To Sleep in a Sea of Stars

by Christopher Paolini

  Falconi put down the shears and stood with both hands on the worktable.

  “When you stabbed the Numenist—”

  “Bob.”

  “That’s right, Bob the Numenist.” Falconi didn’t smile, and neither did Kira. “When you stabbed him, was it you or the Soft Blade that did the stabbing?”

  “Both, I think.”

  He grunted. “Can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.”

  Shame twisted Kira’s gut. “Look, it was an accident. It won’t happen again.”

  He gave her a low, sideways look. “You sure about that?”

  “I—”

  “Doesn’t matter. We can’t afford another accident like Bob. I’m not going to let more of my crew get injured, not by the Jellies and sure as hell not by that suit of yours. You hear me?” He fixed her with a stare.

  “I hear you.”

  He didn’t seem convinced. “Tomorrow, I want you to go see Sparrow. Talk with her. Do what she tells you. She has some ideas that might help you control the Soft Blade.”

  Kira shifted her weight, uncomfortable. “I’m not arguing, but Sparrow isn’t a scientist. She—”

  “I don’t think you need a scientist,” said Falconi. His brow knotted. “I think you need discipline and structure. I think you need training. You fucked up with the Numenist, and you fucked up on the Jelly ship. If you can’t keep that thing of yours on a leash, you need to stay in your quarters from now on, for the sake of everyone.”

  He wasn’t wrong, but his tone rankled her. “How much training do you think I can do? We’re leaving Cygni day after tomorrow.”

  “And you’re not going into cryo,” Falconi retorted.

  “Yes, but—”

  His glare intensified. “Do what you can. Go see Sparrow. Sort your shit out. This isn’t a debate.”

  The back of Kira’s neck prickled, and she squared her shoulders. “Are you making that an order?”

  “Since you asked, yes.”

  “Is that all?”

  Falconi turned back to the workbench. “That’s all. Get out of here.”

  Kira got.

  4.

  After that, Kira didn’t feel much like interacting with the rest of the crew. Not for work and not for dinner.

  She retreated to her cabin. With the lights dimmed and her overlays turned off, the room appeared particularly bare, cramped, and shabby. She sat on the bed and stared at the battered walls and found nothing in their appearance to like.

  Kira wanted to be angry. She was angry, but she couldn’t bring herself to blame Falconi. In his place, she would have done the same. Even so, she remained unconvinced that Sparrow could be of any help.

  She covered her face with her hands. Part of her wanted to believe that she wasn’t responsible for answering the compulsion on the Jelly ship or for stabbing Bob the Numenist—that somehow the suit had twisted her mind, acted of its own volition, either out of ignorance or a desire to seed its own destructive mischief.

  But she knew better. No one had forced her to do either thing. In both cases, she’d wanted to. Blaming her actions on the Soft Blade was only an excuse—an easy out from the harsh reality.

  She took a shivering breath.

  Not everything had gone wrong, of course. Learning about the Staff of Blue was an unalloyed good, and Kira hoped with every fiber of her being that she hadn’t misunderstood and that finding it would lead to a favorable outcome. Even so, the thought did nothing to reduce the guilt that gnawed at her.

  Kira couldn’t bring herself to rest, tired though she was. Her mind was too active, too wired. Instead, she activated her cabin’s console and checked the news on Weyland (it was exactly as Akawe had said) and then started to read everything she could find about the nightmares. It wasn’t much. They were so recently arrived both in 61 Cygni and elsewhere, no one had been able to do a proper analysis of them. At least not at the time of the broadcasts that had reached Cygni.

  She’d been sitting there for perhaps half an hour when a message from Gregorovich appeared in the corner of her vision:

  The crew is gathering in the mess hall, if you wish to partake, O Spiky Meatbag. – Gregorovich

  Kira closed the message and kept reading.

  Not fifteen minutes later, a loud pounding on the door jolted her. From outside came Nielsen’s voice. “Kira? I know you’re there. Come join us. You need to eat.”

