the stars are expecting you.

a dystopian sci-fi novel by Logan Brown.

chapter one:

A human woke from their slumber, a four foot tall wasp gleaming golden above. The wasp strafed across the human's vision, drifting from side to side.

The wasp cocked her head.

"Breakfast?", she asked of the human.

"Yeah," they replied, adjusting to their new reality. "I think that'd be good."

The human got out of bed, and the pair made their way out the bedroom and down the hallway stairs, human by footfall and wasp through airway.

"Your name is glitching," said the wasp.

"I'm aware," the human replied. "It always does that."

"It shouldn't. It shouldn't do such a thing," said the wasp. The two of them walked and floated onwards. "It's a bad sign."

The human sighed, rubbing the back of their head. "I'm besieged by so many bad signs that I tend to... ignore bad signs,” they replied. "They come and go. I try not to –“

"Pay attention? Please pay attention," said the wasp. "It is important that you always pay attention."

The human, distracted, made an agreeable sound. They were both now in the kitchen, and the human began eating from a bowl of sugary breakfast cereal. They had replied with a full mouth.

"That is a reply that denotes that you will not start to pay attention," the wasp said, and then sighed. "You are a messenger. messengers must pay attention, for their work is loaded with bad horizons. Any mistake in misinterpreting the codex and all is lost. People get sold misinterpreted messages and everything, everything goes cataclysmically wrong," said the wasp, and bitingly followed up with, "and you look like a messenger about to misinterpret something cataclysmically. You look like a thrown away messenger.”

"I look like a thrown away messenger?”, said the human.

"Yes," the wasp said, with urgency.

"Okay." The human took another bite of milky cereal. "I hate this job anyway."

The wasp reared up, buzzing intensely. "I did not come to be talked down to by such an insolent, about to be thrown away messenger.” She jutted forward, hovering above the bowl of cereal, and the human fell out of their chair. "I did not come here to lose you and everything else."

"Well, it looks like you're going to." Echo said, picking themself up off the ground, to resume the consumption of their cereal -

Echo? Their name was Echo. The glitch had cleared. The wasp would be able to know and speak their name now, if she so wished, for the bond between a messenger and a deliverer allowed for each of their names to be known to the other on meeting...

Echo realised something. Why could the wasp know Echo’s name, but Echo not know hers? For the glitch on the wasp's name continued to obscure said name from Echo's mind.

The wasp buzzed harder. "You must adapt. This world is new, but I have trained new messengers before, and they have pulled through. They are managing, Echo. You must pull through. It is imperative."

"And if I don't manage?", asked Echo.

The wasp surged forward once again, and Echo instinctively grabbed their bowl and pulled it tight to their chest.

"Interesting. You use your food as a shield," the wasp said.

"What?" They'd spilled milk down themself. They cursed.

"You hide," the wasp said. "You hide in comfort."

Echo felt intruded upon. "Back to my original point; what if I don't manage to pull through?", they said.

"Thrown away. To The Wasteheap you go," said the wasp.

Echo knew what and where The Wasteheap was. All new messengers spent the first few hours of their new profession on a guided tour through its halls, surveying the less lucky ones through the windows inside.

The cells weren't pretty.

The arena was worse.

Free goodie bag at the end.

————————————————————————————————

Before their time as a messenger had started, they had been someone else. A different name; one they couldn't remember.

Too many moons ago, something had happened. Something bad. Before they were explicitly a messenger, they had delivered a message.

Messages in this world were interpreted by the messenger, and delivered within a puzzle box, with specific pathways for the message’s recipient to open up the message, and read its contents.

Whereas, when it came to messages in the last world, the internet and a keyboard for transposition was fine.

The message they had delivered had many pathways, for the recipient was a skilled reader of messages, and didn't need any help in the form of guidelines.

