Firmament: In His Image

by J. Grace Pennington

  I took the bowl and held it to her lips. She took a few sips, and then drew in a big shuddering breath. I gently stroked her hot, dry skin.

  It was not until then that I saw that the Captain and Whales were seated quietly on the other side of the room. Whales was looking over a log of some kind, and the Captain held the history book in his hands, but was watching us concernedly.

  After Nama had drained the bowl, the Doctor began wrapping her in the thick cloths he took from the corner of the tent. “You need to get your leggings and jacket on,” he insisted, and I reached for my pack.

  My jacket, leggings, and fingerless gloves were inside, and I pulled them out. Rolling down my shirt sleeves, I slipped the jacket and gloves on quickly, then turned my back to the men in order to get the leggings on modestly.

  When I had finished, I turned back and helped the Doctor wrap the girl until only her face was visible. Then he laid her down close to me.

  “Drink some water,” he whispered.

  I licked my lips, a little embarrassed. “Dad…”

  “What?”

  “It’s just that I’ve been drinking water all day now, and—I don’t think I can go much longer without—doing something about it.”

  “Oh.” He looked a bit sheepish. “You remember where the—facilities are?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait, never mind. I’ll escort you there.”

  It turned out I needed more than just an escort. When I attempted to stand, I stumbled, and I felt a bit dizzy again. The Captain jumped up, and the Doctor held my arm to steady me. “It’s okay, Trent. We’ll be right back.”

  He led me to one of the tiny rooms that bordered the walls and waited while I used the primitive lavatory. Then he led me back again.

  I looked up at the darkened sky as we walked back. A single moon, much like Earth’s, floated above us, framed by twinkling stars in unfamiliar constellations. All was silent, and there were very few lights left in the place except those in our tent.

  “So many of them,” I murmured.

  “Of what?”

  “Stars,” I said quietly.

  “What are you thinking, Andi?” was his quiet response.

  “I’m thinking that there is a Biblical explanation for all this, I just don’t know what it is.”

  He put his arm around my shoulders. “That’s my girl.”

  I stopped walking and looked up at him in the moonlight. “Dad, I didn’t want to tell you… but I wasn’t sure yesterday. Even this morning. I was confused, and I almost doubted.”

  “But you didn’t.” He held me close. “I know my girl. You never really doubted. You just needed a little time for faith to win out.”

  I stood there in the silence for a moment, and I couldn’t help noticing how strange it was to hear no croaking of frogs, creaking of cicadas, or any of the other sounds I remembered from night time on Earth.

  “Crash does,” I said at last, unwilling to leave the open air for the closed feeling of the tent.

  “I know.”

  That was all he wanted to say, but I wanted more. “Dad, he’s been a Christian for a long time, right?”

  “Yes. Since he was a little boy.” There were a few more seconds of the silence, and then he said, “Sara taught him. But Sara’s faith wasn’t the strongest.”

  He didn’t like talking about Sara. But I was longing to know why Crash was struggling so much. “Why?”

  He stared up at the stars, and began talking almost as if to himself. “When they died, she didn’t understand it. She didn’t like not understanding, it upset her.”

  I knew that when he said “they,” he referred to their parents, who had died when he was eighteen and Sara was only twelve.

  “She never really got over it,” he went on at last. “Even though she came back to her faith when Crash was little, she never understood why they died, and couldn’t accept that fact. Instead, she ignored it.”

  “But Crash can’t ignore it,” I whispered.

  “Crash has been through more than you think, Andi,” he replied. “Just because he seems so cocky and careless, don’t think he hasn’t been hurt deeply. I don’t even think he’s told me everything that’s happened to him.”

  I looked up at the moon. I had never heard Crash mention his father, and the Doctor had only told me the barest minimum. I had learned long ago that Miles Crash was a subject to avoid. All I knew was that the Doctor had disapproved of him, and he had left when Crash was a teenager. And I didn’t dare ask more.

  “We’d better get inside,” the Doctor said at last, and I walked silently with him to the tent. We entered without another word.

