Beyond the Stars

by C. S. Wilde

  “I’ll fly toward the sun, following a straight line from the airbus’s orbit. It’ll conceal us the entire time, and once we’re too far to be masked by it, the scanners won’t be able to find us anymore because of the proximity of solar flares.”

  I shift in my seat. “Chuck, this is the same as hitting an arrow in the same spot continuously. As in each passing second of each passing minute. It’s insane.”

  “I know,” Chuck says with a smile. “But everything is possible with manual mode and a fantastic pilot.”

  I’d try to convince him that this is madness, that it can never work, but the approaching airbus floats ahead, exactly on the threshold to the exosphere. We have no time. If we miss our landing by an inch, the base will know we’re out, and Chuck’s plan will have failed before it began.

  The airbus keeps approaching, a small triangular figure in the distance with its nose down and black belly toward the Earth. Thankfully, we won’t see any bodies that might be resting inside that hollow carcass.

  My stomach clenches, and my fingers press the sides of my seat.

  We match the airbus in speed as our secondary jets align our ship in tiny, short bursts. The black panels of the airbus’ bottom occupy most of our view now. Chuck says nothing, his lips pressed tight.

  “Come on,” he mutters as he swivels the ship so that we fly with our bottom toward the airbus. It feels like we’re hanging upside down, with down being the Earth. Now, only the controls can guide us. We’re flying blind.

  I peer at the seas and continents on Earth, and then at the clouds that move sluggishly below. I wish I could go back to James, but going back isn’t an option, not until I solve the mystery of what’s happening to me, and end my changes.

  I ignore the spectacular view below and start the countdown on my side of the console, which is equipped with precise whisarn measurements of distance. “Twenty-four jeheks. Twenty-three jeheks.” I go on until we reach, “Five jeheks. Four. Three. Two.”

  A scratchy bump. Then nothing.

  Chuck leans back in his chair, puffing out a deep, relieved breath. He needs to enjoy this small victory, because what he must do next nears the impossible.

  “Are you sure about this?” I ask as cold dread prickles my chest.

  He sits up straight and starts typing furiously on the primary controls, his little fingers tapping the pearly surface like tiny spider legs.

  He grins. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

  9

  -James-

  My head throbs and spins. “Mir?”

  No reply.

  My body is resting on a fluffy surface that’s too good to be a normal bed. It feels more like a cloud. I’ll have to stand up at some point, but I don’t want to. Leaving this bed means facing the fact that my wife left me.

  Again.

  With a groan, I pry my eyes open and find myself in one of Chuck’s bedrooms. The walls are smooth light-gray panels, the floor impeccable white tiles. Dressers and closets composed of glass, metal, and sharp corners stand on the wall opposite the big window.

  Chuck calls this one the whisarn room, I remember now.

  After we returned to Earth, Chuck wanted nothing to do with his kind, but he and Miriam miss home sometimes. It’s a love/hate relationship, I guess. Miriam says that if whisars weren’t so against emotions, their home planet would be a utopia.

  Even Chuck, who rarely displays his feelings, once told me, “When the sky outside is purple and yellow, and I’m inside this room, I’m back home in a way. The good part of home, that is.”

  One time, I caught both of them watching the sunset from behind the same window that stands before me, a smooth silence flooding the room. Certain moments demand respect, so I walked away then. But I’m not walking away now.

  I jump out of bed and try to open the door, but it’s locked. I slam my hand on the light-caramel wood. “Casey!” Harsher slams. “Let me out!”

  “Sorry, James,” her voice comes muffled from the other side. “Grandpa made me promise.”

  “Casey, come on! I won’t do anything stupid. You know me.”

  “I do, and that’s why you’re not leaving that room,” she says. “You’ll find a way to reach Miriam and probably get yourself killed in the process. You should be careful, James. You’re only human.”

  Oh, she did not just patronize me. “Goddamn it, Cas!” I step back and kick the door but it doesn’t buckle. “I’m Miriam’s anchor!”

