I was born sick. Even before my mother collapsed, or went into labor, I was terribly sick from the get-go…

My first few memories are of white lab coats and bright white lights. And my father's face. He's such a dear, my father.

I was born on the ship Heavenfall. It was named after the great Captain Roderick Heavenfall. The first person to go into space the way people of the past only saw in movies or television. A la Star Wars or Star Trek. He was a revolutionary.

Fast-forward a few centuries. The Heavenfall was a military vessel. Half cruise ship. Military personal could bring their families with proper documents. So many had done so that it wasn't surprising when babies began to live and grow here. It was so huge, with so many people, some called it a floating Earth.

Father said that Mother hated it when they said that. He said that she said that nothing could ever replace Earth. She wanted me to be born on earth.

Anyway, Father was a high ranking scientist. He spent days upon days in his laboratories (because they were many) on the Classified Floors of the ship. One day, he says, some of his University chums got him to go out and enjoy some social interaction.

Heavenfall has just about everything. A pool, a garden, a park, a theater, a school…you name it, it has it. Father's friends lead him to a posh nightclub on one of the more prestigious floors, it was called the Canary.

Father had a few drinks, but he said he didn't enjoy himself. That is until, the evenings entertainment began.

Mother is very beautiful. I've seen her pictures and all of Father's recordings. She's gorgeous. Father says that when he saw her onstage, he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

He also says that when he heard her voice, he was practically positive she was an angel.

I'm completely sure that Mother and Father were very happy together. I've seen all the recordings, the adoration in their eyes is unmistakable. Father misses her terribly. Sometimes I see him cry.

It makes me wish I wasn't born.

My dear Mother was the carrier of a fatal illness. The mere minute I began to form in this vast universe, she became infected. The doctors told her that having me would surely kill her, but she told that if she was already infected, she was going to die anyway.

I love her for this reason.

My dear Mother. I heard she was in such great pain my the last months of my term. At first she was so tired, her, who had always been active and vibrant. Then the pains started. I heard that it was like I was eating her alive. But she wouldn't let me go.

I was her baby.

When I was born she only had time to name me.

Then she died.

Then I had to go to immediate care.

My first few years I was bald as if I were still a baby. I didn't speak because who could teach me the midst of emergency surgery and emergency surgery.

I was tested, and tested, and tested…

Then I was examined and put into observation.

It was then that I began to live.

My darling Father had a room made up for me. An actual room, not a medical room. He wanted to teach me everything about being a child. He wanted me to live. Live the same way my Mother did.

I never liked the lab coats. Or the Doctors. Neither did he. He hated it when they interrupted our play time. They always wanted to test me or observe me. I felt like an experiment.

I was just sick.

Needles and medication and vaccine. Maybe we shouldn't have been so mad at them. It was all this that kept me alive. I think it was the fact that they were a constant reminder that I wasn't a healthy, normal, child that made us mad at them.

I told you that my Father was a high-ranking scientist, right?

Well, I discovered what that meant when I was 12.

His military higher-ups demanded him to stop loving me. They needed him for a big and important operation. Father didn't want to, but his hands were tied. How could he keep paying world-renowned doctors to find cures for me if he didn't work? Poor Father…

I was so lonely every time he left. No child would play with me. The doctors weren't people I liked. Besides, every time he left, it gave them the chance to test me as much as they wanted.

I would wait for him to come back.

"Did you hear how the Yautja project is going…?"

I never spoke if it wasn't with Father, but I understood as any child would.

Father told me it was very important what he was doing. It would soften the gap between Human and Yautja relations.

"But I wish I could spend more time with you, regardless," dear Father, he was always so apologetic when he came back.

Whenever I got really lonely, I watched Father's recordings of him and Mother. I would always get sad after that. I want so bad to meet Mother…

I wasn't as beautiful as she was. I was deathly pale. And I was weak. She was so active, I could barely move without wearing out. She seemed so sure of herself and so smart. Some called me shy, but I knew very well that the truth was that I didn't trust anyone other than Father.

One thing I did have, though, is that Father would always say how I was an exceptionally genius child. I understood everything. This made me happy because it made him proud, and because I felt like my mother that way. She was smart to. And her voice was beautiful.

I liked to watch her sign.

I began to wonder…could I sing like her too?

When I got so lonely without Father, or so sad at watching their recordings, I tried it.

To myself I wasn't so bad. I never had an audience.

I sang some more, whenever I felt lonely and sad. The doctors tried to make a big deal of it, once, but I refused to answer their stupid questions.

"Why have you started signing?"

I glared at them.