  I gave him a quick hug and then crept back to my side of the tent. Nama was sleeping peacefully, her breathing steady but her skin still reddish and very dry. I kissed her lightly on the forehead and then lay down beside her. I was feeling better from my walk in the open air, and took a drink before curling up to sleep. Crash was still gone, but no one said anything about it. Whales had lain down to sleep, and the Captain was reading his book.

  That night was a long one. I seemed to be in a state of quasi-consciousness all night, slipping into a dream about the crashing of the Apogee, helping the Doctor administer a dose of salt water to the sick girl, hearing Crash yelling at the Captain, seeing Basilius watching disapprovingly from his chair, and sometimes reading something about Xerxes I in the naval battle of Salamis or the execution of William Wallace. But I could never be sure how much of this was real and how much was a dream, as I seemed to slide seamlessly from one into the other.

  The Doctor was always there; his presence the one unchanging factor in the constantly shifting scenes. At one point I thought I gripped his hand and asked him to please tell God I was sorry. Then he seemed to take my hand in both of his and tell me it was alright. At last, all of these images and actions faded into each other and were swallowed up by blackness. Finally my mind could rest.

  It wasn’t until I woke up the next morning at the sound of the same loud whistle that I realized that I had been delirious, and wasn’t as fully recovered as I had thought.

  Crash was there when I woke up, laying a wet cloth on my forehead. He smiled at me.

  “Good morning,” was all he said.

  “Where’s Nama?” I asked. “How is she?”

  “She’s doing better, and Uncle took her back to her parents. He said when you woke up you had to eat something, or you’d suffer from malnutrition.”

  “Okay.” I smiled at the exaggeration. I had eaten a decent meal yesterday, and was in no danger of real malnutrition. But my smile faded as I observed him pulling out a couple of food bars for me. There was something different about him, something missing.

  “Elasson’s been wanting to see you.”

  “After I eat,” I said. “I don’t want him to see me eating this food.”

  Crash nodded, understanding. “Eat up.”

  When I had finished eating and drained the bowl of water, Crash cleaned up the trash and leaned out of the tent opening. He must have beckoned to Elasson, for the young man entered almost as soon as Crash pulled his head back in.

  “Andi,” he said, the word sounding more natural now. He leaned over me with such a sympathetic and yet extremely curious look on his face that I felt like laughing.

  “Good morning, Elasson.”

  “Chairo hoti sauten aneilephas,” he said, and handed me something. “Labe touto.”

  I looked at it and saw that it was a slice of that hard bread, spread with a sticky, green paste of some kind. I fought hard against the impulse to grimace, and instead managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Elasson. It’s—kind of you.”

  He was clearly waiting for me to eat it, so I took a bite. The goo was about as pleasant tasting as it had looked, but I gagged it down and smiled again. He didn’t move until I had consumed the whole thing, and then licked my fingers clean.

  “Asmenos auto parecho,” he said in a gracious tone. Then he stood looking
at me with a mixture of wistfulness and impatience in his eyes, which I translated as a frustration with not being able to communicate with me. I wondered if, if he could speak to me, he would apologize for his brother’s opposition to our treating Nama. As it was, there was no way to know how he felt about the whole thing except the generally sympathetic look in his eyes.

  “Alright,” Crash said, laying a hand on Elasson’s shoulder. “Let Miss Andi get some rest.” To illustrate his meaning, he tugged on the young man’s tunic and pointed to the tent flap. Elasson nodded, stood up, and with a last glance at me, ducked out of the tent.

  “Where are the others?” I asked when he had gone.

  “Uncle’s with the little girl; I don’t know where Whales and Trent are.”

  I wanted to broach the subject of faith with him, but his furrowed brows and something about the look in his eyes stopped me. It wasn’t the time.

  As I was reaching for the history book, the Captain burst into the tent urgently, his eyes angry. “They’re dragging Gerry to the throne room.”

  “Who? Why?” I cried, jumping up.

  “I don’t know why. That Perekhon and a couple of others just came and grabbed him, literally grabbed him.”

  “You stay here,” Crash ordered, pushing me back down in his excitement. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

  “No, I’m going with you!” I cried, grabbing hold of his hand and pulling myself up again. “The Doctor is in danger. Don’t even think about leaving me here.”

