From the Heart of Our Nations

Lately, I’ve been having a hard time feeling hopeful about the world. Watching the news, it’s hard not to feel pessimistic about the future. But last Friday, I found a deep well of hope: our next generation.

First America, in partnership with Tulsa Artist Fellowship, has released a new book: From The Heart of Our Nations. The book is a collection of futuristic flash fiction from young and emerging Indigenous writers. The stories emerged from a series of workshops led by Kashona Notah, who also edited the anthology. Last Friday, in front of a packed room, the young people read their stories, signed books, and shared their visions for our future. If you want a copy, you can order one here.

As you probably know, this past summer I released a podcast about the founding story of the United States. First America was a collaborative project with Indigenous scholars to tell the true story of the founding of the United States. And how our current political moment is 250 years in the making.

While developing the project, I also wanted to hear from Indigenous young people and the next generation of Indigenous writers and thinkers. While the Indigenous scholars looked 250 years into the past, in writing workshops we invited Indigenous young people to look 250 years into the future. From The Heart of Our Nations is the result.

The political moment we are living through feels urgent. But Indigenous people have always understood history on a longer timeline–not only going backward, but also forward. We know that whatever the future holds, our communities are resilient. We will still be here–carrying forward the things that matter most.

And so, for your inbox today (and hopefully also your heart) here is one of those stories in full: Daksi 7-TC by A.J. LeBeau.

I sneak through the depths of the docking bay, into forgotten corners where broken ships lie dormant and in disarray. Searching on a hunch, while wearing an iridescent cloak that absorbs the sound of my footsteps, a familiar voice guides me, preventing me from being seen. I really must go unnoticed since I’m stealing from the guard’s inventory. I’m fueled by a pressing need to get to Earth, so I sweep away blankets of dust from ships that are rusted out and mostly junk. Finally, I unveil the last ship that remains intact, one with Daksi 7-TC imprinted on its kinetic shell. A forgotten texture pulls over its exterior and lined canals are embedded amongst its dome, lit by interactive channels. Daksi is a sleeping turtle shell turned into a spacecraft and she waits patiently to be activated.

How did Noisey tell me to wake this ship up again?

Noisey was the last elder from my Tribe. She was a part of the Tribal Space Council fleet that flew these ships in their prime, back when Tribes worked with the founders of The Colony. Unfortunately, they were overthrown by T.O.P.O.S., Thanatology Optics Parliament Of Space, which was a board of scientists driven by their fear of death and how to overcome it, how to evolve past it. T.O.P.O.S. became scared of Earth and believed life was sent there to die. They forbade our society from leaving, forbade Tribes from returning to land, saying there wasn’t any left. They removed anything that was a threat and threw all the Tribal spacecraft in a museum, or in the back of warehouses like this one.

“The more you know, the less you can be controlled,” Noisey used to say.

I’m forced to remember her role in all of this. I approach the Daksi spaceship. On the side of its rounded walls, I use my finger to write an old phrase that Noisey also used to say:

Daksi, time to sunbathe.

As I barely move my hand away, the yellow markings begin to glow gold. The words twist and morph, almost a dance of light fighting for more time, a kaleidoscopic story taking form. The engine ignites and an array of colors swim on the exterior walls. Gathering all of its strength to exist, Daksi rises in the air.

I don’t care to look back, only forward, and step foot onto the spacecraft. I feel its weight drop gently, like a paper boat floating in water. Ducking my head as I let myself in, my feet shift Daksi’s balance, swaying her gently side to side. I get to my seat in one step and prepare to take off. It takes me a minute to get a sense of the controls, a wide panel with floating handles. And I soon notice there are scriptures written on her interior ceiling:

I am your guide.

I have been waiting my whole life for this. I feel Daksi’s ribcage and it responds with chirping hollowed beeps. Soon we’re buoyant in the air and gliding through the rafters silently.

As soon as I reach the outside of The Colony’s structure, my ship becomes more agile, ancient tech that the new T.O.P.O.S. fleets can no longer detect. Daksi turns multi-colored and starts whirring, almost fidgeting. As she shifts into hyperspeed, I see The Colony disappear.

I feel things now… which is not something I’m accustomed to. As I look to the spine of this ship and see rhythmic colors woven in a round dance, I can’t help but feel connected.

“Daksi, I feel alive,” I say.

ᎬᏃᏓ… alive

The words appear across her interior dome and keep fizzling in and out.

“Daksi… are you alive?”

ᎬᏃᏓ… alive

It’s like I’m inside a turtle, inside a riverbed, and the animal is echoing things throughout its shell to my skin. I wonder who made Daksi, what they were like. I wonder if they imbued prayers into each of her fiber optic wires. The ship would have had no choice but to come alive.

Maybe it was Noisey; she would be capable of such a thing. She was supposed to be here with me; we were supposed to find land together. Her old age had started to affect her, and somewhere along the way, she started acting unusual. For a whole month, she barely spoke, hardly ate. All I could do was sit next to her and hold her hand. I once saw her talking to an empty chair. Faint specs of light glimmered off its surface like small beacons radiating warmth. She was in the middle of a conversation without me.

