By -Jackie Taylor Gent

It was an eyesore! The front yard never failed to make the girl’s heart sink.

The stink hit her nostrils as she turned into Apostle Lane. Kitchen scraps trailed around the green bin, and a collection of junk from the house that her mother had put out in the vain hope council cleanup would happen again, like it used to — back in the good old days when things were, apparently, orderly.

A stack of bricks rested haphazardly against the letterbox post, weeds growing from the crevices.

The letterbox, a roughly tacked-together metal container, leaned at an angle, a rusty clasp keeping the lid on. The Number 2, which had been etched on by her grandfather in his shaky hand, was the only sign that this was 2 Apostle Lane. When the girl opened the letterbox every day to check for mail with a hammering heart, it gave a squeak and her fingers carried a smell of iron, bloodlike, for hours afterwards.

But today, as she approached after a day of Commuter Flight School, she didn’t smell the pong. The rubbish didn’t offend her. She just wanted to get to the letterbox.  She shrugged off her jetpack and unlatched the lid. And there it was. The letter. CONSTANCE BLACK. Her name stared back at her in solid, official type.

Her heart monitor pinged in her chest, warning her that her blood pressure was rising. She tapped her wrist and took two deep breaths until it stopped.

The logo in the corner of the crisp envelope sent her heart off again. She sank to her knees on the gravel path, clutching the envelope in shaky hands. The sharp stones dug into her knees, but she hardly felt them. She ripped open the envelope, her eyes scanning the words on the page.

Constance fist-pumped the air and whooped with joy. She had been accepted, at the age of 16, into the Space Academy. She was going to be an astronaut.

The page shuddered in her hand, in time to her beating heart. The offbeat became more obvious. Ba boom. Ba boom. Pause. Ba boom. Ba boom. Pause.

A face leapt up from the page, shimmering with a white aura, authoritative and menacing, it commanded respect.

“Constance Black,” it spoke in a passionless voice. “Your heart is betraying you.”

She swallowed down the taste of bile in her mouth.

“My heart is strong,” she said.

“But irregular,” said the Face. “You lied on your application. Do you know the penalty for lying?”

“Please,” she sank further to the gravel, placing the page on the ground beside her. “Please give me a chance. I’ll be the best cadet you’ve ever had.”

The Face was silent. A jetpacker thrummed overhead. A dog barked in the distance. Constance heard her brother’s cough inside the house.

At last, the Face said, “There is one option.”

“Anything,” she gasped.

“It has to be our secret,” said the Face.

“Of course.”

And so, Constance Black became an Irregular. Not one of the perfect chosen few, but a flawed space cadet, with a secret and a lifetime of obligation to The Face.

 ***

Three years later, Constance graduated from the Space Academy, the secret of her irregular heart still safe with Face. To be an Irregular on the spaceship bound for Jupiter was unlawful and Face had allowed it. She owed him.

“Congratulations Constance,” Face spoke. “How is your heartbeat?”

Ba boom. Ba Boom. Pause. 

“It’s fine,” she whispered, pressing her hand to her chest. “I’m excited to go to Jupiter, that’s all.”

“You won’t be going to Jupiter with your cohort,” said Face. “I have a different mission for you. There’s an unexplored galaxy, way beyond our own. We cannot send our perfect specimens there for they are too precious. You will recruit and lead the other Irregulars.”

Fear gripped her heart. Who were the other Irregulars? Because they would be joining her in a death sentence. No-one ever returned from other galaxies. 

***

Constance reported to Station HQ. Her new commander was called Muskel.

He pointed to a screen showing the other Irregulars. It’s an exciting mission, he told her. The Irregulars would pave the way for humankind. But it was clear to Constance that this group of guinea pigs would not live to tell their tale.

Holograms sidled before her in carousel display. She gasped when she saw her brother Jasper. Just 16. He, like her, had been desperate to join the Academy. He, unlike her, didn’t apply because of his lungs. And because he would never consider lying on his application. He was destined to stay home and help their mother. They had agreed.

“No,” Constance said to Muskel. “Not my brother.”

“But he is an Irregular. Like you.” Muskel’s eyes flashed silver. “Your choice. Recruit your brother or die now.”

Constance’s legs buckled. Either way she would die. Her mother’s anguished face flashed into her mind. Either way, her mother would lose both her children, but at least if Constance recruited Jasper, they would die together. But Constance couldn’t bear to be the one responsible, and have her mother blame her.

 ***

Number 2 Apostle Lane had not changed since Constance left three years ago. The stench from the yellow bin made her eyes water as she crunched up the gravel path. Their old brown sofa had joined the council cleanup pile, its cushions stained and spewing stuffing.

Inside, her mother hugged her close, while Constance heard her own thumping heart in her eardrums.

Grandad looked older. Stooped and hollow-eyed as he clasped her hand in his. Jasper was tall and gangly, with a smattering of pimples on his forehead. They ate and drank. Grandad toasted her success. Constance felt like they had already moved on with their lives and this was a formality, this saying goodbye.

In the kitchen, she and her mother fed the dirty dishes into the Cleaning Capsule.

“Jasper applied to the Academy.” Her mother dabbed her wet eyes. “They know about his lungs. He lied on his application.” 

“It’s okay, Mum,” Constance said. “There is an option.”

“Anything,” her mother gasped.

Constance told her, leaving out the part about never coming back. Even so, her mother, knowing the truth, wept and agreed to sacrifice her child.

 ***

“You did well Constance,” said Muskel. “Face will be pleased.”

From the landing at Space HQ, Constance and Muskel waited. Sweat beaded on Constance’s upper lip. Her mother and her grandfather appeared on the deck.

“Where is Jasper?” Constance asked.

Her mother nudged Grandad and he shuffled forward. “I am an Irregular,” he said. “I am joining the mission in place of my grandson. He has other responsibilities on Earth.”

 ***

Jasper retrieved the letter from the letterbox and ripped open the envelope, smiling as he read the words.

“You lied on your application,” Face said, while Jasper’s bouncing lungs betrayed him.

But Face offered him a deal, and Jasper, desperate to become an astronaut, promised to keep the secret.

 ***

And so, the cycle of life continued. Perfect specimens founded new planets and bred more perfect specimens. Irregulars like Constance and Jasper were dispensable. But when supplies of Irregulars started to dwindle, Face realised they were necessary and reintroduced them.

No one knows how long Constance and her grandfather survived. Jasper recruited Irregulars and they too disappeared. Her mother was left to live out her days alone at Apostle Lane. Council cleanup remained a distant memory, and she died inside the house, surrounded by old junk, much like the Earth.

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