Prompt: Switch up the Setting (yesterday’s story in a different genre)

Note: Sometimes a story easily unfolds in an alternative setting, such as fantasy or science fiction. Sometimes I have to “push” it a little. And sometimes, I have to drag it, kicking and screaming, to sulk in the corner until it pulls its thumb out of its mouth and looks around, deciding maybe this would be interesting after all. Not sure how this one is going to behave yet. You let me know what you think!

A retelling of yesterday’s post… 

It would be the sting of the century if she pulled this off. Lisa lay in her transorbital pod, connected to the service port of the van Kensing station orbiting Jupiter, waiting for any sign that she was noticed. She tracked comm traffic for twenty minutes before she relaxed. Time to break in.

Gerald van Kensing’s palatial—and extremely secluded—home had been the first of its kind after the MarsThree colony proved profitable by 2049. The van Kensing’s had sunk their family fortune into the Jupiter Orbital Homestead Project, and with travel from Earth under six months, the über-rich had a new über-exclusive destination.

Lisa had studied every schematic for months. She probably knew the station better than the original designers. When she realized the service port’s external access was independent of security systems, her whole plan came dropped delicately into place like one of van Kensing’s brilliant concertos. When she called Matt to tell him she’d figured it out, he actually started humming vK 2 in D Minor. She had laughed, but it had become their theme over the past two years.

No one had been on the station in over 20 years. When van Kensing’s wife and daughter died in the inter-planetary shuttle accident that destroyed his hands—and his career—he withdrew completely from public life. He spent a year in the best recovery center on Earth, then returned to his station and shut out the rest of the galaxy.

Lisa’s earliest memories were of van Kensing’s concertos. She didn’t really remember her life before the crèche on MarsThree, but she had known every note of every one of his compositions before she studied them in school. Her fascination with the van Kensing family bordered on obsession, especially once she saw old pictures of his daughter and decided they could have been sisters. Could she be a distant relative? Her obsession grew to a determination to meet van Kensing himself. She met Matt instead.

One might think that she crossed a line somewhere when she decided she should take matters in her own hands and sneak into his home. One might question where her moral compass was pointing to invade the privacy of an elderly, broken, grieving man. One might, but Lisa pushed aside any such internal debate and focused instead on the logistics of entering an independent Jupiter orbiting station without permission.

Matt had the schematics. It didn’t matter how they found each other. It was fate. She hadn’t even planned to stay back on Earth, but to return to the more familiar demands of life on MarsThree. They did meet, and they concocted a plan. Lisa didn’t examine Matt’s interest in breaking into the vKS, blindly accepting his willingness to help her. And now she was here. Ready to make her next move. She cycled the pod to connect with the port and dialed open the iris between them. Closing it behind her, she pushed through the service tube to the station center and dialed another iris to drop her down crouching on the side lawn.

Inside the station looked like a mansion from 20^th century America. Grass? Dear God, how much did he spend to keep grass growing? She stretched her fingers into it, still coiled low from her jump, and reveled in the smell. Grass was rare enough on Earth, and there was none on MarsThree.

With a deep breath, she stood and walked briskly toward the house, crossing the open lawn as if she belonged there. Reaching the brick patio without incident, she held her breath as she pulled on the handle of the double French doors. The door swung open easily at her touch. She slipped inside and pulled it closed. Looking around, she was surprised to find the room empty except for a grand piano. There were no photographs nor artwork hanging on the walls. No chairs or tables.

The piano sat in the middle of the room, angled so the player faced the windows. But the bench was empty too. Lisa walked toward the piano, feeling drawn to it. She reached her fingers out over the open keys, but she dared not touch it. She felt the prick of tears in her eyes and shook her head. She would not let emotion—sentiment—keep her from her goal.

She was surprised by the click behind her. She slowly turned around. An old man stood in the doorway, holding a stun gun in clubbed hands that surely could not even pull the trigger. His hair and beard were long and bushy, but clean and brushed. He wore black slacks and a light blue turtleneck. That had always been his favorite color.

“Are you a thief? You’re too late,” he said in a harsh voice. “I’ve nothing worth stealing.”

Lisa took a step closer, and something clicked into place. Her whole life. She staggered back and sat on the bench with a thud, staring at him with disbelieving eyes. “No, I’m not a thief," she whispered. She took a shuddering breath and spoke more loudly, firmly. 

"Hello, Father."

Dogs in house:	Houdini, Bacon, Brindle
Time writing:	30 minutes
June word count:	6,839