"Singing can be a very positive outlet, something to help improve your condition."

I still glared.

It was always my condition. Testing. Observing.

I sang because I wanted to. I never answered them.

They left me alone, and I started singing again.

"You're singing!" My Father came once when I was in the middle of singing, "My dear, how lovely!"

I smiled at him. He didn't make it sound like I was an experiment doing something knew.

"Once more, my dear, so I can hear."

I was more than happy to sing for him.

I sang.

And then it hurt.

There was a big strong pain in my stomached. My head screamed and I could hardly breathe. Everything became so blurry. The only thing I could hear was my Fathers shouts.

I felt like my first few years again.

A blur of lab coats and white light enveloped me. I tried to find my Father. When I didn't I was scared. For days, maybe, I didn't understand what was going on. There were nothing but blurs and blurs…

I woke up to my Father shouting.

"I'm not going without my Daughter this time!" I could see that he was talking to one of his higher-ups. "I don't care how important this is! You can forget me if she's not on board!"

Father didn't trust the Doctors anymore. He wanted me to go with him to the higher floors. He would pick his own team to watch over me. I would go wherever he went.

I said goodbye to my room and we took an elevator with special clearance up to Level A.

It was here that I first saw a Yautja.

I was always on high medication now, but I saw him all the same. My Father had to go meet him with a pack of other military officials. I met every senator and every commander.

The Yautja came with a pack, also.

Father said he came with Arbitrators, special soldiers that were like police, bodyguards, and judges all at once. There was also a bunch of Elders. These where Yautja that had lived to be very honored and respected.

They were like skyscrapers to me. They were shiny with golden armor and long red capes. They had scales of sandy color. I couldn't understand them. Father said they were here on diplomatic negotiations. One of Father's colleagues, Dr. Alexander, said that diplomatic negotiations wasn't in a Yautja's dictionary and that we were just fooling ourselves. He said that what they really want is to kill us all.

I slept in a corner of one of Fathers laboratories, the one he was in the most. He kept an eye one me and gave me all my medications on the dot. They made me drowsy. He said that they made me better. Or at least stop me from getting worse.

"Sing for me, dear?" one day he asked.

I hadn't sung for days. Father was very tired with the negotiations.

So I sang for him.

When I felt good enough to walk, I would explore a little. Sometimes I would sing to pass the time.

"It's good that your singing, dear," Father said once, when he was really tired at looking at a monitor. I saw black circles under his eyes, "You should sing whenever you feel like it. It's nothing to be ashamed about, you should share it with everyone."

I think I reminded him of my Mother when I sang. He always looked like he was going to cry.

That, and because I was dying.

Father would take me everywhere he went. He gave me special pills to take so I wouldn't get tired. I don't think his higher-ups liked that. Everyone in a military suit would always look uncomfortable when I came inside a room.

I tried not to bother them, so I always went to some corner or stood far away. They seemed to appreciate it, Father was concerned about keeping an eye on me.

Once, when they all got into a large office with a long, long table, I sat on the farthest corner I could. The Yautja were late that day. I heard one of the Senators tell one of the Commanders that they were finally getting tired of sitting and talking.

"Did you see how the black one didn't even want to look at us? He stood the entire meeting!"

"They were impatient," the commander shook his head, "I can see war all over their faces…"

"They were annoyed with everything we said!" An Ambassador nervously clawed at the red-oak table, "This is going to end bad, I know it!"

Naturally, this made Father upset.

So I sang.

I knew they didn't like it. It made them remember I was here, so it made them ten times more uncomfortable. But Father looked calmer.

Soon I wandered into my own thoughts. Singing made me do that.

I didn't notice anyone.

I didn't notice the double-doors open.

"Elders, Arbitrator Su'ete…"

I kept singing until I finished.

When I looked up, I noticed that everyone looked even more nervous. The Yautja hadn't taken a seat yet. I looked towards Father. He seemed alright.

"Right then…please, come in…"

The Yautja did so.

At first I paid attention to all the meetings, but they became so boring and the same. It appeared that the Yautja didn't want to negotiate, so whatever the ambassadors said or whatever the commanders offered to do didn't interest them. They seemed as bored as me.

After the meeting (which was such a failure that surely the committee would become even more nervous) Father came to me.

"Dear, would you mind singing again?"

Of course I didn't mind.

As Father lead me out of the office room, me singing along, I noticed he glanced at each Yautja. I did so, too, but didn't understand why.

Afterwards, I heard a Secretary talking to his friend as they passed the hall, "That damn Arbitrator looked like he was going to pounce every time that girl sang…"

This could've been alarming, but I remembered how calm Father looked so I didn't mind it.