  Kira’s mouth was so dry, it took her three tries before she was able to muster enough moisture to answer: “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  “Nonsense. Open up.”

  “… No.”

  Metal clanked and screeched as the wheel outside the pressure door turned, and then the door itself swung open. Kira sat back and crossed her arms, somewhat offended. Out of habit, she’d thrown the privacy lock. No one should have been able to barge in on her, even though she knew half the crew probably could override the lock.

  Nielsen entered and looked down at her with an exasperated expression. Defensive, Kira forced herself to meet the woman’s gaze.

  “Let’s go,” said Nielsen. “The food’s warm. It’s just microwaved rations, but you’ll feel better with something in you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not hungry.”

  Nielsen studied her for a moment and then closed the door to the cabin and—to Kira’s surprise—sat on the other end of the bed. “No, it’s not okay. How long are you going to stay in here?”

  Kira shrugged. The surface of the Soft Blade prickled. “I’m tired, that’s all. Just don’t want to see anyone.”

  “Why? What are you afraid of?”

  For a moment Kira wasn’t going to answer. Then, defiant, she said, “Myself. Alright? Happy now?”

  Nielsen seemed unimpressed. “So you screwed up. Everyone screws up. What matters is how you deal with it. Hiding isn’t the answer. It never is.”

  “Yeah, but…” Kira had difficulty finding the words.

  “But?”

  “I don’t know if I can control the Soft Blade!” Kira blurted out. There. She’d said it. “If I get angry again or excited or … I don’t know what might happen and…” She trailed off, miserable.

  Nielsen snorted. “Bullshit. I don’t believe you.” Shocked, Kira failed to find a response before the first officer said, “You’re perfectly capable of eating dinner with us and not killing anyone. I know, I know, alien parasite and all that.” She gazed at Kira from under her brow. “You lost control because Bob the Numenist broke your nose. That’s enough to piss off anyone. No, you shouldn’t have stabbed him. And maybe you shouldn’t have responded to the signal on the Jelly ship. But you did, it’s done, and that’s the end of it. You know what to watch out for now, and you won’t let it happen again. You’re just scared to face everyone. That’s what you’re afraid of.”

  “You’re wrong. You don’t understand wh—”

  “I understand plenty. You messed up, and it’s hard to go out and look them in the eye. So what? The worst thing you can do is hide here and act like nothing happened. If you want to earn their trust back, come out, take your licks, and I guarantee they’ll respect you for it. Even Falconi. Everyone screws up, Kira.”

  “Not like this,” Kira mumbled. “How many people have you stabbed?”

  Nielsen’s expression grew tart. So did her voice: “You think you’re so special?”

  “I don’t see anyone else infected with an alien parasite.”

  A loud bang as Nielsen slapped the wall. Kira jumped, startled. “See, you’re fine,” said Nielsen. “You didn’t stab me. Imagine that. Everyone screws up, Kira. Everyone has their own shit they deal with. If you weren’t stuck so far up your own ass, you’d see. Those scars on Falconi’s arms? They’re not a reward for avoiding mistakes, I can tell you that.”

  “I…” Kira trailed off, ashamed.

  Nielsen leveled a finger at her. “Trig hasn’t had it easy either. Nor Vishal nor Sparrow nor Hwa-jung. And Gregorovich is just chock-full of wise life decision
s.” Her mocking tone left no doubt about the actual truth. “Everyone messes up. How you deal with it is what determines who you are.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me? We’re not here to talk about me. Pull yourself together, Kira. You’re better than this.” Nielsen stood.

  “Wait.… Why do you care?”

  For the first time, Nielsen’s expression softened, just slightly. “Because that’s what we do. We fall down, and then we help each other back up again.” The door creaked as she opened it. “Are you coming? The food is still warm.”

  “Yeah. I’m coming.” And though it wasn’t easy, Kira got to her feet.

  5.

