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Every child in history has at one point whispered the age-old adage, “Star light, star bright, / First star I see tonight, / I wish I may, I wish I might / Have the wish I wish tonight.” And then mysteriously their wish would come true. Even over the length of several years. I shall tell you why this is so. Whenever a child would wish upon a star, they were actually wishing on one of millions of satellites, which would then catalog their wish and send out an agent to fulfill said wish. Throughout the history of the world, every child has asked for a wish from the “brightest” star in the sky. Almost every wish was selfish, but every once and awhile, a wish would be selfless. And as it would happen, such a wish came in for an agent named Verne.
. . .
Richard came home from a fun day at school, hopping off the bus clutching his latest artwork. He ran down the tan sidewalk, slowed by his heavy backpack, turning when he reached his neighbor’s house, seeing Mrs. P waiting with the front door open, wearing one of her crazy dresses. He ran up the stairs and into the waiting arms of Mrs. P, giggling as she swept him up into the arm and spun around. Mrs. P put him down and took her hand as they both walked inside to the multi colored kitchen table. Mrs. P helped him take off his heavy backpack and hung it on a chair as he climbed up. When he was safely seated, she swept away to grab his afternoon snack that she always made for him. He sat in his chair, watching the pattern that the sun made as it shone through the colored glass of the glass bottles sitting on Mrs. P’s window ledge.
As Mrs. P walked back to the table with his cookie and glass of milk, she asked in her soft quiet voice, “So how does the sun shine today?”. She set down his afternoon snack as he talked about the different shades of colors that he liked as Mrs. P lay his homework out in front of him, sitting in the chair next to him. The afternoon passed with Mrs. P helping him with his homework and Richard talking about his day. Mrs. P stood up from where she had been listening to Richard’s story, and walked over to the front door opening it.
“Hello Emily dear. Do you want a cup of tea?”
“No that’s not necessary Mrs. P. I’d hate to impose on you anymore than I already have”, a gravely voice answered as a brunette dressed in a rumpled and stained uniform stepped inside. Mrs. P surveyed the young woman before her dark circles evident under her eyes as she almost visibly swayed, yawning.
“You know, working from dawn to dusk is useless if you are so tired you can barely function.” Mrs. P said, frowning.
“I know, but the bills won’t pay themselves.” Emily responded, yawning again, walking into the kitchen. “Mommy!” Richard cried as he got down from his chair clutching his painting and ran over to his mother giving her a hug around her legs, almost toppling her with the force that he threw himself at her with. Luckily, Mrs. P was able to steady Emily, and prevented a tumble. As it was, Richard’s mother still swayed with the impact before she bent down to pick up her 5-year-old son, showering him with kisses. She set Richard on her hip, asking him about his painting as he proudly displayed it, telling his mother how he was able to create it, as Mrs. P walked back into the kitchen to grab Richard’s backpack, homework, and the toys he was playing with when he was telling her his story before Emily knocked on her door. Mrs. P handed Emily his backpack as Richard was too absorbed in telling his mother all about his day. Emily smiled and thanked Mrs. P as she walked out the door, still listening to Richard as she walked across Mrs. P’s lawn to reach her own house. She opened her door, walking inside as Richard yawned. Emily smiled as Richard yawned again, evidently doing his best to stay awake.
“Tired little one?” she asked affection evident in her tired voice. Richard nodded as his eyes drooped closed then slowly opened as he tried to stay awake. He yawned again and then was out like a light.
Richard woke up in in the middle of the night as his mother’s conversation with Mrs. P replayed itself in his head. He thought about that story Mrs. P had told him earlier that day, about how if he wished upon the brightest star in the sky his wish would come true. So he got off his bed and went over to the window and opened the blinds. He clasped his hands together and held them to his chest and whispered the rhyme that Mrs. P had taught him as his eyes searched the sky for the biggest and brightest star in the sky. “Star light, star bright, First star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, Have the wish I wish tonight. I wish that my mom would be able to pay off whatever bills are and that she’ll be happy.” He yawned again and was reminded of how tired he was and closed the blinds and crawled back into bed, falling back to sleep.