With every day that passed, I felt more tired. Father would give me more and more medication. "Be damned what Alexander says," he would say, sometimes injecting something in me that was supposed to make me hurt less.

Once in a while, Father sent me to sing in specific places. "Go to Sector 9, dear." or "Here's a pass to Avenue H, if anyone catches you, just act like your lost".

I would go there and sing, but I didn't get why.

One day, Father did something bold. "Come dear," he said that day, "We're going to Floor Zero."

Floor Zero was heavily restricted. I had never been there. This floor was were the Yautja resided.

Apparently, something on board their ship was damaged, and although they hated asking for it, they needed help.

My Father was a high-ranking scientist. Of course he would go. What everyone else didn't understand, was why he brought me along with him on the most dangerous place on all of Heavenfall.

He was preoccupied, when he got there.

Everyone on Father's team was charged with fixing the machine…while secretly trying to download a way to reverse engineer it. The Yautja weren't stupid, so there were a bunch on board, eying their every move.

Father wasn't stupid either. I could see he already had have the data on them and a whole platter of blueprints downloaded.

But he was preoccupied and I was bored. So I kept a distance and looked around.

The Yautja didn't look friendly and the other scientists were sweating rivers.

I sang to pass the time.

I sang a whole set of songs before Father knelt before me and said we could go back. He looked very happy, so I was happy too.

When we were leaving I noticed a Yautja was staring intently at us.

I was terribly sick the next day. Father was close at my side, telling me not to worry. He said all I needed to do was sing. I didn't get it, but he repeated his answer anyway.

In fact, he became frenzied with it.

"You must sing, my dear," Father said, "Sing and sing!"

I didn't understand why. But I did so, I sang for my Father. Things became blurry again in those days. There were blurs of lab coats sometimes, but mostly just black splotches of nothing. I had a fever for what felt like a lifetime. Whenever I felt better, Father told me to sing.

He insisted I sing. He even hired a tutor to help me sing. She was a nice old lady, she kept telling Father I was to tired to sing, but he would insist. I sang as much as I could, and even I could tell that I was getting better at it.

"Why do you want to force it?" I heard her tell him once, "She already sings amazingly."

"She must sing," was his answer, "She must sing like an Angel."

Like an Angel. Like my Mum.

I sang even more.

One day, there was a banquet.

The Assembly decided that what was really itching on the Yautja's nerve was just that-nerves. They were grouchy and tired. So to please them, they held a dinner party.

Elegant, rich, everything Yautja weren't. I thought it stupid. They called it politics.

Anyway, it was exciting to watch them make a huge party out of it. There where fine round tables, and amazing pieces of tapestry. They emptied out the most expensive restaurant for the reception. I saw where there was going to be live entertainment. The Yaujta would be seated in a special corner of the room that let them see everything. The Ambassador of the President planned special performances that mirrored Yautja culture.

"I heard it was all drums and dancing over in their planet," He told the Planner, "So we're going to do this a la Africa."

This initially upset Father. Perhaps because the thought it racist.

But I wonder if it were because he thought I wouldn't be able to sing because of the strict dancing and drums rule.

"I demand that my daughter be set to sing!" Father had been pushing to get me to perform for days.

The Ambassador said it didn't go with the theme.

"My Daughter," Father seethed at him, "Must SING!"

I don't know how he did it, but they let me be on the performance schedule. Looking back at it now, I suppose it was because Father still hadn't given them the blueprints stolen from the Yautja ship. Blackmail didn't seem so bad when Father did it.

He just really wanted me to sing.

So I prepared, day after day, Father instructing me to practice diligently. If I felt tired, he had me rest. He wanted me in perfect condition when I sang at the banquet.

It was a lovely dinner party. The first I had ever been invited to. I got a nice red dress, red like the Yautja capes. Father had me go to a hairdresser. I was even allowed to wear a little makeup. Father said I looked lovely.

Like my Mother.

I felt great all day.

The dinner was for the most part, pleasant. Me and Father sat far from the Yautja (something he didn't like) but when the hour came closer to my performance, he seemed excited.

The dancing was extraordinary. Some of the ladies twirled sticks set on fire. There was a lively beat always. Sometimes the dancing was wild, other times it was slow and sad. The Yautja seemed partially impressed, but not all together intrigued. They seemed more amused every time they began commenting with each other. Probably saying how their dancers where better than ours.

"Remember, my dear," he said before I went backstage, "like an Angel."

I nodded at him.

"One more thing," he added, "Don't be afraid to look at the Yautja."

I found that odd, but nodded anyway.

