Beyond the Stars

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Beyond the Stars Page 6

by C. S. Wilde


  I open the door for him, and an idea pops in my mind.

  According to Miriam, Werhn-za’har is the smartest whisar in the galaxy. We also happen to owe him our lives. Since he used to be Chuck’s mentor, he’d never harm him, or Miriam. He’s our ally. Maybe he could shed some light into Miriam’s changes, and since it’s all going so well, it’s worth a shot.

  A part of my brain warns me that I shouldn’t get cocky, that abusing luck is a bad idea. But I’ve got this situation under control.

  “Do send Werhn-za’har my best regards,” I say, hoping that when Zed says something, Werhn-za’har will understand.

  Instead of nodding in his typical friendly manner, Zed glowers at me with a mix of surprise and anger—as much anger as a whisar can convey.

  Shoot, what just happened?

  An invisible pulse births from his chest and punches me in the gut, throwing me across the hall. As I slam against the wall, my head snaps against the cold marbled surface. Desperation rushes through me like lava, devouring everything in its path, because I just doomed us all. Then everything darkens.

  10

  -Miriam-

  Our ship hasn’t detected any tracking signals, which means that the base has no clue we’ve left the Earth. Chuck’s crazy plan worked. We’ve been sailing smoothly for the past six hours. I don’t believe in silly things such as miracles, but our escape comes dangerously close to the definition.

  Chuck gave me the task of setting up the replicator—I suspect he’s trying to distract me to avoid another event. It’s also why he hasn’t told me much about our plan. I trust Chuck with my life, but the secrecy is killing me, even if it’s for my well-being.

  It took me two hours to configure beef, vegetables, pasta and tomato sauce, and another three to configure soup, prosciutto pizza, rice and chicken.

  Once I’m done, I press the home button on the black screen and the options pop up. My hunger is nonexistent, so I select one pizza for Chuck. He has the appetite of a normal twelve-year-old human, which means no greens whatsoever, even though he knows better. Sometimes I wonder if his developing brain has something to do with it, if the teen occasionally—and rarely—takes over the living legend.

  James would have gone crazy if he had seen our replicator. He loves Star Trek and the show displays a similar technology.

  This is the second time I abandoned James for his own safety. I know how much he hates when I make decisions for him, so he must be beyond furious. But I had no choice. He can keep being angry at me, as long as he’s safe. And hopefully, he’ll forgive me when I return. If I return.

  I walk to the bridge, where Chuck sits in his chair with his feet on the padding, both elbows resting over his knees.

  “Dinner time,” I say, waiting for him to sit up straight. Once he does, I hand him his tray, then drop on the chair beside him.

  The stars outside are nothing but white dashes against a black background. Kind of like having the outside squeezed into a tunnel. Then the view shifts to a blue plasma funnel with golden rifts that thunder across the surface—an artificial short-range wormhole. After a few moments, we leave the funnel and the view is replaced by the white lines again.

  “We lost the deep space scanner,” Chuck grumbles before biting a piece of pizza. “At least the quantum speed drive is working fine.”

  We can travel to Mak-tahar without a deep space scanner. With a malfunctioning quantum drive, though, we wouldn’t be able to create the wormholes, so we’d take close to two thousand years to reach our destination. If only we had the technology to create enough energy for long-range wormholes, we’d be there in minutes. And I’d be back with James by now.

  “I’ll install the new scanner after we eat.” Chuck glances at my empty lap. “You need your strength, go fetch yourself some food.”

  I growl inwardly. It’s difficult being hungry when constant fear weighs down my shoulders; fear that I’ll disappear, that I’ll kill us both by having an event inside this ship, fear that I’ll never see James again. So I try to change the subject.

  “Where exactly in Mak-tahar are we going?” I ask, hoping that this time he’ll tell me.

  “If I told you, you’d want to turn the ship around. Obviously, I wouldn’t let you, so you’d feel distressed and probably turn us into particles floating in the vacuum.” He speaks of our demise as calmly as he’d explain physics to a child. He then grabs another slice of pizza and bites into it. “I’m not looking forward to having pieces of me scattered around the universe.” He turns in my direction and adds, “How about you?”

  What is it humans say? Ignorance is bliss.