. . .
Verne sat on his bed in his quarters reading a book from Earth called 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea by a man with the same name as he. As he sat reading it and musing about whether it could be classified as fiction or not, a message popped up on his datapad which was laying on his desk, accompanied by a chime. He retrieved his bookmark from his nightstand, and put it in his book as he slowly got up off his bed, placing the book on his nightstand, then walked over to his desk, stretching, ready to fulfill whichever wish Command had decided to send him. He picked up his datapad and tapped the screen, opening the message and starting to read the profile that accompanied the picture of the brown-eyed child and the boy’s wish. “Hmmmmm.” Verne said as he carefully read through the brown haired child’s profile, reading about how the boy named Richard only had a mother who worked from dawn to dusk to pay off the bills and keep him in school.
After reading the profile, Verne read the boy’s wish. When he had read the boy’s profile, he was expecting yet another selfish wish to add on to the struggling parent’s troubles, but what he was not expecting was a selfless wish. He read over the boy’s wish once more to make sure that he isn’t just seeing things. ‘I wish that my mom would be able to pay off whatever bills are and that she’ll be happy.’ Nope, he was not seeing things. A poor, young boy wishing for his mother to be happy. That didn’t happen often. As Verne changed out of his comfy clothes and into his uniform required by Command to be worn on all missions, he decided that he would do his best on this wish. On any other wish, he would complete the wish, but not do it to the best of his ability. He exited his room and walked to the teleporter that would teleport him to earth. As Verne stepped into the teleporter, he promised himself that this wish would be different.
. . .
As Verne walked along the sidewalk, admiring the lovely fall colors of the trees that were native to the region, he read once again where the boy -Richard, he corrected himself- lived and looked at the envelope with the lottery ticket he had bought inside. “I hope this works, I don’t really have a good idea on what else to do. Command doesn’t really do well with money or happiness wishes.” He thought to himself. He was so deep in thought that he almost passed the house that was his destination. He looked around and then at his watch, checking the time. This would probably be the best time to leave the envelope in their mailbox. The postal service truck has already gone around the neighborhood, so the envelope won’t be taken, but as a precaution, the envelope had the address written on the outside. Richard would be dropped off by the school bus in about 15 minutes, and the old lady that babysits him would pick up Emily’s mail and drop it inside the house in about 10. That means I have about 5 minutes to leave the envelope in the mailbox, and then plant the two cameras: one inside and one outside, to make sure that the lottery ticket is delivered. Verne opened up the mailbox and placed the envelope inside, and then closed it. Verne spun around on his heel and scanned the environment around him for a good spot to place the camera. He spotted a nearby tree that had a knot in the wood about eye level that he could hide the camera in. He walked up to the tree, pulled the camera out of his pocket and turned on the active cloaking that would prevent anyone from seeing the camera, and he then stuck the camera on the tree and checked the feed on his digital watch. The live feed showed up on his watch. He pulled up the time again and saw that 90 seconds had passed. He breathed in, and then slowly let out his breath as he walked up to the front door of the house, then used the personal teleporter given to active agents to teleport inside the house. He looked around for a good spot to place the second camera, walking further into the empty house. He heard a creak from behind him. He whirled around only to see dark gray, fading into black. And then only black remained.
. . .
Verne woke up to what felt like a bucket of cold water being splashed on his face. He sat up sharply, sputtering, hacking up the water that had gone up his nose and down his throat. He opened his eyes, dazed and looked around him, struggling to stand up. A gentle but firm hand laid on his chest preventing him from standing up. He looked at the hand on his chest then followed it up the slender wrist it was connected to up to the shoulder then finally at the face. Oh no. Nonononononono. This isn’t happening. His mind kept repeating. But even as Verne’s mind was in denial, he knew that this was no dream, no simulation. This was real. And Emily now knew he existed. He wasn’t a random face on the street. He went inside her house and know she would forever remember him as that. No doubt she already called the police, and the Command made it a well-known rule that if you were caught breaking a Earth rule, all ties with you were cut and you might have to serve your prison sentence on Earth. Or you would be killed by Command’s security force. 50/50 chance.