I had never been afraid of the Yautja.

When I got onstage I felt butterflies in my stomach. I initially thought that I was getting sick again, but I realized it was just jitters. Everyone's eyes were on me. I thought of my Mother.

I began to sing.

Like an Angel.

Like my Mother.

I watched how proud my Father looked. He was about to cry.

Everyone seemed impressed.

Then I remembered.

I looked at the Yautja.

Why my Father thought I'd be afraid to look at them was beyond me. I found them interesting, to say the least. They seemed to enjoy my singing.

But I never questioned Father.

I sang a few more songs before I went back down.

Father embraced me in the middle of applause and cheers. I didn't think people would like it that much. Maybe they were just astonished that a girl so young could sing the way I could. I was barely a teenager.

"Excellent, my dear," Father whispered to me. I smiled and felt infinitely happy, "Just like your Mother."

I was glad I was finally like my Mother.

The day after that Father became much more special with me. He smiled more, gave me chocolates, he even gave me loads of presents. I was happy that Father was happy.

"Things are looking up," my dear Father would say, "Soon, we might even go back to Earth!"

Earth.

Imagine. Me. A girl, a child really, I had only heard of earth like a fantasy place. A fairytale. The place Mother wanted me to live.

I was thrilled.

I sang even more.

This made Father even more happy. He would even sing with me. I began to imagine…is this how normal families are? Happy, carefree, united? I believed so. Every time I watched Fathers recordings, I wouldn't be so sad anymore I'm sure Mother was happily watching us.

One night I dreamed of Mother…

She was gorgeous. Even more so than in the recordings and pictures. She was wearying white, and we were in a field. I knew it was Earth. My home.

"My dear…" she said, caressing my cheek. I was so happy to see her. "You are so beautiful, I'm so proud…Don't cry."

I woke up in excruciating pain.

Everything hurt. I thought I was going to die.

Poor Father. He was so worried. So desperate.

Lab coats and blurs were all I could see. I hated syringes. I hated needles. Bile came from my throat and I wanted to cry. Mother said not to.

"My dear, hang on!" oh, Father, I wish I hadn't seen you so stricken, so desperate, "You can't go now! Not now! Not when you can get better!"

I was unconscious for half of these days. The other half I only wished I was. Father was tearing his hair out, he looked like a zombie. I probably looked worse.

"Stay with me, my dear…" I saw him crying once. In the middle of the night, "Stay…"

I tried to look for Mother. I couldn't find her.

Then I heard her say, "You're not ready yet…"

I woke up again to my father shouting.

"WHAT TO YOU MEAN?" whoever was on the other end of the COM link was not getting the better end of the argument. "I thought that-"

"Sir, I'm afraid-"

"NO! things were going FINE-"

"But you know how they are-"

"What kind of IDIOTS do they hire in the Committee? BLOODY IDIOTS!"

"Doctor-"

Father terminated the transmission.

He saw I was awake and raced towards me.

"My dear…" he looked happy, but sorrow captured his face. My dear Father collapsed in a chair next to my bed, his hands covering his face, "Oh God…God…Oh, God…"

I didn't understand what God had done.

Or maybe Father was actually trying to talk to Him.

In any case, Father cried all night.

Perhaps I was going to die.

I slowly began to regain strength, but barely.

The doctors said that there was nothing more they could do. I was now a lost cause. A miracle would be nice, but God might be busy with others. I think they only said the last part because Father was a devote Catholic and it bothered them.

I was sitting in a chair when Father came bursting through the door.

"Come, dear," he said, taking me by the hands in earnest, "Yautja and Human relations might fail, but I will not fail you!"

He gave me more medication. Everyone had told him to stop, but he continued. Damning them all. He said that I was going to live. If Father said so, I believed it.

He insisted that I eat and drink. Insisted I take the medication even if I hated the taste.

"Come, now, my dear, make an effort…"

I was tired. I made an effort.

Blurry. Everything was blurry.

"My dear, you must gather your strength!"

Strength I never had, mind you.

"Your strength so that you may sing!"

Sing…

Sing and sing and sing. Why must I sing? Perhaps to make him happy. I liked to sing. My Mother sang.

I held on to singing. When blackness covered my eyes when they were open, I thought of signing. When shadows suffocated my lungs the thought of singing kept me awake. I needed to sing. I needed to get better. I told myself to breathe. To try.

Mother…Father…singing…

I woke up one day with a gasp.

My head hurt, I had a fever, but I was better.

"Come, dear…"

Father lead me to a hallway. Things were blurry, but I followed.

We stopped someplace I couldn't remember. I felt sleepy.

