Submitted for the November 2025 prompt: Celestial Signals

“Please welcome to the stage Arnus Fillnur,” said Dr. Krinauer of the Dren Off-World Heritage Society, “He will be giving a first-hand account of the tragic destruction of Colony 514, where 7,633 Dren lost their lives.”

 

The crowd applauded as expected and then sat. Most of them retreated to their pads and paid no attention to the presentation.

 

Fillnur, an elderly gentledren, approached the stage with a limp. Two of his legs were stiff with age, and his other legs compensated as he made his way up the stage ramp. He settled in behind the podium and adjusted the microphone.

 

He spoke in a shaky yet authoritative voice, “On that morning, I awoke to the sound of panic in my father's voice.” He paused, then took a labored breath. “I was a boy and very curious about the object in the sky, as we all were.”

 

“Thirty days had passed since its arrival, and everyone was scared. My father was also scared,” he said, “but he was determined to get us to the transport.”

 

“My father’s grip tightened around my third wrist,” Fillnur continued, “ I looked up, but couldn't see his face. He was pulling me through the crowd with more force than I knew he had. My feet landed on the feet of the adults around me, and my eyes closed as their garments dragged across my face. My father’s hold on me was as strong as my hold on my brutum's leash.”

 

“My feet scrambled to keep pace with my father’s, but they dragged through the soil and across insect burrows in the soil. I recalled my entomology lessons of the tiny beasts: stowaways on the first ship of colonists and now castaway members of our biodome. They scrambled to survive. I am certain they did not,” he inhaled again, turned the page, then looked around the room. Many attendees had put away their pads and were now listening.

 

“The object had passed over our colony thirty times before that day,” Fillnur waved three of his hands in the air, “Each day it blocked our sun and the neighboring planet from view. My father joined committees and action groups to discuss what it could be and what the community response should be. Some wanted to worship it. My father wanted to leave, but he felt a responsibility to the community to organize and help. Eventually, we had to try to evacuate.”

 

Fillnur shuffled his papers, trying to bring the words into focus through his tears. “We made our way to the transport on that last morning. Every few seconds, my father turned and looked at me through gaps in the crowd. I could see the fear in his eyes and, beyond his face, the object in the sky. A few moments later, it separated. The smaller segment descended toward our colony. The crowd around us stopped for a moment, and all faces turned skyward. I will never forget the heat and noise.”

 

Fillnur paused and adjusted his notes.

 

“My father scooped me up and pushed forward through the crowd. With his free hands, he cleared a path to the transport. He was not a big man, but I remember feeling safe.”

 

“We stepped aboard the transport, and the doors closed behind me. My pet’s leash caught in the door with my brutum on the outside. A woman saw what was happening, grabbed Kito and released his collar. I pulled the leash through the door. With the looped handle still around my wrist, Kito’s harness and tags fell to the floor with a clank.

 

The woman held Kito tightly and cried as she looked at me, then she turned to see the approaching craft descending on the colony. I raised my hand to the glass and watched as Kito and the woman were consumed by dust.” Fillnur turned the page and continued, “I never got another brutum.”

 

“The transport rose as the craft lowered nearer to our colony. The full extent of the chaos unfolded below me. I pressed my hands and face against the glass. The destruction of my home, beyond the comprehension of a child. For miles in every direction, the force of the craft's landing jets created superheated gusts that ripped our buildings and biodomes from their foundations. Any structures not blown away were incinerated.”

 

“My father turned to me and said, “We will survive. This is not our fault. We will survive.’ And I believed him, and he was right. Though it was not easy.”

 

“I looked back one more time as the large metallic object with four legs descended on the colony. I shut my eyes and kept them shut for many hours. My father said nothing.”

 

“On that day, fourteen overcrowded transports settled into orbit over that distant moon that was our home. We drifted for weeks away from the destruction, and eventually we completed one circumnavigation and began to approach our home.”

 

“Many on the transport did not want to see the aftermath. Some wanted to land our ships and rebuild. This idea faded as we came over the horizon and could see what appeared to be a gigantic spacecraft not unlike our own but ten thousand times larger. It had four pads; one of the pads sat directly where our colony once existed. I could see no movement, no life.”

 

“In the distance, an enormous flag had been raised,” Fillnur closed his notebook then concluded his thought. “On it I could see many stars and white and red stripes.”

 

Fillnur took a seat behind the podium, wiped his eyes, and tightly gripped a metallic tag that hung around his neck. The tag had a single word etched into it. Kito.

 

* * *

 

“I doubt we ever went to that moon,” said an attendee as she left the symposium.

 

“I doubt we ever will,” her companion responded.