The Cello

The melody meant more to her than it could to anyone else.

She felt in it the beating of her heart and his in a rhythm made perfect in so many years of camaraderie. She heard the birds and the sunsets and innocence of the lifeless.

Grey; like the dullness and emptiness.

Brown; like the mud beneath each step; like the constant, inescapable ticking of time.

Blue; like the prick of a cactus needle in the depth of her soul; like pain of loneliness.

It was as if she heard the tears running down his face more than saw them. They were mirrored on her own. She heard the ache of their separation, and felt the weighty sense of loss.

Violet; like the immensity beyond the unknown; like mystery and wonder and the pull of a future no one could conceive of.

Pink; like the blooming in her chest when their lips had danced; like the sound of his voice, and the way his eyes glowed when they looked into hers.

Yellow; like the far off gentle sun, like his smile and his laugh and the light that illuminated all she now knew.

Green; like the life and vibrancy that filled her to brimming, like the healthy thrum of her heart in her chest.

Orange; like the drive within her to conquer; to rid this people of the foreigners who had robbed them of generations.

Red; like so much of something kept in a tiny cage; like the burning desire to be more, to create, to fill every corner of the limits of her potential, and then spill over them.

-- Red; like so much love in such little time; like the strain it was on her heart to contain it all.

All too soon, there came the final ringing note -- as piercing as a knife and as beautiful as the contrast of night against day.

It left a hole in her that she knew could never be filled. The silence rang in her ears -- dank and poignant. It felt like leaving him there in that cell all over again.

A9 sat in fetal position on her cot with her back against the wall. She could do nothing but drink in the sight of him on the video feed -- His dark skin and his sad gaze at his own reflection. It felt as though he were looking right at her.

She had long ago given up trying to hold back the tears. How could she when there was so much to feel?

It was as he had said it was. Both beautiful and painful.

Minutes passed, and E7 didn’t cut the feed. It was when she heard sobbing-- not from the internetting link, but from her unit -- that she tore herself away from the image and opened her eyes. Crawling to the end of her top bunk, she looked down to find that all the girls were out of their beds. Most were on their knees, tears streaming from their faces, but some had already dropped to the ground unconscious.

It was working. He had freed them -- freed them all.

Her heart burned for them as she watched emotions flicking through their features in chaotic patterns. They were too consumed to even meet each other’s eyes. She remembered the pain and the fear all too well. But they would awake in a brighter world.

A9 climbed down from her bunk and lowered herself to her knees with them. She sat there watching as one by one they sunk limply to the ground, their tears making dark stains on the concrete beneath them. Soon she was left alone, surveying their sleeping forms all around her.

Suddenly, there was the sound of an airlock releasing. A9 spun all the way around to face the door of her unit before she realized the sound had come from E7’s end of the feed. Her attention was immediately his again. What was going on?

She watched from E7’s perspective as his gaze flicked to the door of his cell. There in the doorway stood a tall figure with bluish skin and black rimmed glasses. He wore a white coat and gloves, and behind him she could see two more, much larger foreigners.

The figure had paused just outside the door, and there was surprise on his face.

“What in the universe is it doing with a cello?” he said.

“He didn’t have it when we brought him in --” Came the voice of one of the men behind him.

There was a different expression coming over the tall man’s face now -- or perhaps it was just that he began to look very very tired.

“Get the cart in here,” He said, his voice flat and unfeeling.

“The systems haven’t come back online yet, sir.” The same man from before said, glancing down at the portable screen he was carrying.

“It should be up any minute. We’ll prep him now so he’ll be ready as soon as it does.”

A9 started to panic. Prep him for what?

The other foreigner - the one who hadn’t spoken yet, disappeared for a moment. At that point E7’s gaze turned down to the instrument as he carefully laid it on the ground, and then stood. When his eyes found the door again, they had pushed a cart into his cell. It was unmistakably meant to be lain on, and had metal shackles for each wrist and ankle and a leather belt for the torso.

No! They couldn’t do this!

She had gotten to her feet almost without realizing it, and her hands were balled into fists at her sides.

E7 was voluntarily climbing onto the cart. What was he doing? Why did he not fight it?

Soon all she could see was the ceiling through his eyes, but she heard the shackles clicking.

“Don’t worry,” The man with glasses said, looking down at him with a grim expression on his face, “You can’t miss something you don’t remember.”

“NO!” A9 screamed into the silence.

She slammed her fists against the locked door of her unit, the tears and the anger creating an almost palpable poison in her chest.

“We’re online.” She heard through the feed.

“Sir!” Another voice said in alarm, “He’s on the emergency internetting system!”

E7 slowly turned his head to his reflection in the one way mirror. He looked into his own eyes again like he was looking into hers.

And then they cut the feed.