Yet time also seemed so fast.
During the flight, Marco had time to read. To work on a second draft of Le Kill, writing more about Tomiko, his fierce heroine with the kabuki mask and katana. To meditate. Most importantly, he spent these days with those dearest to him.
Many days on this journey, Marco spent time with his captain. He and Ben-Ari passed hours in the lounge, speaking of literature and theater, of history, of science and art. They found comfort in the cerebral, an escape from this cosmos of nightmares and pulsing emotions. Marco had known his commander for years, but only now did she reveal her extensive knowledge, and he marveled at how well-read, how educated she was, as easily fluent in Victorian literature as she was in biology and physics. One day, she showed him her watercolor paintings, and another day, she played her favorite operas for him, and she cried during "Che gelida manina" from La boheme. Marco let her read Loggerhead, and they talked about the book, and he learned that Ben-Ari wrote too, had spent two years in prison writing poems and her memoirs.
Often, on Sundays or evenings, she wore her civilian clothes. Sometimes Marco called her Einav. For years, he had admired her, had seen her as a great leader. Now he saw the woman beneath the uniform—kind, intelligent, a woman whose eyes sparkled when she spoke of art and music, who marveled at the secrets of the cosmos. She spoke little of her personal life. Perhaps she wasn't ready. But somehow, his long conversations with Ben-Ari about science and art and history felt more intimate than any conversation he'd ever had.
On other days, Marco spent hours listening to music with Kemi, going over album after album in the jukebox, everything from Little Richard to Elvis to Buddy Holly. Kemi would dance, smile, and finally—after so much suffering, after so many years of nightmares—she was laughing again. She was happy. Marco never forgot finding Kemi captive in the mines of Corpus, the scum experimenting on her, how a part of her had died that day. Seeing the old Kemi, twirling around to music, her smile and eyes shining, made Marco happier than she'd ever know. Here was the old Kemi again, the girl he had fallen in love with years ago. And with his anxiousness to return to Earth, to save Addy, Marco never wanted to leave this ship.
Other days on this journey, Marco spent time with Lailani. They reminisced about boot camp, laughing at the old stories: how they had pissed into milk cartons and bottles while stuck in their tent on high alert, how Caveman had tried to plant a flower grove one Sunday in the desert, how they would pilfer packets of jam from the cafeteria and use them as currency, and how Addy had once paid two entire cans of stolen Spam—a treasure for her—for three cigarettes.
Sometimes during this long flight, Marco and Lailani would play cards—gin rummy was their favorite—smack talking each other all the while, the winner mercilessly teasing the loser until they almost came to blows, but always collapsed laughing at the end. Some days, they just lay on a cot together—Lailani was small enough to lie beside him—and watched movies, hours and hours of movies. They spent one full day watching all three Lord of the Rings movies, crying during the last half hour. For a whole week, they had a marathon of All Systems Go!, watching every episode in the anime series. Sometimes their fingertips would touch, and a faint smile would raise Lailani's lips. Sometimes her hand slipped into his, as if by chance, and she let him hold it. Sometimes Marco caught her looking at him, her eyes soft, but then Lailani would quickly look away, her cheeks flushing. Perhaps she was remembering Sofia—sometimes she still wept at nights—and perhaps she was thinking of Kemi.
She still loves you, Kemi had said, and when Marco spent those days with Lailani, he knew that it was true. And he knew that he himself still had feelings for Lailani. He felt torn between them, the two great stars in his night. Kemi and Lailani. The two women he had loved most in his life, had lost. But even should he let his love bloom with one again, he would wait. Not here. Not in this darkness. There was another woman who needed him. There was Addy. And Marco would focus on no one else until he saved her.
Time. Time that felt too rushed, the moments of peace too brief. Time that seemed agonizingly slow, every moment full of concern for Addy. But nobody seemed to feel the passage of time more than Keewaji.
"Poet," Lailani said to him one day, "does Keewaji look . . . different to you lately?"
