lamala is a monkey princess–rounded ears wedged into a rusty crown–set adrift alone in space.

the tiny capsule lurches across galaxies, turning turning turning, like a cyanide tablet rolled between two fingers. lamala believes she sees some distant light, but then it evaporates, folded back into the void. billions of miles away, stars exist, but somehow lamala never gets any closer. 

empty bags of freeze dried bananas float like corpses throughout the hull. they allotted her a specific caloric intake a day. they drilled discipline and restraint into her head. but abstracted from space and seasonal change, compulsion and routine soon took over her body. in space, time has no color, no texture. clocks tick in vacuumed silence. there are enough freeze dried bananas to last until she is eighty-four. she is only (or already?) forty-two. 

she's floated like milkweed for nearly ten years now. she volunteered to be sent, one of many, launched into every region of the galaxy, desperate signals, tiny blips, calling out to anyone willing to listen.

lamala left a sister back home. and her mother, the queen. she never forgave sagangha, so dissatisfied, all the caged, rote patternings of an older sister. sagangha refused to see what lamala saw, how everything rotted away, how quickly they might deteriorate still. she begged sagangha to join her in the struggle, and together they would go in search of others. but sagangha stayed behind and so fell back into time and space.

there was no reason to think this would end well. at best: she or one of the others make contact. the team leverages the technology of an advanced lifeform to bring them back together, to save the planet. but space expands, and the distance between her and the nearest star only grows.