  I brought her back that night with the sheets, and something in my gut tells me she’ll need me to do that again. It might be an irrational idea, but I’m willing to take that chance.

  “Whatever you think you are, she needs you to stay safe.” Steps thump on the wooden floor, fading as they go. There’s no reasoning with Casey, and she’s making that obvious by leaving.

  I look around, trying to find a way out. The window is my first choice, but Chuck’s second floor equals a normal building’s fourth. Best-case scenario, I break an arm or leg. Worst case, I break my neck.

  No objects lay on the dresser’s impeccable frosted glass. A key would be nice, or at least a pair of bobby pins so I could try to unlock the door—it can’t be that hard, people do it in the movies all the time.

  If only I had my phone I could google it.

  The clean-cut closets are filled with child sized T-shirts and jeans, items that are completely useless in my current situation. Some of my clothes dangle from the hangers on the inner left.

  Thanks Chuck, at least I won’t smell bad while being held against my will.

  If the bed had a poster, I could tie the sheets around it and go down, spy-movie style. But the bed’s frame is a dull square. This room is sleek to perfection.

  I open the dresser’s first drawer. Underwear.

  Great. My right foot taps the floor in the rhythm of a jungle drum. Miriam could have an episode any time now, and where will I be?

  “Come on,” I grumble, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of panicking.

  Second drawer: old mobiles. Who keeps old mobiles nowadays?

  Chuck, you weirdo.

  Third drawer: game consoles and a small dot that resembles a blueberry.

  A comm! I bet Chuck forgot he even had a comm in this room.

  It’s probably synched to Miriam’s mental signature, so I could contact her and make sure that she’s all right. Perhaps I could help them from here, kind of like the Apollo control mission.

  Who am I kidding? I’m useless to them.

  I shake the thought out of my mind. I’m Miriam’s anchor, I brought her back twice.

  The sensation of falling bedsheets brushes my fingertips. Miriam was slipping through my fingers. Literally. That won’t happen again, I won’t allow it.

  Without second thought, I slam the comm on my left temple. “Come on…”

  My own voice echoes in my mind. “Linking to previous connection. Apprentice 7569, Zed’phir-lack.”

  “What?” My blood freezes cold and solid, stomach dropping a thousand feet.

  I pull the comm off my temple, and slowly let out a relieved breath. That was close.

  “Greetings.” The muffled voice comes from the back of my mind, as if someone were speaking to me from beyond a thick cloth. “Is anyone there?”

  I glare at the comm. Apparently, removing it doesn’t make it stop working.

  Shit.

  The faded voice says, “Are you in harm’s way? I shall contact the next available security officer.”

  My heartbeat thrums in my ears, cold sweat blooming on the palms of my hands.

  I need to think this through.

  Chuck once told me that the first layer of thought is communication. It’s the only layer scanned by the comms. If I were to use it, I’d be safe as long as I kept my thoughts on the second layer—something Miriam taught me after we returned from the dark side of the moon. I hate it when she peeks into my thoughts, and because it comes so naturally to her, she taught me how t
o “block” the attempts. It works most of the time, I just need to concentrate.

  I murmur a silent prayer to no one in particular before slamming the comm on my forehead.

  “Please confirm your current status immediately, unknown caller.” The male voice rings clear in my head. He sounds a bit young...

  Chuck must have blocked the ID on this comm, because he’s a safety first kind of guy. I might have to kiss him when he’s back.

  “Greetings,” I say, mimicking the posh whisarn speech. “I’m in no harm, thank you for your assistance. You may disconnect now.”

  My throat’s walls feel like sandpaper. If whisars find out Miriam and Chuck aren’t on Earth anymore, we’ll be in gargantuan trouble.

  The whisar on the other side takes a moment. “Are you certain? Why’s your ID disabled? I am overriding the locator.”

  Agh, how do I shut down this fucking comm? Adrenaline shoots through my body, muscles trembling, but I leave the surface of my mind a blank paper. “The ID is off because of the nature of my work. So is the locator. I can assure you I’m quite all right, please do not—”

  “Location override successful,” he says. “Identify yourself, please.”

