Matte Grey Pearl
Sometimes Pearl wishes that she was on the planet Earth, truly among her fellow Crystal Gems, fighting the good fight for their freedom.
It's foolish. She realises that. She wasn't built to be a warrior, of course, and she doubts that she can be like those other pearls, brave and strong enough to bear arms despite that. She's not sure that she could withstand the heat of battle, hold her ground even when enemies were rushing at her.
Still. It's something to think about, to dream about, during her long shifts.
And she has her own duties. Her own way to serve the rebellion. Perhaps not as flashy as the fighters, but just as important, in its own way.
She's a communication officer.
Alright. Not an officer, exactly. The Crystal Gems don't really have specific titles like that, and even if she did, she's so far away from the chain of command that she's never formally met anyone who could give her that title. But even if her title isn't 'communication officer', that's still her job.
It's not the most interesting job, sure. It involves an uncomfortable amount sneaking away from her Master and her 'true' duties. It involves a great deal of hiding in a small, cramped room, tucked away in an almost entirely forgotten service corridor, with jury-rigged insulation pressed against the door cracks to ensure no noise accidentally escapes. It involves an awful lot of just sitting there, staring at an Inactive Wailing Stone, waiting for it to… well, activate.
But when it does!
The voices come through, clear and sharp, as if the speakers were right next to her. Different voices, different Gems each time, but always the same greeting: "Proxima Centuri, Proxima Centuri, do you read?"
And always, Pearl makes the same response: "Reading crystal clear!"
She gets laughs at that, sometimes. A pearl, getting laughs from Quartzes and Spinels and Sphenes! That's just a fraction of the equality that the rebellion offers!
Then it's down to business. The anonymous Crystal Gem on the other side of the connection is different each time, but always they speak briskly, in a code that Pearl only partially understands, so she has to pay rapt attention to memorise it all. Locations, coordinates, shipment reports, supply requests, secret messages… Pearl takes them all. Some Pearl will send off by her own Wailing Stone, amplifying the signal, sending it to other stars far beyond this one, spreading the Crystal Gem correspondence throughout the galaxies. Others she'll write down on stolen scraps of parchment, and deposit in innocuous places— cracks in the walls, beneath vases— or pass along discreetly to other rebel pearls, corals and flints. No one has the full picture. Each of them has different information, and different ways to smuggle it.
At those times, the work is exhausting, terrifying, electrifying, and Pearl relishes every moment of it.
One Cycle she's on duty, when the Wailing Stone comes to life and she jumps to attention. The rebel's voice comes through with the familiar words— but something's wrong, they're practically spat out, urgent, filled with fear.
"Reading crystal clear," Pearl answers, her joke coming automatically. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes, yes," the Gem on the Wailing Stone says, and there are other voices in the distance, screams and growls. "The Diamonds— they've done something— bombarded the planet— we can't—"
She breaks off mid sentence.
"You can't what?" Pearl asks.
There's no answer besides some horrible choking sound.
"Can't what?" Pearl demands.
Still no answer. Pearl grips at the Wailing Stone, adjusts the frequency, increases the voltage, shakes it, yells at it, trying to eke some answer from it.
Eventually, the signal dies.
The signal dies, and it does not come back.
It does not come back that Cycle, or the Cycle after, or the Cycle after that. The Wailing Stones remains utterly silent and inert. Pearl hopes in vain that perhaps messages have come in, only during the times when she wasn't on duty, picked up by some other nameless rebel who's identity she can't know. Pearl does reach out to the handful of contacts she is aware of— the pearls, the corals, and the flints who pass along her messages— but they're as in the dark as she is.
All anyone knows is that Earth has gone completely silent.
Pearl continues to report to her post. Continues to stand her duty at the inactive Wailing Stone. But it no longer fills her with anticipation or joy. The thrill is gone, replaced with a dull sorrow. She comes less and less often, not as willing to take as many risks, less eager to justify her absences to her Master. Judging by the dust and wear that is building up in the secret store-room, she's not the only one who's been coming less frequently.
Cycles and Cycles and Cycles stretch by. Still Pearl comes to the store-room. She wonders if anyone else does. Perhaps they've given up. Perhaps they've been transferred to other planets and star systems. Perhaps they were found out, and shattered.
Perhaps she's the last Crystal Gem in the entire empire.
Long, long after the Rebellion was extinguished, Pearl sits in the store-room. The antique old Wailing Stone is just a dark shape besides her. All her attention is focused on her Master's computer and parchment files, laid out on the bench before her. Everything's digital these days; no reason to have these old scrolls littering the place, her Master had said. Still, she wants them all catalogued and categorised before they're disposed of. It's a tedious, monotonous work. The store-room is as quiet a place as any to do it.
Quiet, until the Wailing Stone starts screeching.
Pearl springs to her feet, files falling haphazardly to the floor. The sound seems to strike right at the core of her gem. For a moment, she's too surprised to do anything but stare. Then she leaps into action. Tries to connect to the stone, get some sort message from it, but nothing comes through but ugly noise, no matter how she fiddles.
Everything's digital these Cycles.
The answer comes to her in a flash. She works quickly, attaching her Master's computer to the the Wailing Stone, having to fiddle with the inputs and outputs— the thing's so ancient that the two are barely compatible.
But they are, just barely. The din dies down, and the computer screen fills with a video recording of a Lapis Lazuli, face hunted and desperate.
'Steven! I hope you're able to hear this. There's a Gem looking for you, she even knew your name. I don't know how! I didn't tell her, I swear! She's on her way to Earth, and she's not alone. Steven, Homeworld is not the way it used to be. Everything here is so advanced! I can't even understand it. There's no way anything on Earth can stand up to it. Please, don't put up a fight, it'll only lead to devastation—'
It's a message. It's undoubtably a message. Pearl doesn't know what it means— doesn't know who or what this 'Steven' is, it must be some codeword—but that hardly matters. What matters is this:
The message was being sent to Earth. It was being sent to Earth, with the expectation that it would be received. With the expectation that Homeworld would be going to Earth. Which means— which means—
Maybe she's not the last Crystal Gem after all.
A giddy smile spreads across her face. Some old, fierce hope flares in her core. She's a communication officer, and her duty now is crystal clear.
She needs to make some calls.
oOoOo
Author's Note: Proxima Centuri is the star closest to Earth (aside from, obviously, our sun). Part of me figures that the Gems wouldn't have the same name for it, but then, the Gems also logically shouldn't have the same language or alphabet as us, so...
Somebody recently pointed out to me that we've just slipped past this story's six-moth-anniversary! When I started it, I honestly was just intending to do maybe twenty-odd one-shots, mostly as a way to practice writing shorter pieces, faster. I've been so stunned by how this story has grown, and all the support everyone has given me. Thank you!