  It was well past midnight, but everyone was in the galley except for Sparrow and the Marines. Despite Kira’s fears, no one made her feel unwelcome, although she couldn’t help feeling that everyone was judging her … and that she was lacking. Still, the crew didn’t say anything unpleasant, and the only time the subject of the Numenist came up was when Trig made a sideways reference to him, which Kira, taking Nielsen’s advice from before, acknowledged in a straightforward manner.

  There was some kindness as well. Hwa-jung brought her a cup of tea, and Vishal said, “You come see me tomorrow, yes? I will fix your nose for you.”

  Falconi snorted. He had barely looked at her. “It’s going to hurt like hell if anesthetic doesn’t work on you.”

  “That’s alright,” said Kira. It wasn’t, but pride and a sense of responsibility wouldn’t let her admit otherwise.

  Everyone seemed exhausted, and for the most part, the galley was silent, each person lost in their own thoughts, eyes focused on overlays.

  Kira had just started eating when the Entropists surprised her by sitting in front of her. They leaned in over the top of the table, eager eyes in eager faces: twins with different bodies.

  “Yes?” she said.

  Veera said, “Prisoner Navárez, we have discovered—”

  “—the most exciting thing. As we were making our way across Malpert Station, we—”

  “—came across the remains of one of the nightmares and—”

  “—we succeeded in taking a tissue sample.”

  Kira perked up. “Oh?”

  The Entropists gripped the edge of the table together. Their fingernails whitened with the pressure. “We have spent all this time—”

  “—studying the sample. What it shows—”

  “Yes?” she said.

  “—what it shows,” Jorrus continued, “is that the nightmares—”

  “—don’t share the same genomic makeup as either—”

  “—the Soft Blade or the Jellies.”

  The Entropists sat back, smiling with evident delight at their discovery.

  Kira put down her fork. “Are you telling me there are no similarities?”

  Veera bobbed her head. “Similarities, yes, but—”

  “—only similarities born of basic chemical necessity. Otherwise, the entities are entirely unalike.”

  That confirmed Kira’s initial, instinctual reaction, but still, she wondered. “One of the nightmares had tentacles. I saw it. What about that?”

  The Entropists nodded together, as if pleased. “Yes. In form familiar, but in substance, foreign. You may have also seen—”

  “—arms and legs and eyes and fur and other—”

  “—growths reminiscent of Earth-based life. But the nightmare we examined contained—”

  “—no closeness to Terran DNA.”

  Kira stared at the pile of soggy rations on her plate as she thought. “What are they, then?”

  A paired shrug from the Entropists. “Unknown,” said Jorrus. “Their underlying biological structure appears—”

  “—unformed, incomplete, contradictory—”

  “—malignant.”

  “Huh.… Can I see your results?”

  “Of course, Prisoner.”

  She looked back up at them. “Have you shared this with the Darmstadt yet?”

  “We just sent over our files.”

  “Good.” Akawe should know the sorts of creatures they were dealing with.

  The Entropists returned to their own table, and Kira slowly continued eating as she scoured the documents they’d sent her. It amazed her the amount of data they’d been able to gather without a proper lab. The tech built into their robes was seriously impressive.

  She paused when the four Marines showed up in their drab olive greens. Even out of power armor, the men were imposing. Their bodies bulged and rippled with unnatural levels of lean muscle; living anatomy charts that screamed of strength, power, and speed—their physiques the result of a whole suite of genetic tweaks the military employed in their frontline troops. Even though none of them looked like they had grown up in high-g, like Hwa-jung, Kira had no doubt they were just as strong, if not more so. They reminded her of pictures she’d seen of animals with myostatin deficiencies. Hawes, Sanchez … she didn’t know the names of the other two.

  The Marines didn’t stay to eat, just heated water for tea or coffee, grabbed a few snacks, and left. “Won’t be getting in your way, Captain,” said Hawes on the way out.

  Falconi gave them a casual salute.

