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The way the Twilight Mirage curls around Quire gives the planet the illusion of wings. Each strand of color resembles a feather, drenched in starlight, sweeping out into the black of space. As the nebula glimmers, it’s as though Quire’s wings are fluttering, like the planet might fly away at any moment.
Gray Gloaming looks out from her capsule, out from her home which circles the Mirage in a loose orbit, and gazes across the spectacle of color and movement that defines the Divine Fleet. Gray smiles to herself. Despite it all, it’s a sight hasn’t gotten old.
“A division of angels,” she says out loud, echoing that phrase from so many reports ago.
She hears her recording device whir back to life at the sound of her voice, beeping expectantly, ready to send the next message. Gray smiles again, rolling away from the large observation window back to her console in order to turn the device off. She already sent her daily report to Demani earlier that morning, when it was dawn across the Mirage. Now, it is dusk.
Let’s both just keep doing our best.
However, her hand hovers above the keyboard, hesitant, metal fingers glinting in the light of the Mirage. Despite her distance from the Divine Fleet and the nebula that protects it, the Mirage shines brilliantly, casting the walls of her capsule in a warm, hazy glow. Yet perhaps because of the distance, Gray can appreciate the view more fully. Her detachment allows her to piece together the distinct shapes and patterns of the civilization below, to admire the lines that people create as they move throughout their lives.
After all , Gray thinks to herself, it’s when things are far away that you can see just how much they mean to you.
Demani’s status reads temporarily away. Gray wonders what she’s up to, if she’s reading more of the Assemblage, writing the latest batch of updates to Crystal Palace, or just lost in thought. It seems early for her to be asleep but...there are idiosyncrasies to the way Demani lives that Gray, in order to change from flesh to data, had to give up.
But there’s still a latent desire within Gray, a carryover from her previous body, to express impulses at times. She taps her fingers against the console, biting her lip, before taking a breath and hitting record once again.
Hey, Primary...do you remember the first time we spoke? Something crackled as soon as you opened the line and I thought it was the connection, but I quickly realized it was the sound of your voice. It reminded me of smoldering embers, the way they burn dim, betraying their true heat.
I had wanted to make a good first impression by staying rapt with attention, not missing any details in your initial dispatch, but I soon found that the reason I hung on your every word was not because you were my superior officer, but because you spoke like your words were only ever meant for me.
And as time goes by, when I craft my reports, more and more I think only of you.
I do spend a lot of my time thinking, Primary. I know my job up here is mostly to be an impartial observer, to watch the passage of time itself, more than anything. But lately...my mind wanders when I least expect it, to places I've never before considered, as though the data is trying to tell me something I can’t quite yet interpret.
I do think that distance is rewarding, that beauty and meaning can be found in quiet observation. I truly believe in thoughtful examination, after all, or else I wouldn’t have given up my body to be on this capsule hurtling through space. I know there is value in looking at something from far away.
But, I’m beginning to suspect that, once you’ve spent what feels like an eternity admiring beauty solely from afar, it’s natural to wonder if there might be a place for you somewhere in the middle of it all, where your speculations can fall away to the hidden surprises of reality.
I wonder what a life in the Mirage might look like for someone like me. Yet...I can’t imagine this life without picturing you there as well.
I asked you once what your canvas was, Demani. Mine might be data, but I think...I think you’re the brush.
Gray ends the recording and hits send before she can change her mind.
She doesn’t have to wait long to see Demani’s status switch back online. Gray watches her monitor with a growing sense of regret. Eventually though, her console gives a series of loud beeps and the words “Incoming Transmission from Primary Observer” flash across the screen. Gray takes a deep breath and accepts the transmission. Demani’s voice soon echoes throughout the capsule.
“Satellite?”
Gray manages to say, “I’m-yes, Satellite here. I’m-”
“One moment please,” Demani says quietly, cutting her off. It’s the tone she uses when she thinks Crystal Palace might be listening. Gray hears the rapid clicking of buttons and then the shudder of the connection switching over to a different channel, one no doubt hidden from any unwanted ears.
When Demani sighs, Gray wonders what that breath would feel like against her cheeks. Not for the first time in recent days, Gray wishes that Demani was there with her in the room.
“Gray?” Demani asks.
“Demani,” Gray exhales in reply.
"Are you..." Gray hears an uncharacteristic hesitation in Demani's voice. "I listened to your report, er, message."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah..." Demani hums. "I guess I could have just sent you back a recording but...I wanted to talk to you. To hear your voice."
Gray smiles. "You just heard my voice, Demani."
Demani clears her throat. "Yes, well...it's nice to have a more...immediate conversation at times. Not just staggered dispatches and reports."
Gray mimics Demani's hum, rolling over to the window once again.
"And also..." Demani continues. "I just wanted to tell you that I too...think about those things, you know."
"Oh," says Gray, blinking. "You do?"
Demani makes a noise. "Yes, Gray, of course I do."
Gray rests her hand against her glass, looking at the way her golden fingertips fade away into the rich color of the Mirage. She can't help but think of touch again, of what Demani's hands would feel like against her synthetic skin.
"What kind of life would you want to have down there, if you could?" Gray finally asks.
"Well..." Gray hears Demani shuffling around her station, no doubt moving to stand next to her own observation window as well, to look down upon the life that is so close within their reach. "I think I'd like to be somewhere I could meet all sorts of people and continue studying life in the Mirage. Even if I wasn't a Primary Observer, I think I'd still like to observe, you know? Just...without the potential destruction of a civilization looming over my shoulder."
Gray smiles. "Old scholar habits die hard, I suppose."
"I guess you could say that," Demani laughs. "But also, I think I'd like to be somewhere I could help people as well...somewhere we could help people, rather."
Gray bites her lip. "I like that," she replies. "Somewhere people can go to feel safe...to feel like they're a part of something bigger than just themselves."
"To feel connected to the entire Twilight Mirage," Demani agrees. She pauses, then adds, "It would be nice, anyway."
"It would be."
Content with the promise of each other's presence, they fall into silence. Gray gazes out over the Mirage, watching as it continues to shimmer and shift with dusk hanging low over the system.
“Demani?” Gray finally asks, after the illusory wings of Quire quiver once again.
“Hm?”
“Sometimes...when I close my eyes...I can feel the sway of my orbit.”
“Around the Fleet?” Demani asks.
“No," Gray smiles. "Around you.”
"Yeah." Demani's voice crackles across the connection, just as it did the very first time. "Me too."