But they as the messenger had managed to mess up the message so severely, that the metaphorical puzzle box on delivery was broken. Irreparably crushed, beyond repair; and for Echo, beyond redemption. And so, the recipient had had transported them to this world, to act as messenger for all eternity, or, realistically, maybe two days if they were lucky, until they messed up again and would thus be transported to The Wasteheap.

And Echo, Echo was currently two weeks going strong; and had developed quite a sweet tooth for living, sleeping, and attaining further levels of rapidly deteriorating mental health, on borrowed time.

But there had still been technical snafus. Ever since formally becoming a messenger, Echo was experiencing pixelations. Pixelations were technicolour glitches, usually involving screen-tearing pixels and cycling progressions of colour. They were experiencing them at a rapid rate that they were not used to, and would likely never get used to.

They would try to sleep them away. Sometimes this tactic worked, and sometimes it didn't. Mostly, it lost them time, and landed them in situations where they were coming closer and closer to becoming thrown away. This loss of time also meant that they had to adapt to their pixelations, whilst awake and cognisant.

(This had aided Echo in carrying a deep, deep rage inside. They did not like being awake. And also, just generally, they did not want to die whilst awake and cognisant. They wanted to sleep again. And at this point they wanted to sleep again, forever. … But life did have its strong points, Echo had been forced to admit to themself, clutching their breakfast cereal bowl tight to their chest, continuing to eat, ravenously. Even in a dystopia like this, there was an endless choice of cereals to choose from. They had picked out a cinnamon one.) … And so, the wasp was likely here to stay, in all her urgent, terrifying, and oddly calming glory.

"Pull through, Echo,” said the wasp.

"Okay," they replied, surprising themself. “will do.” The quick, misshapen promise felt like the very sugar in their rushing blood; it had a welcome and surprising sweetness to it.

They put down the near empty bowl of breakfast cereal, and braced themself for The Delivery to start; the moment upon which a messenger receives the physical key to their temporary freedoms. … The wasp reached inside her fuzz, and, finding a pocket within, almost like a kangaroo might, drew out a golden cube, made of many, many smaller golden cubes. The segments were marked with an ever-shifting encoded tongue that Echo had been beginning to learn how to decipher, over the past couple of weeks they had been a messenger in this… place, that they had been banished to.

They had always been a quick student, and all parties that they had met so far had been glad of it, for it wasn’t just a messenger who determined their own fate. Once a Delivery had begun, up until a Delivery had reached Completion, a messenger and deliverer were team.

If one was to deteriorate -

"Here is your Message. Interpretation and Delivery must reach Completion within five hours..”

There were many Uppercase letters in this job. It was in the EmployeeHandbook that certain terminology must be used. Echo could hear the lilted clicking that accompanied said Uppercase within the Wasp’s speech, a cross between vocal tone and typewriter keys.

The tippy-tappy sound of Death Himself.

After all, Death had been the one to make this world and everything in it-

They weren’t allowed to think that.

Death would be able to hear them. In their mind…

Their mind wasn’t theirs anymore.

Echo shuddered, and tried to push it all away - push it all -

Far away.

————————————————————————————————

They had succeeded. For now.

But they had zoned out.

Panicked, Echo turned their ears to the digital rainfall within the Wasp’s voice.

And for the first time, something about it. Her words, the noises -

they were soft.

She sounded soft. “…Echo?” They had zoned out again-

“Go team?”

“Yes, uh… team. Go team?”, she said awkwardly. The wasp was bright yellow and incapable of blushing. “Your Recipient is across the city, ten miles away. I can give you the Address only when you have completed Interpretation, due to security constraints requested by the Recipient and/or the Recipient’s Corporation.” Huh? That was new, thought Echo. "Good luck," wished the wasp-

And that was when they realised. Five hours? Echo was panicking; they had overslept far beyond what they had thought.