  A curse floats repeatedly in my mind, beneath my first layer.

  The only way to fix this gigantic mess is if I keep pretending to be a whisar who feels no emotions. Chuck was Ah’rbal-ack-to, so following the same structure I could be…Shap’al-nack-to?

  “Shap’al-nack-to,” I say. “And you are?”

  “Apprentice 7569, Zed’phir-lack.” He pauses. “You called me.”

  “Indeed.” I swallow dry. “Wrong number, I suppose.”

  “Wrong number?” He chortles. “I shall stop by your location to make sure that there’s nothing wrong with your vessel’s processing core.”

  Beneath my first layer, I’m cursing so hard that I’d make an old sailor blush. On the first layer, I’m as calm and quiet as a starry night in the countryside.

  “I’m fine. You mentioned you were an apprentice?” I ask. “A security officer apprentice?”

  “No. I’m a researcher.”

  Fun fact about researchers: they aren’t prone to violence, so he wouldn’t pose any danger to Casey and I. Another good thing about researchers: they aren’t used to lying. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, which means they’ll believe almost anything that comes out of another whisar’s mouth—or mind.

  Zed-whatever-his-name-is lets out an annoyed sigh. “Your refusal for assistance when you clearly need it is quite worrying. Your vessel certainly seems to be damaged.”

  The words come out without planning or rational thinking. I have no time for that. “You are correct. I’m trapped in a room at this location.”

  That’s not a lie, technically, but I figure that the less I lie, the smaller the chances that he’ll realize something’s off. Besides, the art of deception is clearly not my best skill.

  “Haven’t you tried using your telekinesis to break free?” he asks.

  “I believe the human keeping me found a way to annul my attempts.”

  Careful now. If any thoughts venture to the first layer, I’ll be screwed.

  “Very curious,” he says. “I’ll contact security officers in this area.”

  Shit! Think, James!

  “I’d prefer if you didn’t. The human poses no considerable threat. I can handle her on my own.” Almost there. “Carry on with your day, apprentice, I’m quite all right.”

  He laughs. “And miss an opportunity of meeting such a peculiar human? I see now why your ID was blocked. You must be researching a secret project. It’ll be my honor to assist you.”

  My breathing shortens, but I keep my thoughts calm and blank. There’s no avoiding this now. “If you insist. But you must tell no one about this. And she cannot be harmed. She’s quite important to my studies.”

  He thinks a nod, and it’s extremely weird, seeing—sensing—a nod with no face attached. “I can surely respect a fellow colleague’s research, especially one with such a curious human.”

  Something clicks and his voice disappears. If we survive this, I’ll need to ask Chuck how to turn this damn thing off.

  I slowly remove the comm. My breaths become increasingly ragged, and a sharp, cold sensation snakes up my spine. I just murdered Casey and myself, probably Miriam and Chuck in the process…unless I actually pull this off.

  It’s not like I have a choice. It’s either that or execution.

  I slam my hand against the door and yell for Casey, but she doesn’t reply. I bet she’s watching TV in the living room, two stories down.

  Okay, I can do this myself. Deep breaths, don’t freak out.

  After a few moments of scheming through possibilities that always end bad for everyone involved—imprisonment and death mostly—the sound of a car engine comes from outside. A beige BMW parks at the entrance, but Casey doesn’t go outside. She probably didn’t hear it.

  The walls of my throat tighten as I think of all the ways this could end badly for Casey. But he won’t harm her, he’s a researcher. She’s one hundred percent safe.

  Or so I tell myself.

  To my surprise, a woman steps out of the car, her sleek blond hair trapped in a high ponytail. She wears a black suit and skirt with a white shirt underneath, plus high heels so thin they can’t possibly be comfortable. I search for the guy who spoke to me, but the woman is alone.