"Sing, my dear…"

I sang Ave Maria.

As I sang I closed my eyes and thought of a beautiful place. Heaven or Earth, I wasn't sure, but it was lovely.

He carried me home.

I sang day after day. Although Father smiled, he looked incredibly sad.

One day he knelt before me. I had been singing, but when I looked at his face I stopped quickly. He was very serious.

"You have your Mother's voice," he said, petting my head, "It couldn't save her, but by damn it'll save you."

If singing could've saved my Mother, I wondered if we would've been happier.

Father became a man on a mission for the days that came. I heard that Yautja/Human relations were getting worse by the second. I guess it was like Dr. Alexander said, negotiation wasn't in their dictionary.

The night before Summer (seasons were scheduled on the Heavenfall), father sat beside me on my bed.

We started at nothingness for a while, then he hugged me. I felt something sad and terrible tighten around my heart. Father was sad.

My illness had always been terminal. I was set to die.

We slept soundlessly.

My Father made such a grand breakfast the morning of Summer. I ate it all. We laughed for the first time since I was born.

I didn't know what was going through his head, but when he said we were going for a walk, I took his hand without questioning.

We walked passed all the parks, all the pools, all the schools, all the gardens…

Floor Zero was practically deserted.

Yautja/Human relations were so bad, they couldn't coexist in the same diplomatic floor anymore.

We walked for a while. I saw no Yautja. No human.

Father stopped suddenly. I waited.

He knelled before me. I saw in his face an uncontrollable shaking.

"I hope you don't hate me, my dear…" his voice was scarce and rough, "What I do is to save your life…"

I believed it when he said it was to save my life. Father never lied.

Hesitantly, he lifted his hand. I saw it shaking as if he were sick. I noticed for the first time that Father looked very thin.

He patted my head and ran his fingers through my hair. "Yautja can't sing…" He had tears in his eyes. "I heard they're fascinated with our singers, especially the women. They couldn't sing to save their life…"

He chuckled, hallow, and miserable, "They think 'Ooman females' sound like deities when they sing…"

"…Like Angels?" I asked.

Father smiled. He always smiled when I talked.

"Yes, my dear…like Angels…"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a Yautja standing in front of us. He stood at a distance, but he stared, arms crossed.

Father glanced at him.

Then he looked at me, "His name is Su'ete, he's an Arbitrator, remember what that is?"

I nodded. A policeman, a bodyguard, a judge, all at once…

Father hugged me again.

"You are my Daughter, my dear," he said, crying profusely, "My daughter! All I want is for you to live! I swear it!"

As I saw the Yautja passed the shoulder of my Father, I began to tear up.

Father made me look back at him, his eyes serious, "He will take care of you. I have his word by his Honor. To Yautja that is special. Don't ever be afraid."

I nodded.

But I didn't want to.

I wanted to be afraid.

"I love you, my dear…"

Father stood up and guided me toward the Yautja.

He held me firmly at the shoulders, together we walked slowly towards the Arbitrator. Su'ete. A Yautja.

Would it be silly to tell you I still didn't understand what was going on? When it came to Father I choose not to understand, because I knew that he knew what was best. I understood everything else, except things my Father did. I accepted what my Father did, nothing more.

But then, I understood. I understood everything my Father told me. I understood his reasons.

But I did not want to understand.

I was thirteen.

When we made it to the Yautja, with his golden armor and long red cape, Father kissed the top of my head. I felt him let go.

"You'll take care of her. I have your Honor."

I heard the Yautja nod.

I stared at nothing. I thought of nothing. I felt scared.

Fathers arms wrapped themselves around me one last time.

"All you have to do is sing, my dear…all you have to do is sing…like your Mother…like an Angel…just sing…"

I heard the roaring of an engine. The Yautja ship was getting ready to leave.

Father let go of me, the Yautja grabbed on to me.

As he lead me away, I would forever remember my Father's face.

He was hands and knees on the floor, reaching out to me, tears on his face.

"Daddy…"

I reached for him.

"Daddy!"

My hair was wild in the wind the Yautja ship created. My Father cried with me.

I understood.

I understand.

To save me, my father had to sell me.

My voice would make me a Canary.

Once upon a time, my Father thought that if Yautja/Human relations came through, they would share their medicine and he would find a cure for me. But since that was ceasing to be the case…

I was taken from Heavenfall to go to a place some would call Hell, never to see Earth.

Yautja were more advanced than humans. They could cure my illness. Su'ete would cure my illness…

That was the deal. He would cure me, make me better, make me live.

All I had to do was sing.

But I would miss my Father…