They were destined for The Wasteheap. … But the puzzle box was warm in their hands; glowing to the touch. It pulsated in their grip, as they softly turned each segment up and down, left and right, back and forth, sometimes splitting cubes into pyramids and shifting them diagonally, and then reforming them, half anew. … Maybe they… had a chance? … Yet after a minute, they realised that they were struggling. It was a difficult message to interpret. There were many options for pathways to create, and-

"How skilled at reading messages is the Recipient?” Echo asked of the wasp. “Out of, like, curiosity,” Echo hastily added. They didn’t want to seem intrusive upon a higher ranked Recipient. There was some sort of social code that was presenting itself in this moment, an inkling of cautiousness needed. But the urge to know more was tickling Echo’s brain, daring Echo to scratch at it.

In this world, asking too may questions was asking for Death.

"Undisclosed, but they say they would like a very clear message, for they have little time to read, and little interest in spending their time puzzle solving." Damn it, thought Echo. I was hoping to leave gaps in the pathways. This could no longer be an option.

They changed their technique, both out of necessity and a desire for the activity to be more enjoyable; the haptics of a solve in progress made Echo’s brain go brrrrrrrr. They were in a flow state now, splitting the pyramid shaped segments further, into shapes that were more pentagonal, and then more hexagonal. They started to feel the familiar whirr of the mechanics within the slightly melting gold-

Slightly melting? They slowed down, aware now that they weren't skilled enough to go as fast as they'd like, no matter how fun it was.

They stopped for a second, took a deep breath, and carried on, lost in their task to the point of being completely unaware of their environment, gradually increasing in speed again. Echo tapped their middle finger against the puzzle box, to check for a progress bar. … And no progress bar appeared. That was odd. Normally there would at least be something, even if it was a miscalculation or a glitch, but this supplied them with... nothing. Nothing at all.

That denoted something classified about the message, usually, though they hadn't faced the situation often, maybe once or twice before. It was too dangerous to just tack on a note to the puzzle box or supply the deliverer of the box with such information. It kept it more confidential to supply the messenger with limited information whilst in the middle of a solve, to state that this wasn't one to be talking about after their shift had finished. 

This was also problematic in that the Recipient wanted a clear message. That would mean that this would be a secret Echo would have to hold for all eternity. They didn't like this one bit, but it wasn't exactly as if they had a choice here. … Echo continued on with the solve, slowly easing the fluxing segments of the box down calmly whenever they got a bit too excitable and went too fast, for a melted puzzle box would mean a one way ticket to The Wasteheap. (Not that a melted box had ever been expected by Echo, but it was an easy enough conundrum to extrapolate on.) … … A sticky, tacky, burning sensation began to creep back into their palms, and despite their fear moments before, they ignored it.

Got to get this done.

And when they looked to the wasp and asked,

"Are you happy to share in this secret with me?", seeking confirmation;

the wasp seemed to puff herself up, buzzing a little more intensely.

"Of course. It is my duty as deliverer to do so."

"Okay. You don't have to, you know," Echo said.

"I know. I know I know I know," she's excitable, thought Echo. "But it is my duty."

“Okay." Echo, said, yet, it was more than okay. Her response had added a sense of calm to Echo’s urge to know more. The wasp seemed like she wouldn’t tell if they asked a few more questions. They continued on with the solve, both of them now silent, until -

"Wait, could you-" Echo started.

And that was when it happened.

Echo’s focus had drifted off, to a more jovial, spontaneous place than what was meant for them, what was imperative for them to remember,

as thus,

they would both pay the price.

The wasp started to split into pieces, pieces akin to the puzzle box in Echo’s palms. And when Echo shifted the pieces of the puzzle box...

"H e l p !", screeched the wasp.

...the pieces of the wasp shifted too, in the same manner. The two golden beings were now one and the same,

except one was still very wasp shaped,

and very scared.

"Argh, I don't know what to-" Echo dropped the puzzle box down on the breakfast table, and it landed in their breakfast cereal bowl. The wasp vanished.

They stayed paralysed for a second before lunging for the milky puzzle box, and when they held it once more, the wasp reappeared.