As Verne’s mind made this connection, he lost touch with reality, his imagination taking hold of this scenario and imagining gruesome deaths and terrifying possibilities. Another bucket of cold water was used to shake him out of this downward spiral, shocking him back to the present. He jerked up, becoming aware of a quiet voice telling him to breath in, “breath out, breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out, you’re doing good. Just calm down, everything is going to be just fine. Breath in, breath out, breath in. Good.” Emily sat back on her heels, next to the bathtub that Verne was currently sitting in. Her gray eyes carefully watched him as his breathing slowed. He looked at the brunette, then down at his feet and quickly said, “I’m sorry, please don’t call the police.” hunching his shoulders like a young boy expecting punishment. His eyes peeked to the side to watch the woman’s face cycle through emotions, her stoic countenance breaking. First confusion, then shock, before cycling back to the stoic, emotionless mien that she almost always wore these days. “Why would I call the police?” She said, carefully watching his face as if it would reveal the purpose of life.
“BecauseIbrokeintoyourhouse.” Words rushed out of Verne’s mouth as he twisted his hands together nervously. He anxiously shifted, then looked at Emily’s face again. Oh this was not how it was supposed to go! Emily was supposed to be at work, and Richard at school and the old lady in her own house and the house empty. But despite his worries about the future, he still relaxed when Emily said, sending him a warm smile, “But you didn’t break in. You just appeared.” The small smile Verne had begun forming was frozen by those three words. His breath caught in his throat and his heart seemed to almost stop beating. He stared at her with terror, being caught breaking an Earth rule was bad enough, but being caught using tech that was centuries ahead of anything they had on Earth? That was a ticket to a multitude of secret government labs and torture facilities designed to break an individual. Verne stood up and began pacing. How could he possibly get out of this? He wasn’t allowed to kill any Earth citizen, no matter what. And he didn’t think to bring the memory erasure gadget because he didn’t think he would need it. He faced Emily and began forming words, but no sound came out. He then sat on the floor, head in between his knees, trying to think of some way out of this predicament he had found himself in. Emily touched his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts yet again. “Hey, how about we get you into dry clothes and get you into the kitchen. Then we can talk.” Emily’s mouth quirked up for a second as she stood up, and walked out of the bathroom. “I’ll get you some dry clothes.” She said, walking down the hallway.
. . .
Verne sat in Emily’s kitchen, a steaming mug of chamomile tea in front of him as his eyes wandered around the kitchen, noting the worn curtains, the wobbly chairs, and the scratched kitchen table at which he sat. Emily sat across from him with a steaming mug of something, Probably Chamomile tea. Richard thought, as his eyes dropped from surveying the worn counters to his mug of tea. Emily sipped from her cat mug, eyes twinkling as she said, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that you can teleport inside houses. But I would like to know why out of all the houses you could teleport inside of, why mine?” Emily played with the handle of her mug before taking another sip, watching Verne. He swallowed, toying with his mug before taking a sip, thoughts racing. I don’t know why but I trust her. A single thought came out of the masses shouting for attention. He sighed, then started by saying, “Do you know the rhyme, ‘Star light, star bright, First star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might Have the wish I wish tonight’?...”
. . .
“...And that’s why I was even inside your house to begin with.” Verne finished, taking a sip out of his now cold mug of tea. Emily sat across from him, shellshocked, her tea forgotten. Verne takes in her shocked expression and a flicker of guilt for dumping this all on her starts in his chest. Verne checks his watch, and stands up. “Well Emily, it was nice talking to you, but I have to go now. Goodbye.” Verne bowed, put his empty mug in the sink, and strode out of the house. He walked into the darkness that surrounds the house, off to guarantee that the lottery ticket inside the envelope is chosen, and then his official mission would be over and he could teleport to the station, pick up the memory erasure gadget and then wipe Emily’s memory to smother this flicker of guilt. Then his mission would truly be over and he could return to his room and finish that book. This was why he never tried on these wishes. They always backfired on him and he would have to use the memory erasure gadget to fix his mistake. This is why caring always backfired. He would bare his soul, and then have to wipe their memory.