Sixty Minutes to Echo

by Anna Long

In Icarus, the leaves don’t crunch when they’re stepped on. They snap like twigs. Their leafy veins are composed of hard alcivite deposits, an element akin to calcium. That’s what Ling says. It’s an eerie sound, like the breaking of bone, but it’s one I’ve grown accustomed to over the years. As I make my way deeper into the woods, the luminescent glow of the forest illuminates my path with ethereal beauty. Here, nightfall doesn’t bring darkness, only enchantment. This mystical aura makes Garrison Grove in Sector 12 Ling’s favorite hideaway, yet it offers me little sense of calm as I search for her and June. As beautiful as the grove is, it isn’t safe for an unarmed woman, especially in her condition, and a 6-year-old child. Sixty minutes to Echo, she knows that. The war between the Naxian and mankind is far from over.

The whispering white noise of Tenaga Falls serves as my guide. It tells me that I’m close. That’s where Ling will be if she’s out here at all. As I cautiously bend under the weight of low branches, my thoughts drift back to the apocalyptic scene of twisted metal and debris.

An acrid stench of smoldering waste permeates the air as the descending sun casts a bloody stain across the horizon. Huddled in a dugout with my comrades, we listen to the screech of Naxian weapons punctuated by sporadic booms of human artillery. We prime our rifles and advance towards the barricades, taking aim at the swarm of exoskeletal beings - some with writhing tentacles, others with wings. Their movements are unnaturally swift as they unleash beams of disintegrating energy upon our troops. Grenades detonate and plasma charges explode, quaking the ground beneath our feet. Crouching in the thick of smoke and dust, we cower for cover as shrapnel takes down two of my officers. Leaden with bullets and craters, the blood-soaked grass is littered with a scatter of bodies. Men like wax figures stiffened along the scorched earth with faces frozen with fear. The air hangs heavy with smoke and gunpowder, coalescing with the lingering smells of burning hair and the metallic tang of blood.

In an unfathomable display of carnage, our fallen brothers lie disfigured and charred beyond recognition. Johnson, dear God, with eyes dim and fixed on the bleeding sun, is torn to shreds. His chest, a gaping cavity, trembles as he draws his last breath. The nearest medevac is more than an hour’s walk. This is a choice that no 21-year-old kid should ever have to make, yet here I stand, grappling with the impossible decision before me.

My stomach flops and my heart pounds in my chest. I’m startled back to the present by the chittering of small forest creatures. The roar of rushing water grows louder as I draw closer. No sign of Ling or June. Helplessly, I call their names into the dense grove, but my cries are drowned out by the playful chatter of the voicevoxen. The harmless creatures, indigenous to the Icarus forests, have a peculiar way of mimicking voices in the night, causing confusion and disorientation for any predators nearby. It’s no wonder they’ve been credited for unbelievable ghost stories. The beginnings of myths and legends to be passed down through generations. Despite their mischievous nature, I find them helpful in my search for Ling, as her name becomes a choir of voices reverberating through the trees as I continue my desperate hunt. Wherever Ling has gone, June can’t be far.

* * *

23rd Battalion Echo-7, Resource Extraction Division. 2049.

Echo-7 was rumored to be among the largest spacecrafts in the Echo Fleet to ever land on Icarus. As an E-5 Officer, it was my duty to assign an escort to safeguard the Echo-7 Extractor, Ling Chen. Her genius and passion for botany and homeopathic medicine had earned Echo-7 the Rose Gold Merit of Excellence. Any one of my officers would’ve been privileged to accept the task. Through a series of uncanny events, however, the task was handed down to me.

Though the overqualified chip on my shoulder suggested otherwise, I looked forward to finally meeting Ms. Chen. I had only heard the household name around Echo-7 but never had a face to go with it. Beautiful and intelligent, both understatements, was the reputation she had gained on our starship. Ling Chen was cut from the canvas of Renoir, each stroke of color capturing her natural beauty and grace. She could speak five languages, they said, and had mastered the dialect of each.

The Extractor navigated a mini-map on her WristCom device that would lead us into the verdant wonderland of Sector 12. “Sixty minutes to Echo,” I reminded her under my breath. Since the horrors of the Naxian invasion, protocol had become a way of life for us soldiers. When boots hit the ground, no man or woman shall be more than sixty minutes from the nearest Echo spacecraft.

It was an easy four-mile walk into towering trees and paths lined with ferns, mushrooms, and wildflowers bursting with a riot of color. Infused with the scent of pine and damp soil was the crisp smell of fresh rain. As we advanced deeper into the forest, my skin reawakened to the cool misty air that welcomed me to one of Icarus’s most precious hidden gems. Cascading in a gentle symphony of sound, crystal clear waters tumbled down rocky terrain, feeding into a river surrounded by lush and wild foliage. An oasis blossomed with a vibrant tapestry of flowers, nourished by the shimmering curtain of water that spangled like pulsing diamonds in the sun’s rays.

