the Known Universe, he couldn't hide behind his stage persona, he was simply a humble boy from the nomadic Outer Rim. From his first sip of Essence of Stardust, his mind felt hazy, his glass never quite fit right in his hands, and he had to consciously control his breathing to keep a wash of pink from crawling up his collar and reaching his cheeks for all to see. 

He ultimately decided to turn in early, passing the cockpit and the disgruntled young captain on his way to his chambers. The man spotted Eon and bowed his head politely.

"Thanks for coming,' Captain Klein said as a screeching giggle pierced the air. The captain flinched, but kept up his genuine, comforting smile. "My sister works here, she's a huge fan of yours."

Eon turned a shade of royal blue as the corners of his mouth quirked up. "Shall I meet her?"

The captain shook his head. "If she fainted, that'd be a lot of paperwork for me to fill out."

Eon nodded, from far off, the two could hear, over the lounge music's booming bass, the sound of glass hitting the wall. Captain Klein's eyebrows twitched. "If you'll excuse me, I've got some business."

In spite of his noisy surroundings, Eon fell asleep within seconds of touching the blankets. He'd always been able to sleep like this, it was his one talent aside from vocal prowess, and he was so good, he often wondered if he could make a living exclusively via sleep—that'd be the stuff of dreams. What did ultimately wake him up was the ship's sudden familiar, violent rocking. One glance out his window was enough for Eon to know that they'd hit an asteroid field—a routine part of his nomadic childhood.

Almost sleepwalking, Eon made his way to the cockpit, to the frantic and tiny human girl in the red jumpsuit randomly whacking the controls. This could be dangerous, he mused, and did what was as natural to him as breathing. He began to sing in a lustrous tenor, visualizing the sound waves as he projected his voice beyond the glass and to the path of the oncoming asteroid. With each note that resonated in his chest, the swarms of space rocks were obliterated, leaving only clouds of shimmering dust in their wake. "The universe cares not for us," he sang finally, "But even so, I love you." Silence fell.

The human girl's jaw nearly hit the floor, her glasses were askew. Somehow, this struck Eon as incredibly charming, and he unconsciously reached out to flick her forehead. "You're not good at flying," his bright eyes crinkled at the corners, and the girl's own eyes rolled back into her head as she collapsed.

Eon gasped in alarm, catching her securely in his arms. Was it something I said? It usually is.

"Ava!" Eon whipped his head around to see a huffing Captain Klein, the unconscious Taegrin Prime Minister slung over one shoulder and a bust of some crusty old guy tucked under his other arm. He was drenched in sweat, his black hair was wild, and there was a new bruise forming at his jawbone. "She actually fainted," he groaned. "Thanks for your help, would you mind taking her to her berth?"

Eon did just that, noting the Galactic 7 holograms and Star Trek posters crowding the walls. He gently tucked her in, plucked a holo-pen from her desk, and signed under his picture with a flourish:

Keep at it, Captain Kirk -Requiem

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