The fissures along the atmosphere of Ami-x2 started as a few stray cracks, spreading their emerald glow slowly, just as a spider builds a web. Ritz clicked her tongue, gathering a fistful of skirts, as she busied herself herding her small pack of animals onto the skiff.
"Come now Agamon, let's go. Haste Scribo..." Click. She always clicked as she moved — it was the only way to find her path. Ritz listened as her indicator bounced along nearby buttes, her tongue sticking out ever so slightly. The rebounding flavor of the red rocks mixed with the reality above, the Hastanial invasion was a sweeping success.
Her milky white eyes filled with tears, she didn't need to see the atmosphere asunder for the full effect, it collided against her mind like a ton of moon rocks.
The animals shook in the knowledge of imminent danger, evolution had designed a counter in their ability to understand. The overwhelming need to escape consumed them, in their lack of awareness. Ritz clicked along to them as she steadied the craft, "It's better to face the turmoil now."
The sky was no longer a series of fissures, but an all-encompassing glow. The scent of starvation, of trauma, of abandon... Ritz breathed it in, and willed it away. Her only duty was to tend the herd, to continue the practice... The wisdom of nature must be protected.
There was a time that everyone kept animals, as pets or as food. The beasts roamed about with free reign, untamed by the human race. Ritz remembered the words of her grandmother,
"Acts of service are a gift we are given." to cherish the animals is to cherish life.
Ritz did not consume her friends, no, not even when they fell naturally. To partake in such things would dull her gift, her song would no longer be true to those who judged by instinct.
Click. The skiff closed in; the port tasted about 1000 feet away. Relief filled her empty pockets.
"I'll be damned, you did it Ritz"! Bjorn cheers as he pulls the skiff in tight to the dock, offering his blind friend a hand up. "Praise be, is that a goat?" she can tell from the tone of his voice, that his face is full of wonder. A warmth spread throughout her, inspiring a smile.
"If only I could have found more..." she trails off, click. It was a habit, even in familiar corridors. Some people have a tick or a habit, she had a method.
"We don't have any more time Ritz, we must flee if we are to survive." There is a frown on his words, a conscious effort not to think too much about what that means. At least, not just yet.
"I understand, help me lead the animals somewhere quiet, please." she says, beginning to hum as she enters the ships' bay. As if under a trance, cows and chickens alike trailed the witch. The last of her kind in these dead reaches of space, forgotten by the union that had sent them here.
Bjorn pretended to help anyway, just because he knew her trick, didn't make it less special. He needed to imagine that he helped, she needed to imagine that she was in need of help. Just to do things together can be a wonderful gift, holding together in the flux of uncertainty.
A scant collection of survivors from the Ami-x2 colony banded together to ready the ship, its walls shaking around them in the force of the Hastanial lasers. The atmosphere would only hold for an hour longer at most, frantic fingers showed this understanding, as bodies flew about in preparation.
In the cargo bay below, Ritz watched a vibrant picture of this endeavor on the backs of her eyelids. She hummed a courage song, for the animals, for her friends. One hand rested on the hindquarters of a pregnant sheep; her hips quaked, even as she lie her fluffy head on the wooden floorboards.
Ritz channeled her the strength she could through the insufficient touch, while her other hand stroked a bleating calf tenderly. She had not found its mother nearby, when it had burrowed up to her skirts in scouting. Her song was tones of beckoning, the child adding vocals. No mother had appeared for the babe however, and time was not on their side.
She soothed him how she could, gentle fingers channeled the traces she found of a time he felt safe. "You are loved" the slow stroke of her hand whispered into the fur of the calf. She hummed for him, for them, for her. She can taste the green above.
In the cabin of a ship held together more by prayers than hardware, the best crew the ragtag group could assemble strapped into their seats. Beyond the thick pane of glass that they hoped would save them in space, their planet glowed emerald in the death knell of the only home they had ever known. The shadow of a Hastanial destroyer above them blocked out the sun.
"Are we ready?" A woman whose face was shaped by dense scar tissue turns to ask those gathered. She's strapped into one of the captain's seats, Bjorn by her side. Long ago he had piloted cargo ships, before the union had wiped Ami-x2 from the map. He willed his hands to remember the process, to carry his people from this forsaken planet. "Ready." he confirms.
A wave of nods sweeps across the bridge, as the ship whirls to life. So far so good Bjorn grits his teeth, sense memory leading his hands across the switches he must flip. They were dead if they stayed a moment longer, Bjorn just hoped the launch didn't hasten destiny.
He began to count back from ten, the seat rumbling beneath his rump in the effort of the craft: Three, here we go... Two, let there be deliverance for us, he prays. One! Then swiftly, they are yanked upward painfully, the change in gravity pressing against their innards.
Ritz sings below, confident that all nearby human ears were occupied. This tune is not for their consumption, it is a timeless contract between animals and tenders. The vibrations of her voice are a promise to the terrified beasts — I will honor you.
The ship breaks through the atmosphere with a lurch. The blackness of space, a safety blanket, for now.