“Echo-7,” I called in. “This is Sergeant Gunn. Sector 12 reached, no compromise. Extractor is a go.”

Ling took to exploring the area, eagerly sampling the moss clinging to the wet rocks while I leaned back and surrendered myself to the peaceful sprays of mist. Though she had been quiet since we left the ship, her soft humming was a haunting melody beckoning me to follow her into eternity. Her delicate features, reminiscent of the petals of a cherry blossom, and the way her smooth porcelain skin radiated in the warm sunlight, rendered my concentration on anything else futile. Throwing a timid smirk over her shoulder, her eyes caught me as she turned, and I immediately looked away.

We had been there for some time when the slanting rays of light piercing the canopy of trees were chased away by ominous thunderheads rolling across the sky. The clouds move differently here in Icarus, like tempestuous waves of the ocean, undulating and twisting as if at the mercy of the raw primal powers of a titan. A guttural growl of thunder shook the earth, warning the Extractor of the potential threat to the samples she had collected over the past hour. Hastily, she stowed the vials of specimens into her knapsack and joined me as we crossed the stream, seeking refuge behind the waterfall where a rocky overhang provided a shallow cave-like grotto. On two smooth-faced boulders, we sat and admired the untamed elements. Howling like a chorus of angry spirits, the wind whistled through the treetops. The rain came down in a barrage of bullets.

“Our home was beautiful like this, once,” she said with contemplation, breaking the quiet between us since our arrival. “It’ll be hard to say goodbye to those who won’t come here with us. To watch Earth die from afar, knowing they’re dying with it…” Her words trailed off into thoughtful silence.

“Maybe it won’t,” I offered. It was my best attempt to pacify her worries. We both knew the truth, that Earth was already on a banana peel when the Naxian showed up and wiped entire nations out of existence. Leaders of our planet assured us that we had seen the last of them. Empty promises meant to calm a broken world of panicked and grieving survivors. Between the threat of more invasions and the devastating damage sustained to the Ozone layer during the war, Earth was facing its final countdown. Months, they said. One year if we’re lucky, but two at most.

The sight of her crestfallen expression was unbearable. It would be a cardinal sin to let it continue. “By the way,” I hesitantly confessed in a change of subject. “We exceeded protocol by fifteen minutes.” The ongoing storm became deafening in the uncomfortable silence between us.

“We’re seventy-five minutes to Echo,” I clarified.

“Guess that guarantees we’re alone out here, unless another bad boy goes rogue and breaks protocol.” As a confident man, I am not easily intimidated, but her words made my cheeks flush.

Our conversations flowed effortlessly long after the storm had cleared. Ling shared stories of her childhood in Cambodia, and how her father would often take her to waterfalls like this. It was where her passion for botany was born. Since then, she’d always had a fondness for waterfalls. Her tales of adventure in Cambodia far surpassed my video game addictions and the occasional horseback riding days in Utah. She was interesting. If there was a silver lining that came with the darkness of war, it was in that moment with Ling Chen, a soothing balm to my troubled soul.

We talked about the colonization of Icarus. Despite being twice the size of Earth, it seemed like a pipe dream after the Naxians ravaged our home planet. Yet, against all odds, here we were taking part in the Re-habitation Project, a crucial part of humanity’s next chapter.

I couldn’t stop thinking of Ling after that. Every night I lay awake, reimagining the way her black hair transformed into liquid silk beneath the rushing waterfall. The sadness in her eyes when she spoke of Earth and all we had lost, and the sweetly spoken memories of her past showcased a genuine kindness in her soul.

After joining Med-Echo-4, stationed in Icarus for medical studies, Ling worked alongside the world’s greatest doctors and leading scientists. Whenever Echo-7 landed to deliver civilians and supplies, I made time to visit Tanaga Falls, named after Ling’s father. There, hidden in our special grotto behind the Falls, I would find her.

For over a year, we met in secret until it was time to settle among other survivors on Icarus, bidding our beloved Earth a final farewell. It was at Tanaga Falls where Ling and I exchanged our vows, and where, several years later, we welcomed our child, June, into the new world.

Sometimes, it’s easy to delude ourselves into believing that we can evade the inescapable law of the universe. Just as every high has its low, every peak has its valley.

I never thought anything could frighten me more than war. I was wrong.

* * *

Approaching Tanaga Falls, my heart races. I drop my supply bag and call out her name, racing behind the falls to our secret spot. My stomach drops. She isn’t here. Panic is rising. Only a glass bottle sits between our two boulders. My hands are shaking as I pick up the bottle and examine the paper inside. Then, I see her through the veil of the water staring like a curious doe.

Sloshing through the brook, I call out, “Ling!” The voicevoxen echo my voice with overwhelming emotion. Astonished by what I see, I come to an abrupt stop. Her hair, stolen by the cruel months of treatment, now spills down her narrow shoulders like a river of black satin. Her skin, once dry and bruised from countless needle pricks, now unblemished. Her eyes now sparkle with an essence that takes my breath away.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she says coyly.