The young Nandaki lay curled up in a hammock he had fashioned from sheets and ropes, mimicking the nests his kind slept in back on their forested world. His four arms were crossed, the palms open, the mouths snoring softly. White hair flowed from his head, and his skin had begun to sag, wrinkles forming around his eyes.
"He looks weak," Marco confessed. "He no longer leaps about like he used to. Remember how he used to jump all over the ship, swinging from his tail? Now he walks. Slowly."
"Maybe we're not feeding him the right food," Lailani said. "We have frozen meals of lasagna, spaghetti and meatballs, chicken curry, salmon and rice, and thankfully tacos. But what if he needs to eat grubs and all those fruits back from his home world?" She winced. "Look at him, Marco. His skin is gray and loose."
The young alien opened his eyes, stretched, and rose from his bed. His joints creaked. Like all Nandaki, he was used to days and nights that lasted only several moments. Throughout the journey, he retired to his bed every five minutes, only to awake refreshed and ready to spend another five minutes talking, reading, and playing Goblin Bowling.
"Good morning, master and mistress!" the young alien said, speaking through one hand and waving the other three.
Marco and Lailani glanced at each other, then back at him.
"Keewaji," Marco said, "how are you?"
"I am well, master," the alien said. "We are close now to the Tree of Life, the mythical bridges between the stars! I yearn for the day I travel the paths of the gods."
Lailani placed her hand on the Nandaki's shoulder. "Little one, how are you feeling? Physically? Are you getting enough rest here? The food you need? Is there anything we can do for you?"
He blinked his large eyes at her. Their lavender glow had faded to a dull indigo these past few days, and the eyes had sunken among wrinkles. "You are most kind, mistress. I am blessed every day that I get to spend among the mighty humans and their cargo." He lowered his head. "Though I do miss home."
Marco decided to be a little less diplomatic. "Keewaji, lately you seem slower on your feet. You don't leap around as much. Are you ill? You look a little ashen, and . . . we want to be sure you're fine."
Keewaji bristled. "Master! I am at the pinnacle of health for a Nandaki my age! Many Nandakis in their middle age spend all day in their hammock, but I still run about, learn, and explore. Though I do miss climbing trees . . ."
Marco tilted his head. He blew out his breath slowly.
Of course.
"You were just a child when we met you a few weeks ago," Marco said softly.
Keewaji nodded. "You are beings of great lifespans, master! Humans live for many generations. I am but a humble Nandaki, a mere mortal. I age faster than you, master. Many generations of Nandaki come and go within a single human life. How ephemeral we must seem to you! To wise and powerful beings like you, it might seem so recent that you were on Nandaka. To me it was half a lifetime ago."
Lailani gasped. "You should have said something! We could have left you in Nandaka! We didn't know . . ." Her eyes dampened. "We took half your life from you."
"Mistress!" He wiped away her tears. "Do not cry for little Keewaji! For I am blessed. I could never imagine a greater honor than to spend so many years with beings as wise, beautiful, and strong as humans." He laughed. "Look at me, talking half the day away! I will go eat now before bed. I look forward to another day tomorrow in the company of heroes!"
Within a moment, he was sleeping again, another day gone.
As the journey toward the wormhole continued, Marco's concern for Keewaji grew. Marco watched the little alien age before his eyes. Within a few more human days—a long time for a Nandaki—a white beard grew from Keewaji's cheeks, soon h
anging halfway down his chest. The alien developed a paunch and stoop. His wrinkles deepened, his claws turned brittle, and his voice became raspy.
They were two months into their journey, nearly at the wormhole, when Keewaji fell for the first time. He had attempted to swing from a beam by his tail, fell, and bruised his hip. After that, he walked with a cane. Their friend, young and eager so recently, now hobbled around the ship, cane tapping, beard flowing to his knees, his face a nest of wrinkles.
And yet, whenever Marco felt pity, Keewaji would smile and wink. A sparkle still filled the old alien's eyes.
"We are near now!" Keewaji said when they were only a day—an Earth day—away from the coordinates they sought. "After so long, we will reach the Tree of Light!" His eyes watered. "I have waited for so long. I am so blessed."
