by Hanuš Seiner
The captain’s eyes burned. Long ago she’d read somewhere that each man has a measure of luck given by destiny. They may have used theirs up. They stood there for impossibly long before the engines finally broke the wall of silence and expressed by their monotonous, contented whir that everything was back in order, that the unceasing terawatts of energy still continued surging up to Earth.
“Let us remind ourselves,” the captain read in a voice she hardly recognized, “of our destiny.”
She laid her hand on the panel and looked upon the Vaían symbols appearing there.
Read, the engines said, read and have no doubts.
And she read: “We live in the emptiness among the stars.”
“We live in the emptiness among the stars,” the crew repeated hesitantly.
“… many light years from our homes.”
“… many light years from our homes.”
Hexagrammaton doesn’t respect tautograms of the shorter cipher keys, the captain realized. She read on and her voice gained certainty.
“We’re coming to the cradle of those who came to raise us up…”
“We’re coming to the cradle of those who came to raise us up…”
“… to continue learning how to use their gift.”
“… to continue learning how to use their gift.”
“And when they accept us into their celestial community…”
“And when they accept us into their celestial community…”
“… we too will travel the vast expanse to spread their glory…”
“… we too will travel the vast expanse to spread their glory…”
“… as Vaían asked us and as we promised Vaían.”
“… as Vaían asked us and as we promised Vaían.”
“That is our destiny,” the captain read the last line.
“That is our destiny,” the crew almost cried out. As if the same words with another meaning sounded altogether different. The room was filled with an excited hum of fifty voices.
“Mr. Dagasian,” the captain called, “man the navigation panel.”
The command room’s stations were coming alive one by one.
“Madam,” an awed voice near one of the screens breathed, “Probes report our current speed of three hundredths c and slowing gradually.”
“Mr. Zimov, the controls!”
The officers were abruptly returning to their stations as if they had left them just hours and not years ago.
“Madam, I’ve got the engines’ data for the last five years here. They were running on full power for that time, yes, but in flight mode.”
“What?”
“As if … as if we flew the whole time underneath the cone.”
Only the engines understood what happened, and they told everyone: Now we are a part of a new story. If we continue it, we cannot return to the old one.
“Corporal Paltev! The windows!”
The ship quivered a little as the corroded shutters slowly uncovered the view from the control room. There was dirt crumbling from the first bared cracks. And then the eyes of the crew met with starlight.
“Madam, we really are flying. We’ve been flying for the whole time!”
“Mr. Dagasian, our location!”
The captain gazed out in fascination. The space around them was alive. Like branches of a tree, helical structures of cosmic stations expanded everywhere, meeting restless swarms of small ships. The inhabited space was spreading before them, as if to embrace them.
“Madam, I’ve found our location. The bright red star in front of us is Alpha Tauri. Aldebaran.”
The captain could no longer hold the tears coming to her eyes. The whole crew cried. Someone started clapping and everyone was hugging or caressing the others’ tormented faces.
“Yes, it is Aldebaran,” the captain said to the navigator. “We’re here. Vaían welcomes us.”
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Begin Reading
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 by Hanuš Seiner (translated by Julie Nováková)
Art copyright © 2017 by Jeffrey Alan Love