  The Captain had already turned and left again, and I started after him, recklessly resolved to go whether Crash would take me with him or not.

  “Okay, okay,” he cried, grabbing me by the jacket. “Just stay with me. You know Uncle wouldn’t want you out there by yourself.”

  He grasped my hand firmly and led me out, his jaw set.

  XIV

  There was a steady buzz of unintelligible conversation coming from the “throne room” as we approached it. Crash, still gripping my hand, pulled me through the crowd until we reached the front of the group.

  People of various ages stood crowding the little room, and formed a semi-circle around Basilius’s chair, leaving a space between themselves and it. Between the crowd and the stern Basilius stood three men, two of them holding the Doctor firmly by the arms. The third was Perekhon, who stood a little to the left of the chair, and talked loudly and decidedly.

  I tightened my grip on Crash’s hand. The Captain stood a few feet away from us, his eyes intent on the scene ahead. Whales was nowhere to be seen.

  “Katasiopeson autous!” Basilius called loudly, and Perekhon grasped up a reed-like tube of wood and raised it to his lips to blow a long blast on it. I recognized the sharp whistle that had awakened me in the mornings.

  Instantly everyone fell silent.

  “Spoudason pas tis hymon!” Basilius ordered. “Hemin hoi xenoi lian gignontai empodon. Touton autos epimelesomai.”

  Most of the people began disbanding at his words, but a woman fell forward out of the group onto her knees and clutched at the sand, looking desperately into the eyes of the harsh ruler. “Se paraitoumai o Basileie! Ten gar thygatera mou erysanto tou thanein…” With surprise, I recognized her as Nama’s mother.

  “Kataleipo, Apalos,” Basilius ordered, his eyes glaring. “Alla gar ta tes diaites hemon diaphtheirousin, ho g’ ouk anekteon.”

  A young man that I didn’t recognize jumped out of the crowd, grabbed hold of the woman’s arm, and dragged her away. She wept even louder as she was pulled from the room, her anguished cries adding poignancy to the already intense situation.

  I looked at Basilius, whose eyes were full of fire as he glared at the Doctor. The crowd slipped away until the only natives left in the tent were Basilius and his three men.

  The Captain moved over to us quietly and put his arm around my shoulders. I still held fast to Crash’s hand, and I kept my eyes locked on the Doctor, who had not noticed us yet. He was facing Basilius.

  “Auton anairethenai dei,” Basilius said to Perekhon in a cold tone. “Tois gar allois ananke hemin paradigma poiesai.”

  Perekhon nodded slowly. Then with startling rapidity of motion he flipped up a sharp stone knife from the table beside him and began advancing towards the Doctor.

  I screamed, and tried to pull away from the two men who held me. The Captain leapt forward, his fingers scratching across my shoulder in his hurry to get to his friend. Crash gripped my hand tighter than I could have imagined and cried “Stop! Stop!” He reached for his blaster before remembering that he had left it in the tent.

  The Captain had grabbed Perekhon’s wrist, holding the snaky, cold knife away from the Doctor’s head.

  The Doctor was struggling, but the two men on either side of him were too strong. Turning his head, he found my face and we stared at each other. I saw worry and sorrow in his gray eyes, and I screamed again and tried again to pull away from Crash, but he recklessly yanked me back. The Captain went on struggling with Perekhon, but I only saw them in my peripheral vision. My eyes remained riveted to the Doctor’s.

  God please, save him.

  As soon as the prayer left my heart, I heard a voice yell “Epischete!”

  The scuffle went on, but I turned to look at the speaker. Elasson had rushed in the room and was holding up his hands, his face as determined and angry as his brother’s.

  “Epischete!” he screamed.

  Basilius, looking more fiery than ever, ordered, “Epischete de, Perekhon.” He jumped out of his chair and took hold of his henchman’s collar. “Stamatí1sei tó1ra!”

  Perekhon dropped the knife and kicked the Captain in the stomach. The Captain stumbled back and fell into the sand, panting. I wrenched free from Crash and darted to the Doctor’s side, grasping his hand firmly in both of mine. They would not take him away from me.