  The technical details of the nightmares’ biology were deep and varied, and Kira found herself lost in the more obscure points. Everything the Entropists had said was true, but they had barely begun to capture the sheer weirdness of the nightmares. By comparison, the Jellies, with all their genetic manipulation, were positively straightforward. But the nightmares … Kira had never seen anything resembling them. She kept stumbling across snatches of chemical sequences that seemed familiar, but only seemed. The cellular structure of the nightmares wasn’t even stable, and as for how that was possible, she hadn’t the slightest idea.

  Her plate had long been empty, and she was still reading when a glass thumped down next to her plate, causing her to jump.

  Falconi stood next to her, holding a bouquet of glasses in one hand and several bottles of red wine in the other. Without asking, he filled her glass halfway. “Here.”

  Then he walked around, handing out glasses to the crew and Entropists, and filling them.

  Finished, he lifted his own glass. “Kira. Things didn’t work out how any of us expected, but if it weren’t for you, there’s a good chance we’d all be dead. Yeah, it’s been a rough day. Yeah, you ticked off every Jelly from here to kingdom come. And yeah, we’re racing off to god knows where because of you.” He paused, his gaze steady. “But we’re alive. Trig is alive. Sparrow is alive. And we have you to thank for that. So this toast is for you, Kira.”

  At first no one else joined in. Then Nielsen reached out and lifted her own glass. “Hear, hear,” she said, and the others echoed her.

  An unexpected film of tears blurred Kira’s vision. She raised her wine and mumbled thanks. For the first time, she didn’t feel quite so horribly out of place on the Wallfish.

  “And in the future, let’s not do any of this again,” said Falconi, sitting down.

  A few chuckles followed.

  Kira eyed her drink. Half a glass. Not too much. She downed it in a single motion and then sat back, curious what would happen.

  Across the mess hall, Falconi gave her a wary look.

  A minute passed. Five minutes. Ten. And still Kira felt nothing. She made a face, disgusted. After the abstinence of the past few months, she ought to have gotten at least a slight buzz.

  But no. The Soft Blade was suppressing the effects of the alcohol. Even if she’d wanted to get drunk, she couldn’t.

  It shouldn’t have, but the realization angered Kira. “Damn you,” she muttered. No one—not even the Soft Blade—ought to be able to dictate what she could do with her body. If she wanted to get a tattoo or become fat or have a kid or do anything else, then she damn well ought to have that freedom. Without the opportunity, she was nothing more than a slave.

  Her anger made her want to march over, grab a wine bottle, and drin
k the whole thing in a single go. Just to force the issue. Just to prove that she could.

  But she didn’t. After what had happened that day, it terrified her to think of what the Soft Blade might do if she were drunk. And then too, she didn’t want to get hammered. Not really.

  So she didn’t ask for more wine, content to hold and wait and not to tempt misfortune. And Kira noticed that although Falconi poured out a second round for everyone else, he didn’t offer one to her. He understood, and she was grateful, if still a little resentful. Dangerous or not, she wanted the choice.

  “Anyone want the rest?” Falconi asked, holding up the last bottle. It was still about a quarter full.

  Hwa-jung took it from him. “Me. I will. I have extra enzymes.” The crew chuckled, and Kira felt relieved that she no longer had to think about the wine.

  She turned the stem of the glass between her fingers, and a faint smile crept onto her face. With it she felt a sense of lightness. Nielsen had been right; it was good she’d come out to face the crew. Hiding hadn’t been the answer.

  It was a lesson she needed to remember.

  6.

  A green light was glowing at the desk console when Kira finally arrived back at her cabin, late that night. She stubbed her toe on the corner of the bed as she walked to the desk. “Ow,” she muttered, more out of reflex than any actual pain.

  As expected, the message was from Gregorovich:

  I know what you can do, but still I know not what you are. Again, I ask and asking wonder: what are you, O Multifarious Meatbag? – Gregorovich

  She blinked and then typed her response.

  I am what I am. – Kira

  His reply was nearly instantaneous:

  Bah. How pedestrian. How boring. – Gregorovich

  Tough. Sometimes we don’t get what we want. – Kira