2013 Players Choice Award No Other Love

[A Davis 0]

 

No Other Love

Amanda Davis

 

 

Oh, my… a lover’s note.

 

Amanda’s eyes sparkled with mischief as the thin, tightly-wound scroll tucked deep into the crotch of the willow tree came within reach. Had not the artificial arboretum breeze flicked a wispy tail of ribbon into view, she would not have noticed it at all. But she had, and now her fingers gently worked it out of its hiding place and she cradled it in one hand, studying it with immense curiosity.

 

It wasn’t the first one she’d found - and read before putting it back, mind you. As the centerpiece of the arboretum’s fragrant rose and iris garden, the willow served the crew in many ways. To Counselor Amanda Davis, it was a private retreat. After a tiring day she welcomed its gently-flowing tendrils that veiled her from the workaday world, cleansed her thoughts and renewed her energies. For others, it served a variety of purposes, from family picnics to an ideal place for very private moments. In fact, it had become the station’s preferred love-nest, and there Amanda had stumbled upon - and embarrassed - many an entwined couple in her wanderings.

 

Finally the temptation was too much, and with the enthusiasm of a young schoolgirl Amanda glanced around, then carefully removed the silk ribbon and slowly pried it open.

 

The paper crinkled at her touch. It had the ancient feel of fine parchment, the kind used either for art projects or for framed documents that were meant more for show than for officiality. The writing was a beautifully crafted script in Federation Standard. Strange, she thought. Generally the notes were poems, short rhymes, or the occasional song, childishly crafted and appreciated only by the sender and the recipient. They were seldom in Federation Standard.

 

Settling easily against the tree’s broad trunk, Amanda smoothed the paper against her lap and began to read.

 

Hello, Baba. It’s me, L’illia. I haven’t heard from you for a very long time but I keep writing, hoping that you’ll find my notes and answer them. Even though we’re not home anymore I know you’ll find them. Mama always said you were clever like that; no matter where I put them you would find them. You were like a sprite, she said; you knew my every move and thought. And you did, Baba, so many times. When I thought I was being clever at hiding things you always found them. I know you’ll find this eventually. I know you’ll find me.

 

Mama and Papa are gone now, Baba. At least that’s what they tell me. The Great Fire came so quickly they didn’t have time to leave. I remember someone grabbing me from my bed and shoving me into a transport with a lot of other children. Everyone was screaming and crying. I was, too, Baba. I’m so ashamed. You always told me to be strong no matter what because that’s the Rihan way. I try, Baba. I really do. But I miss Mama and Papa, and I miss you.

 

I live on a station far from home now, Baba. It’s called Aegis. At first the transport took us to a planet called Alastair. It was like ch’Rihan, with green hills, beautiful flowers, and nice people who took care of us. We stayed there for a while until they could get the station ready and then they moved us there so our families could find us. No one has found me yet, Baba. Not Mama, not Papa, not Uncle, not Auntie, and not you, Baba. I heard someone say you’re all gone; they said it in whispers but I heard them.

 

I’m scared, Baba. I’m so scared. Please don’t be gone. Please find me.

 

The words on the page began to blur. Amanda blinked, then smoothed the paper once more before continuing.

 

I have nothing from home except my doll, Lilibeth. I was sleeping with her when we had to leave. And I have my nighty - the one you gave me for my birthday last year? I have that, too. I’m very careful with it, Baba. It’s not even soiled, not in the least. And that stone you gave me? The smooth one from the river? I have that, too, because it was in Lilibeth’s pocket. I hold her close at night, and when I close my eyes I can smell you and I can smell Mama and Papa and home.

 

Please, Baba. I want to go home.

 

We go to school here, Baba, and learn all kinds of things. There is a nice lady who takes care of us. She’s human but she’s married to a Rihan. Her name is Mimi. It sounds like Mama’s name, but not exactly. Everyone calls her Doctor. There is another lady, too, one just as nice as Mimi. She’s gentle and her eyes tell me that she really cares. We call her Auntie, but the others call her Counselor. She wears skirts that make noise like the wind in the trees when she moves. She smells of sweet flowers, Baba, like the flowers in your garden....

 

L’illia’s words melted into one unintelligible stream. Thought piled upon thought, scene upon scene until Amanda found herself clutching the parchment, pressing it into her breast as though that simple act could erase every hurt, every torment. She choked on her tears but soon they began to flow freely. Torrents cascaded down her cheeks and onto the scroll, cleansing the wound that had opened a great chasm in her soul, each word piercing deeper and deeper, forcing her into an emotional blur that, until that moment, she had hidden so well, sheltered from the children and the crew in the name of professionalism.

 

As if on cue, the arboretum breeze stirred, carrying with it a heady fragrance of rose and iris. It swirled the willow’s branches toward her and curled them around her feet, its heavier boughs moaning in concert with her pain. Great heavy sobs escaped for what seemed like hours until there came a sudden, inexplicable quietude, an emptiness that left her weak because she had no more to give.

 

L’illia was one of the most beautiful children Amanda had ever known. Her silky black hair framed dark azure eyes, deep pools of hidden secrets that she would have never shared were it not for Annisha. She and Annisha had become dear, dear friends, but now that Annisha had been adopted, L’illia was once again alone. In the aftermath of her grief, Amanda wondered who this Baba was, and if he really did perish, or if by some wondrous providence he or she had survived.

 

Oh, please let it be so, Amanda whispered, still clutching the scroll. Dear God, please let it be so. Let them be alive. In your boundless love you have a place for her. Let it be with them.