As they flew onward, concern grew in Marco that they would find nothing. That Keewaji had waited so long, growing old here, only to find empty space. That they would never be able to return the alien to his homeworld, that he would die of old age on this ship. If they found no wormhole here, they would all die on the Marilyn, Marco supposed. They would never reach the Ghost Fleet, never save Addy, never save Earth.
As the Marilyn came within a million kilometers of the coordinates, Marco found himself on the bridge, clutching his chair's armrests, chewing his lip, staring through the viewport.
"Anything?" he asked.
Lailani sat beside him, checking instruments and running scans. "Patience, Poet! Let me work."
Kemi sat the helm, gently guiding the ship forward. "Beginning our deceleration." She chewed her lip. "Ready to guide the ship into whatever portal I see."
Ben-Ari stood at the front of the bridge, hands held behind her back, staring out the largest viewport into the darkness. She wore her uniform and her beret, and her hair was pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail. She said nothing, and the starlight flowed around her.
Marco licked his lips, staring out there. Seeking something. Anything.
Come on, he thought. Come on, Wormy . . .
Lailani stiffened. She hit buttons in a fury.
"Do you see something?" Marco said.
Lailani scrunched up her lips, typing, adjusting knobs. "An anomaly." She stuck out her tongue in concentration. "Kemi, can you adjust our left yaw by three degrees? I see . . ." She gasped. "Something is out there. Let me send out a blast of photons. Kemi, that adjustment?"
Kemi nodded. "Here we go."
The ship turned slightly. Lailani flipped some switches, then leaped from her seat.
"Something is ahead! Definitely!"
Keewaji leaned against a viewport, eyes wide. "We are nearing the Tree of Light! Like in the legends."
"We might just be able to get a visual soon," Lailani said. "There's enough light and space dust that . . ." She exhaled slowly. "Well, will you look at that?"
Marco saw it.
He lost his breath.
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," he whispered, eyes dampening.
Lailani nodded. "I have no idea what you just said, Poet, but . . . yep, that's a wormhole all right."
A luminous ring shone ahead, shimmering, bending the starlight around it. Within it, a tunnel of light flowed into the distance, visible only when viewed through the ring.
"A branch on the great Tree of Light." Keewaji fell to his knees, weeping, shaking. "The stories are true." He placed his hand against the viewport. "I always believed."
Lailani hopped toward the elderly alien, embraced him, and kissed his head. "You were right, Keewaji. I always knew you were right. You led us to hope."
Finally, for the first time, Ben-Ari turned toward them and spoke. "Send the probe in first. De la Rosa, that's your job."
Lailani nodded and returned to her seat. Over the past couple months, they had constructed probes from old sensors and pipes, then loaded them into the missile bays. Lailani hit a few buttons, and a probe flew out from the ship, heading toward the wormhole.
They all watched with bated breath.
The probe flew closer, closer, entered the wormhole . . . then vanished down the tunnel.
"All readings are gone!" Lailani said. "I'm not picking up anything." She looked up at her captain. "If the probe is still out there, it's . . . Wait a minute." She frowned. "Bloody hell. A signal is coming at me—through the wormhole! It's . . . it's impossible, ma'am. These coordinates . . ."
"Report them, Sergeant," the captain said.
Lailani blew out her breath and laughed. "According to this, the probe is a hundred light-years away. Normally, it would take this signal a century to reach us. The probe must be speaking to us through the wormhole." She shook her head in wonder. "As I said. Yep, it's a wormhole."
Kemi raised her eyes from her controls. "Captain?"
Ben-Ari raised her chin and took a deep breath. "Very well. Fly us in, Lieutenant."
"We began as wanderers, and we are wanderers still," Marco whispered in awe, quoting Sagan, as they flew toward the ring.
"Oh, and can somebody shut up the poet?" Lailani said.
