Shining Star
Since childhood, Belén had prayed to the Tripulación Originaria, hoping El Caminante‘s original crew would choose her to join the worldship’s elite cadre of pilots guiding the massive vessel on its holy peregrinaje through the stars. Belén’s mother had always called Belén her shining star, her milagro who defied the odds and lived, her esperanza who would be El Caminante‘s future.
Belén had been vain enough to believe her.
On her sixteenth birthday, the guardian of the worldship’s templo had summoned Belén for the consulto that would shape her future. She’d traversed the ship to the templo, she’d said her prayers to the Tripulación Originaria before their mummies, she’d watched as the guardian poured liquid from the sacred urn and sipped it.
She’d listened as he told her that the beings around them had revealed Belén would be a científica, and her heart shattered.
“Don’t be so disappointed,” her mother said when Belén returned to their carefully-decorated quarters. “The científicos have the most important job on this ship: el reciclaje pa’ la vida.”
“But, Mami, I don’t want to upcycle trash all day. Imagine how much more people would respect us if I were a pilot—or la navegadora, even!”
Belén’s mother frowned. “Mija, the científicos save lives. They preserve El Caminante‘s balance, ensuring nothing goes to waste. They deserve as much respect as the pilots.” She hesitated. “If it weren’t for the científicos—”
“—I wouldn’t be here. Lo sé, Mami. I know.”
“Good. Now, go freshen up. I’ll order your new uniforms. Our guests will be here in an hour, and I want you shining bright for them. Our benefactors will be thrilled to hear that my little milagro is going to use her brain for science.”
“Yes, Mami.” Belen retreated to her room. Her mother never failed to remind her how privileged they were, how grateful she should be to the científicos, how their science helped Belén survive a mysterious enfermedad when she was a baby. She felt like they’d spent her whole life celebrating that miracle. Her mother was always throwing posh parties, always making Belén the center of attention, always seeking more benefactors for some unknown cause.
Perhaps Mami was right. Belén had always taken El Caminante‘s perfect recycling system for granted. At least as a científica she’d have the opportunity to learn how it worked. Quizás one day she’d save the whole vessel from disaster!
Not that anything ever went wrong on the worldship. The peregrinaje had gone on for so long that the policies and procedures established by the Tripulación Originaria were practically embedded in the DNA of everyone aboard—even the cybernetic hybrids. Everyone knew the consequences of breaking the rules, so nobody ever did. Quizás mechanical failures happened sometimes, but Belén lived so far above the engine rooms on the Deep Belowdecks that she had no idea whether it was even possible for something to break down there.
The party that night passed in a blur. Belén barely noticed when her mother introduced her to the granddaughter of El Caminante’s current navegadora. When everyone finally left, she collapsed onto her bed and slept.
In the morning, a científico not that much older than Belén greeted her in the corridor. He wore the same uniform pale blue jumpsuit and red gloves. “My name’s Merlí,” he said. “Ven.”
She obeyed, allowing him to lead her to Section RR. “I’ve never descended this far,” she confided as they passed through the sanitization chamber outside the científicos’ labs.
“It’s just labs and the orfanato,” Merlí said. “Acá está más sucio. Things here aren’t as nice as the High Abovedecks.”
A light flared yellow by the lab’s entrance. “Hurry up, we’ve got a fresh one coming in.”
“A fresh what?” she asked.
“You’ll see. It’s nearly time!”
Belén jogged after him, following Merlí into a laboratory that looked more like a medbay. There were already several científicos in the room, gathered around three stations adorned with tools and portable freezers.
“Merlí, what am I supposed to do?”
He picked up a tiny chip with several hair-thin filaments from a station staffed by only one científica. “Hold this until the cirujana asks for it.”
“But I don’t have any training!”
Merlí ignored her, distracted by the lab’s other entrance swinging open. Several científicos rushed in, carrying an unconscious boy in ragged clothes who looked about thirteen. A huérfano. He must be. She’d never seen anyone from the orfanato before.
The científicos flew into action, hooking up IVs. Belén watched with growing horror as they began cutting the boy open before her eyes. When her cirujana turned and beckoned, Belén gave the woman the chip, hands shaking. The cirujana quickly sewed it into the space where the huérfano’s left kidney had been. Other científicos operated on the boy’s eyes and heart, deftly removing and replacing them with chips and electronics.
Everyone froze when Belén vomited.
Merlí hurried her out of the room, swearing.
“I thought we were scientists, not surgeons,” she whispered. “I thought we recycle things so they don’t go to waste.”
“We do,” he replied, helping her to a chair. “When the huérfanos hit their thirteenth cumpleciclos, we take them for our experiments and reciclaje. Every resource matters on El Caminante.” His callous tone tone made her retch again.
When the reciclaje was done, the científicos sent her home early.
Her mother found Belén huddled under a pile of soft blankets, sobbing. “Ay, mija, what’s wrong?”
Belén uncovered her swollen, tear-stained face. “Did you know, Mami? Did you know what they do to the poor huérfanos down there?”
Her mother blinked. “Of course I did, mija. How often do I tell you that if it weren’t for the científicos, you wouldn’t be here? Now, why don’t you freshen up? Our new guests will be here soon, and I want you to tell them all about your first day, my shining star.”
She left, and the door closed behind her.
Belén vomited for a third time.
Monica Louzon (she/her) is a queer USian writer, translator, and editor from Maryland. Her fictions have appeared in Archive of the Odd, Paranoid Tree, Shoreline of Infinity, and others. Her story “9 Dystopias” was a Best Microfiction 2023 winner. To learn more about Monica and her work, please visit https://linktr.ee/molowrites.