Relief bursts through every pore in my body as I lay eyes on my beautiful bride. “My God, you’ve been missing for days! You look—but how--?” I gasp. The realization sets in. “The cure,” I whisper. “That’s where you’ve been? The Echo-4? It worked?”

She nods at the empty bottle in my hand. “Read it.”

My growing anticipation wanes at the grave expression on her face. “Where’s June? Ling, we’re seventy-five min--”

“Read it,” she insists.

Shaking the scroll from the bottle, I carefully unroll it. The yellowed corners curl with age, the paper crinkling between my trembling fingers.

October 16, 2072

Thomas,
Do you remember October? In all of my travels, Massachusetts in October was my favorite. The fallen leaves were red as fire, as orange as the setting sun, and yellow as squash. Oh, the squash! Your favorite casserole dish at Thanksgiving. Do you remember the recipe? I’m leaving a book of your favorite foods and how to prepare them, and everything you need to know about cleaning. Never pour bleach on the hardwood floor. I still laugh when I remember that day. I’ve also included pointers about June-bug. I imagine it will be scary to raise a teenage girl alone. Her favorite color is pink. She loves ravioli but she’ll never eat broccoli. When she’s sad, take her to the stables. Nothing cheers her up more than seeing the animals.

Thomas, my heart is heavy knowing that my time with you is coming to an end. You and June have given me the best life I could ever hope for. These years together have gone so quickly. You have been my rock, my confidant, and my everything. As I look back on our time together, I am grateful for the moments we shared. From our days full of laughter to the tearful nights, you have always been by my side. I cherish every memory we’ve made.

I’m not ready to leave you. But please know, Thomas, I am at peace. I’m not afraid of what lies ahead because I know that I will see you again someday.

Don’t be sad, my love. Celebrate the life we shared and the love that will never die. Don’t remember me as I am now. Remember me with joy. Remember our laughter and all the good times we’ve had.

I know I’m leaving you in the capable hands of our daughter. She’s strong, like you. Please make sure she always remembers how much I love her with every piece of my soul. 

And you, Thomas… I love you with all my heart.

Always,
Ling

I look up at Ling with confusion. My throat tightens. “I—I don’t understand. Look at you! You’re cured! Your hair, Ling! Your body! Y-you’re walking!”

She answers with only glistening tears, a hint of sadness in their depth as she presses her lips into a tight line. Free-falling into her golden-brown eyes, my very soul plummets into hell itself as she spears me with her empathy.

“Baby, don’t leave me.” A sob escapes as I struggle to hold it back.

She places her delicate hands on my shoulders. “Papa,” she whispers, her voice gentle as a breeze. “Momma left you that note a long time ago. You started forgetting things, and it’s gotten worse with time. But you never forgot this place. Anytime you go missing, I know you’ll be here looking for her. Papa, the war ended decades ago, before I was born. She isn’t here. And she won’t be here tomorrow or the next day. But I will be.”

Frozen, unable to move as I gaze at the woman before me in utter disbelief. Searching her face for any evidence of the truth, I find it scribbled in the form of a scar over her left brow. The day she was bucked off a mare. I remember that day. Seventeen stitches. Yet, I can’t remember how I even got here, or when my baby June-bug grew into such a beautiful woman, a mirror image of her mother.

I read the note again, more slowly this time, feeling the weight of the words sink like bricks in a pond. I roll it up and slip it back into the bottle, then make my way back to our grotto. Over the years, I’ve mastered the precise way to contort my body to avoid getting soaked. Ling had always been more clumsy on her feet. More oft than not, she left Garrison Grove in wet clothes, but always with a smile. I settle the bottle between the two boulders, a solemn tribute to the memories I’ll never forget, and to the ones that have already slipped away.

As I wade across the embankment, feeling more like an anchor than a man, I look down at the reflection in the gently flowing water. With hard lines etched into his face, sunken cheeks and thin silver hair, I hardly recognize the man staring back me. But his eyes! Even with the wrinkles of time stamped at the corners, a stark reminder of the years that have passed, I know those eyes.

June slips her hand into mine, so small and fragile like the delicate bones of a finch. She mentions home and my mind finds bright sunny days in Utah. Then I remember that there is no Utah. Not anymore. Not since the war.

“Do you remember coming up here all those years ago?” I ask as we leave the heart of the forest.

“I do,” she says cheerfully. “I loved coming here, especially when the voxen and starlings came out. They’re so cute.”

Her innocence makes me smile. She recounts memories of Tanaga Falls with a dreamy sense of nostalgia and laughs endearingly at memories we shared with her about Earth, a place she has only read about in history books and seen in photographs. Excitedly, she recalls the first time she visited the stables and marvels at the stories of the Echo-Alpha Arks. “I bet it was amazing to see them unload the arks. Do you remember it?”

I give her hand a gentle squeeze. “I remember. You were so happy. You wanted to touch everything that came off those ships.”

I hear her sigh softly. And I sigh contently. “I love you, Ling-ling.”

“I love you, too, Papa.”