"Why did you do that?????”, asked the wasp, falling further into deep turmoil.

"I don't know. I was - I didn't want to be - holding it when it was doing what it was doing to you - " said Echo.

"Okay," the wasp started to move around the room, glitching as they floated. “Okay. Okay okay o-”

"What does it - what does it feel like?", asked Echo.

"It feels like I am going home, but to a home I have never been to and have no wish to go," said the wasp,

Death, thought Echo. They call that Death.

And it was starting to get worse. The pieces of the wasp were now starting to glitch and scramble; the puzzle box moving in the same ways in Echo’s hands automatically. They were trying to gain control, but it was difficult. After another minute of struggling, Echo managed to jam the puzzle box in place on one axis, but the other axes were still rotating.

It was getting dire now; the wasp disappearing every so often once-more, and fading back into view again.

"What's your name?”, requested Echo. They figured that they would have to talk her gently down into sleep, and a name might be useful for that purpose.

They also just wanted to know her, if she were to die.

The wasp hesitated. … And then, the wasp spoke.

She had tried to utter a name, but she had spoken a nothingness.

White noise flooded the miniature kitchen.

"I'm glitching?”, she said. “I'm glitching. This is a cause for concern, Echo.”

"I know, and I'm working on it," replied Echo, trying to screw the puzzle box tighter together on a specific axis, like you might a bottle top. Desperate times, ridiculous methods. ”Do you know the address for the Recipient? Maybe they could-"

"I can't say," replied the wasp. “I can’t- Not until the puzzle box is completely interpreted."

"That isn't going to happen.” Echo was surprised at their voice now. Authoritative. “Not with it malfunctioning so badly that you as the deliverer are glitching in and out of view. I need it now. You won't be in any fit state to tell me in a few minutes," requested Echo.

“Okay. But-” She dropped her volume down low. “Echo, we are playing with trouble here.”

"I know;” they whispered back to Name. “...but what choice do we have?"

"There is always so much choice, Echo." Foreboding. Echo shivered with the chill of the words' meaning, despite how calm and warm they sounded in actuality. "There is always so much choice not to be playing with trouble.”

The last sentence the wasp had spoken made little sense to Echo, whose very existence was often the concentrated raw form of trouble.

This was their second broken puzzle box.

Their only hope would be to meet the Recipient of the box, explain what had happened, hope that they would be more merciful, and find a way to solve the puzzle under the Recipient’s guidance in such a way that they could extract and salvage Name’s life. … A moment passed, as things tend to do when the worst things are happening to someone, and in it, Echo felt like they had transgressed into the becoming of a mirror image of their own self.

The glitch on the wasp's name had now cleared.

She was called Name.

————————————————————————————————

Name didn't have a name custom to them; they were simply called such a default thing as Name.

Echo didn't have another moment to think thoughts about this matter, before Name glitched heavily again, ripping through mid-air, cycling technicolour through a rainbow of hues.

And then they were restored briefly once more.

“Name. What's the address?" Echo said hurriedly.

"You know my name! It's Name, like a name… Uh, it's - " The Address had glitched, but after a short delay, Echo had it.

It was an address for one The Recipient.

"I'm going to try to save... you. Name. Trust that I'll..." Echo was out of breath from trying to lock the other axes of the puzzle box to no avail. They had barely been moving them. "I'll try. I'm not good at this, but-"

"You'll try," said Name.

"...Yeah."

Echo fell from exhaustion against the cupboards behind them, unable to catch themself, and unable to let go of the puzzle box, before hitting their-

————————————————————————————————

When they awoke, Name was gone,

and so was the puzzle box.

Echo freaked out big time.

“Name?" They scrambled their way up off the floor, elbowing the bowl of breakfast cereal off the table, accidentally spilling more milk down themself and smashing the bowl into pieces in the process. They cursed, before sprinting off into the small apartment.