  Crap! Did he send a security officer in his place? My heart beats against my sternum, blood pumping through my veins. Security officers don’t respect the layers, heck, they respect nothing. I won’t let Casey get hurt, not because of my stupidity!

  The woman squeezes her eyes as she observes the mansion’s façade. “Are you all right?” The same male voice from before bursts in my mind.

  So she’s Zed-whatever? Oh thank God, she’s not a security officer.

  Chuck told me whisars like the absence of emotions, which is the basic principle of meditation. So I say, “I am fine. Apologies. I was meditating.”

  “I have tracked you.” She looks up and through the window where I’m standing. She continues with her young, male tone, “I’ll immobilize the human. Expect a knock in ninety four latas.”

  All right, that gives me two minutes to prepare.

  After the precise time passes, the door slams open. The woman has Casey floating by her side in an invisible grip. Casey writhes and tries to break free, but she can’t. She also can’t speak, because her lips are tight shut, and even though she moves her jaw, she can’t open her mouth—she doesn’t really need to, her furious glare says everything.

  “Your living space is quite extensive,” the woman says with a soft tone as she observes Chuck’s room.

  This is so confusing. In her thoughts she’s a guy, but in her voice, she’s a girl. Shoot, this one went to the first layer!

  The woman leans her head to the right, sending me an inquisitive look. “My vessel’s gender confuses you?”

  “Slightly, but—”

  “I’m researching the bonding factors of human females. It is only logical that I be granted a female vessel.” She frowns. “I suppose you may address me as he, for I am male in original form.”

  I bow to her with a hand over my heart in a typical whisarn greeting. “Thank you for helping me.”

  The male alien in the female body bows back. “I’m glad to be of service to any researcher.” She, he, surveys the clean-cut furniture. “How long have you been on Earth, if I may ask?”

  Her voice and looks belong to a woman, and it’s so weird, calling her a he. But if that’s what he prefers, then that’s what I’m going to do.

  “Twenty-five human years,” I say with a clear mind. No time for elaborate lies.

  His eyes with big dark lashes widen, and he bows so much that the tip of his ponytail brushes the floor. “By the dimensions! You must be a master officer! This humble apprentice is honored to meet you.”

  “You’re a…�
�� What did Chuck call them again? “Youngling, correct?”

  “Indeed.” He stands straight. “I’m only a hundred Dratas old. You might wonder how a youngling managed to be assigned to the galaxy’s most pivotal post,” his chest puffs up with pride, highlighting his big breasts, which is so weird. “I assure you, I was the top student in all my classes. A prodigy, if you will.”

  Humility is clearly not his forte. But of course he’s a youngling. Anyone more experienced might’ve unraveled my act long ago.

  Luck is definitely on my side. All right, let’s roll with this.

  I straighten up, hands behind my back. “False modesty is not a quality, youngling.”

  He lowers his head at that. “Of course, master officer. I deeply apologize.”

  I step forward and out of the room. Zedphir, hmm, Zed, follows like a lost puppy. “Youngling, if you’d be so kind as to imprison the female so I may continue my studies?”

  “Surely, master officer. But how did this female acquire telepathic abilities?” He nods at Casey, who glowers at me with pure rage.

  “Apologies, youngling, but you do not hold the necessary clearance levels.”

  “Naturally.” He bows his head. “It is I who’s sorry, master officer.”

  Using the tone of a repentant father, I say, “You may call me Shap’al-nack-to.”

  His eyes shine as if he just received the best of all Christmas presents, and with one turn of his head, Casey is thrown into the room and the door locked.

  He slams a little metallic device that looks like a high-tech yoyo over the door. I’m guessing this will keep Casey from using her telekinesis, but I can’t exactly ask.

  “I wonder if you’ll be taking disciples any time soon, master officer, I mean, Shap’al-nack-to,” Zed says as I walk him down the corridors toward the door. “I may be a youngling, but I’m the most dedicated student you could possibly acquire.”

  I smirk in the most stuck-up way I can muster. “My research is not for apprentices.”

  “Of course not, master officer.” He bows slightly, his tone weak.