Marco wanted to give her a dirty look, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the wonder ahead. Kemi guided the ship closer. The portal's true size became apparent as they drew closer. They were like a bumblebee approaching a hula hoop. Humans had only recently developed wormholes, but they were only a few atoms wide, big enough to send information but not ships, and even those took enormous amounts of energy. Whatever civilization had built this wormhole—large enough for fleets to fly through—would make humans seem as simple as chimps.
"Here we go," Kemi said. "Hold onto your butts!"
She pushed down on the throttle.
They flew into the wormhole.
Beams flowed through the viewports, casting dapples of gold and silver across the crew. Luminous beads shimmered. They zoomed forward, flowing through a tunnel of purest light. It was so beautiful Marco could not breathe. So beautiful that all his pain seemed to fade away, all his memories, his nightmares, his anxiety, all peeling away under the light of this wonder. He gazed upon beauty, upon purity.
With a thud and clatter, they burst out into cold dark space.
They floated above a sea of distant stars.
Marco blinked and leaned back in his seat.
Lailani turned toward Marco. "Any more inspirational quotes?"
He exhaled slowly. "Whoa," he said, suddenly feeling a lot like Stooge.
Lailani returned to her instruments. "Amazing." She whistled softly. "I can barely believe it. According to my sensors, we're a hundred light-years from where we started."
Kemi's eyes widened. "Even the fastest ship in the galaxy, flying with the best azoth warp engines, would need days—hell, weeks—to cross such a distance."
"And we crossed it within moments," Lailani said. "And guess what? I'm picking up three more wormhole portals ahead. They're only half a million kilometers away. A quick flight, even with conventional engines. I'm passing you their coordinates, Kemi."
"Which wormhole do I take?" Kemi said.
They all looked at one another, silent, lost for ideas.
"Keewaji will know," Marco said softly.
The elderly Nandaki hobbled forth, leaning on his cane. Tears were flowing down his wrinkly cheeks. He placed a tablet on the floor, hit a button, and a holographic image bloomed upward, the height of a man, showing a field of stars.
"I have seen the Tree of Light so many times in my childhood," Keewaji whispered, voice raspy. "For many days, I worshiped at the Boulder of the Sky Gods, tracing the map they had engraved into the stone." His voice shook. "I have traveled in their path, and I can still see the paths ahead."
Keewaji placed a finger on the holographic map, touching one star, then traced his finger toward another star, drawing a luminous line. He worked silently, line by line, drawing many paths flowing between the stars. Slowly, he formed a luminous tree that grew from the tablet below, bra
nching out, shining with light.
Knees creaking, he knelt before the holographic drawing.
"The Tree of Light," Keewaji whispered. "The paths of the heavens. Here is their glory. And here are we." He pointed at one intersection where four branches met, and a point of light shone. "And here are the paths we must take."
Kemi gazed in wonder, the light in her eyes, and nodded. "Here we go."
She led them toward another wormhole.
They flowed through another tunnel of light. Within seconds, they emerged at another location in the galaxy, hundreds of light-years away.
Keewaji touched the three-dimensional map again, updating their location on the tree.
They flew for days, hopping from wormhole to wormhole. They took shifts at the helm. Even Marco, who had never trained as a pilot, took one shift, and guiding the Marilyn through a wormhole, traveling a hundred light-years within seconds, was among the most wonderful moments of his life.
And they were not alone.
"Look!" Kemi leaped from her seat as they were flying through a particularly long wormhole. She pointed out a viewport. "Look, everyone!"
They all raced toward portholes, and Marco's heart hammered, sure that the marauders had found them.
Instead he saw something he could not explain.
It looked like a massive, shimmering plankton, gliding forth, a ring of luminous beads spinning around a central stalk crowned with ribbons.
"What is it?" Lailani whispered. "It's huge. It's ten times the size of our ship."
"It's a starship," Marco whispered.
"Bullshit." Lailani shook her head. "It's not made of metal."
"It's beautiful." Marco placed his hand against the porthole as it glided by. "It's so beautiful."
As the two ships crossed paths in the wormhole, Marco thought he could see figures—tall and dark and slender—that stood within the beads of light like fireflies in amber.
Earth Shadows (Earthrise Book 5) Page 24