“Name!” They ran back up the stairs... nothing. Checked their bedroom... still nothing. Echo swore, and kept swearing all the way down the stairs. They grabbed their keycard and swiped their way out the door.

————————————————————————————————

When they arrived at the Recipient’s address, they were covered in sweat, and they were crying. The intercom couldn't hear them at first, and they dropped to their knees, lack of hope seeping in. When they finally got buzzed in, amidst the intercom person's confusion, they scuffed the palms of their hands boosting themself off the ground.

They were lead through a number of doors…

…into a low-lit library, finished with rich and dark, varnished woods, and scattered with metre tall piles of dusty tomes.

And Echo was told to wait until the Recipient arrived.

————————————————————————————————

"What seems to be the problem?", asked The Recipient, striding into the room, maybe a few minutes after being informed. Echo had zoned out.

"How- how do you know there to be a problem?", replied Echo.

"My dear; you're crying." answered The Recipient.

"The Deliverer, she - Name disappeared. She glitched and she - disappeared. Along with the puzzle box. I tried to jam the axes of the box, but - nothing... I didn't manage it. It broke- I’m-so-so-sorry, like really sorry, I didn’t mean to- break? it? …and then I blacked out and awoke to-”, Echo trailed off.

"The puzzle box gone? Along with your deliverer?", enquired The Recipient.

"Yeah..." said Echo.

"Would this-", the Recipient said, pulling out a puzzle box, the puzzle box, from nowhere... “ - answer your queries? It's here. Safe and sound.”

The golden cube composed of many golden cubes appeared very much the same as it did within Echo's palms earlier, except for two very significant details. 

It was stripy, and covered in fuzz.

"That's - ", Echo started, walking forwards slowly in disbelief.

They needed to be closer.

They needed to be closer to Name.

————————————————————————————————

"Your puzzle box, yes. Solved and in perfect condition. Teleported by my desire to get my hands on it quicker," said The Recipient.

"That's Name.” Echo kept walking forwards, towards the box.

Towards the entrapped Name.

"Excuse me, but what is this... name, you speak of?" The Recipient asked.

As if it was just a curiosity.

Echo, still walking, but now, flushed hot with rage.

He knows. He knows!

"My deliverer, Name. You've entrapped her in the - " Echo was shouting now, sense of self preservation lost to feelings they'd never felt before.

"What nonsense! I couldn't... wouldn't, do such a thing!" The Recipient was angry also now, but Echo didn't care.

Echo just wanted to know Name was okay.

...

But, what if they weren't? What if they weren't o-

Their heart panged deep in their chest with every heartbeat. "The box wasn't stripy and fuzzy before, and you said you're a… mage?” Confused, they stopped to doubt themself.

They stopped… to doubt what? What was doubtable about the situation they were in?

They realised they were almost nose to nose with The Recipient

They were breathing heavily, unsure what to do next.

They were breaking all the rules. The lights on the walls were flickering, they were flickering, and Echo was breaking All Of The Rules.

"Well, I transported the box, now. I'd hardly be not skilled in the magical arts, would I?", replied The Recipient.

Echo put their hand on Name and felt her buzzing intensify, like a particularly friendly video game controller.

They had to catch their breath, for the tension in the room was thick as honey, and-

They weren't allowed to do that. They weren't allowed to touch the box.

The Recipient slammed them into an armlock, and Echo cried out. The Recipient spoke, close to Echo's ear. "If you know what's good for you Echo, you'll walk away now."

Echo was released, and they staggered back.

He knows my name, thought Echo. Only deliverers are informed of the name of a messenger.

There was no walking away now.

Echo went berserk. They thrashed their way out of the armlock, dislocating their shoulder in the process.

Then they rushed The Recipient.

Or at least, tried, to rush The Recipient.

The Recipient moved out of the way without effort.

He called for guards,

and they flooded out of the shadows.

Too many to count.

Too many to fight.