  But now Basilius was spitting words at Elasson that sounded threatening and questioning. Elasson, ignoring the words, strode towards the throne with clenched fists and determination flashing in his eyes.

  “Basilius,” he said unhesitatingly, “Ou men exesti tin’ anairethenai ei me epainei pas tis en zoe on syngenes tes tyrannikes oikias.”

  There was a silence, and I could hear the Doctor’s quick breathing next to me. Crash didn’t move, and the Captain hadn’t risen from where he’d fallen on the ground. Perekhon and the other two men were staring expectantly and somewhat questioningly at Basilius.

  “Moros!” the ruler cried, standing up and stomping over to his brother. “Aei pos malthakizei!” He brought himself up to his full height, which was a good several centimeters greater than Elasson’s. “Ou me me kolyses tou laou phrontizein—”

  Brazenly, Elasson interrupted him. “Dei gar panta syngene soi synainein. Egog ou synneuso.”

  Basilus‘s eyes flashed. “Mon me dei se nothon onta k’ ou gnesion houtos paraiteisthai—”

  “Dei gar panta syngene soi synainein,” was the calm but decided answer Elasson gave to the insulting words.

  Basilius stared at his brother, shaking with pure anger. Perekhon cleared his throat and spoke hesitatingly. “Outos gar nomos estin.”

  Without looking at the speaker, Basilius glared at his brother for another instant before raising his arm and striking him across the face with the back of his powerful hand.

  I drew closer to the Doctor, who held me as best he could.

  Elasson stumbled back slightly from the force of the blow, but his face was unflinching. “Pher’ hatina soi dokei kat’ emou poiei. Egog ou synneuso. Ou mentoi touto dikaios poieis, o Basileie.”

  “Ego eimi Basilius!” cried the ruler, taking a step forward so that he was nearly touching noses with his brother. “Ta ge dikaia krinein ou son, all’ emon!”

  “Oudamos; egoge d’ au ou synneuso.”

  Basilius stared for a few minutes more, and then, enraged, struck Elasson another blow on the head. This time Elasson crumpled to the floor. Tearing myself away from the Doctor, I hurried to
kneel beside the young man, and examined his pulse.

  The angry ruler stomped back to his chair, and merely gave an angry wave of his hand to his men.

  They did not loosen their hold on the Doctor, but began leading him out.

  “Come on, Andi.” The Captain gripped my arm and pulled me up. “We’ll carry him back, and Gerry can examine him.”

  My gaze still on the unconscious form, I got up and backed towards the exit of the room. With a last nervous glance at Basilius, who was glaring hatefully at me, I turned and stumbled out, and then ran without stopping to our tent, where the two men were just tossing the Doctor inside. As I approached the opening, one of them maliciously poked me in the back with his fist, knocking me through the opening so that I landed on my face next to the Doctor.

  “Andi.” Sitting up, he rested his hand on my back. “Are you alright?”

  Without answering, I threw myself into his arms, and we sat there for a moment, not speaking.

  Soon, the tent flap opened again and the Captain and Crash entered, bearing Elasson carefully. I jumped up and smoothed out a makeshift bed for them to lay him on, and the Doctor moved over to examine him. “I’m sure he’s okay, Andi,” he assured, though I hadn’t spoken.

  “What do you think all that was about?” I asked breathlessly, addressing my question to the Captain.

  He shook his head. “It must all have something to do with the healing of that little girl. You saw that it was her mother who was protesting.”

  “But why would they—kill him just for that?” I choked on the word “kill,” shuddering as I remembered how close I’d come to losing my precious father.

  Crash thumped down into the sand. “Where’s Whales, anyway? I haven’t seen him all day.”

  “He went to do some more tests,” the Doctor answered, still seated next to Elasson. “He’s trying to figure out what happened to the reactor.”

  I crept close to the Doctor and laid my head on his shoulder. He put an arm around me.

  “Trent?” said the Doctor after a few moments of silence on our part. “You know as well as I do that you have to make a decision.”