“And when I return to land, will the sun still embrace me?” she said with tender eyes that glistened. “Will I get to feel the grass beneath my feet?”

Noisey passed just a few days after that, while I was holding her hand. I saw her chest rise tall for the last time, then it released her whole life in one pure breath. The wrinkles on her face softened, and the wrinkles in mine hardened. I was filled with intense emotion. She was gone. The heart monitor said she was gone, but I could still feel her.

“Noisey, can you hear me?!” I said, grabbing her lifeless hands and holding them to my heart. “I’m going to get myself to Earth, all right? I know that’s where you’re going. I’ll meet you there.”

⁂

In floating letters next to the controls, the dashboard lights up:

Approaching Earth’s Breath

While I descend from the heights of intergalactic energies, the vastness that can inhabit a planet astounds me. For I was born into everything, never seeing an end, infinite grids on my radar now collide to form land. Is this the end of the universe? No, this must be where it first began. This is where you get sent to feel everything. To become more than a being, given a form of true meaning. I’m overcome with an overwhelming sense of clarity, something that’s been disconnected for centuries.

⁂

Noisey is growing in sound. I hear trapped pebbles from a creek shifting with her feet. I hear an old man releasing cries of woe, then singing in a language I can’t quite understand. In my mind’s eye, we’re dancing around an orb of light connected to the ground. In The Colony, they say there is no land. But how do you explain this sound?

⁂

As the clouds form around me, shapeshifting color wheels land like tears on the outside of Daksi’s force field. I see it take on elements of ionized gas. Loud claps in the sky startle my attention toward my dashboard. Sensors pinging, I am given an electrical storm warning. Electric? Right, this world materializes all sorts of energy. Outside claps again, with bright blue wings extending out all around me, stretching veins above the crashing sea of billowed clouds. I’m trying to get a hold of my ship. WARNING: 100 mph winds. This birdlike creature formed of lightning in the sky screeches. Deafening light grabs hold of Daksi, talons piercing her protection barrier. Rains drill into the glass, and sirens cry in my head. Red alerts bounce off my hands as I try to catch each one before a new one lands. Thunder splits my ears, and it tethers my heart to its energy, which tethers an image to my mind.

Soon I will meet my end, though unlike T.O.P.O.S., I do not fear death. I’m somehow enjoying this all too much; it feels like my life just began. These targeted bouts of electricity short-circuit Daksi’s programming, now completely offline, and I feel my velocity increase. A thick layer of sun engulfs me, and I’m sure this is the fastest I’ll ever go. Glass becomes a mirror to lightning, valleys running down the ship’s frame. I remember Noisey teaching me something about this. When glass gets overheated, it begins to break.

As I’m pulled further into my seat, I’m given no other option than to take it all in. I’ve never seen such a clear image of striking white winds swirling blue. Sharp light penetrates the cabin, then shoots out of my view. Like a camera flash, I smile for the picture while my fingers press the glass. The cabin swelters in thick, hot air. I reach out to grab it and smell it straightening my hair. I look through the shattered windshield, barely visible through my swollen eyes. Shapes form beneath me. All this time, I knew Noisey was right.

There is land in abundance. Approaching, I no longer have to put up a fight. My throat begins to swell from the pressure of the heat. Instead of crying, my eyes start to bleed.

I’m overcome with a multitude of feelings. They couldn’t explain this up in The Colony if they tried. I swear I can hear singing, and I’m sure it’s Noisey calling out to me.

I see her now, as she extends out a hand. I feel the weight of the world pressing against my chest, bound by gravity. My efforts outweigh the odds here in this falling Daksi. I manage to lift my arm as my hand connects to her palm. In my final attempts to grasp this world, something comes over me, and the pressure is gone.

⁂

I’ve died, but death is not what they think. Hand in hand with Noisey, who acted as my guide, we finally made it to land. Just like she asked, we get to feel the grass beneath our feet, and a breeze that whispers with sweet winds.

Not much is being said, but Noisey points down and I suddenly become aware that I’m holding something. It’s a hollowed-out turtle shell, just the size of my hand. Its yellow markings are in the same position as those on the ship that brought me here. This seems to be the little spirit that was imbued in the spacecraft. I had a feeling Daksi was sentient, chirping rhythms and responsive vibrations.

Noisey, with a sleepy smile on her face, still doesn’t say much but points again at the turtle. I feel the sun enter through the clouds as it tattoos my skin, and I flip the turtle to its side. I write with my finger, just as I did when we first met. I don’t wish to leave a mark, only a feeling, putting my memory to its shell and leaving it for the sun to soak in. For the sun to hear me:

You and I

Were born from the ground

You guided me

To land I knew could be found

You in my hands

I in your faith

I’m choosing to be human now

Daksi, time to sunbathe.

A.J. LeBeau is Cherokee from Oklahoma and is a descendant of the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe. She received her Associate’s in Liberal Arts from Haskell Indian Nations University. In 2024, she was named the AIHEC (American Indian Higher Education Consortium) Poet Laureate, winning the slam poetry contest for original works, as well as winning first place in contemporary drawing. In 2025, Tribal College published one of her poems titled “A Path Passed Down.” She plans on furthering her education in storytelling and film.