  “Have it your way, esteemed mentor.”

  Chuck ignores my attempt to irritate him. His attention returns to the window and the white dashes outside. “Eat,” he orders.

  He won’t let this go, so I go to the replicator, choose a small portion of vegetables and chicken, and take the tray with me to the bridge. I drop on my seat and take a couple of bites. Through filled cheeks, I ask, “Happy?”

  He doesn’t reply, he simply keeps eating his pizza. I’ve known Chuck long enough to know that his silence means he’s not pleased, so I force food down my throat a few more times. I soon finish half of my plate, which leaves me quite pleased with myself.

  Chuck seems unimpressed by my feat, but doesn’t push further. Once we’re done, he goes to the lower deck to fix the deep space scanner.

  I lean back in my chair, reviewing all the status reports from the secondary command screen. The ship is in good condition—a wonder, really—and on due course, but Chuck has blocked the access to the final destination, so I can only see we’re going to Mak-tahar and nothing else.

  After half an hour, Chuck comes back from the lower deck and hands me a pill. “Don’t want you having any dreams and turning us into intergalactic blobs, dear.”

  Fair enough.

  ***

  It’s been three tedious days of monitoring the ship, getting daily brain checks from Chuck, and playing cards and Ca’mur-tet—which is fun, given I haven’t played it in a long time. Not to mention all the meditation. Chuck says it might help control my episodes, but I’m not so certain. Every time I ask about the results of my analyses, he tells me they’re fine. His frown and worried gaze guarantee the opposite.

  Yesterday, as I wondered about what waited for us in Mak-tahar, I turned a screwdriver into a near-perfect sphere. Its thick metal melted without any heating, its particles rearranged, and within a second, the sphere clanked against the ground, then rolled toward the wall. Just like that, I defied the laws of every known physics in the galaxy as easily as someone would sneeze or cough.

  Today, Chuck and I eat meat and some vegetables. I’ve finally managed to put something other than carbs in his diet, but I had to use the argument that if he disagreed with me, I could become nervous and destroy us both.

  Now we eat in silence, watching the usual plasma funnel with golden thunders, until the main console beeps. Chuck checks it and smiles at me.

  “When did you last see the vicinities of Mak-tahar?”

  “Never.” I swallow a small portion of my food, pushing it down my throat. Chuck’s attention remains on me, because I haven’t finished a third of my plate and he’ll order me to eat soon enough. “I wasn’t sent to that system,” I say, hoping to distract him yet again.

  He types a few keys and we leave the wormhole. The ship slows down.

  Outside, a storm of red, blue, and gold swirls sluggishly in a slow-motion fury, a nimbus of gas and dust sprinkled with shiny dots. Mak-tahar’s nebula, the birthplace of stars.

  I’ve seen nebulas before, these silent storms of rainbow colors alone in the vacuum... but they never cease to amaze me.

  When I was a child, I used to think nebulas were a gateway to the infinite dimensions, and that one of said dimensions held the consciousness of the dead. Something akin to human heaven. I hoped mother and father waited for me there, but this was a silly childhood belief
. All whisars know that when lifeforms die, they become a part of the cosmos. We’re all moving and thinking space dust, until the day we stop moving and thinking, and then we’re simply space dust again.

  Three blue dots sparkle beyond the nebula, forming a belt of stars: Natuk-ar, Doya’tep and Pak’cha-har. Natuk-ar and Pak’cha-har are two stars with many orbiting planets, quite a few of them supporting exceptional life—such as insectoids with extreme cognitive capacities, or an entire planet of silicon-based creatures. Not to mention the bustling trade route that connects most of these planets. Doya’tep, on the other hand, is a young star orbited by five planets with no value, and only one of them supports life—slowly evolving, unremarkable life, from what I’ve heard.

  Chuck’s cheeks are filled with food as he types on his secondary console and the stars become dashes.

  Leaving the nebula leaves a pressing weight on my chest. Such majestic things are meant to be witnessed.

  “Have you ever been to the base in the Doya’tep system?” he asks casually before swallowing his food.

  “What?” My voice comes out cracked, almost as if the words broke midway in my throat. “There’s a base in Doya’tep?”

  “It’s a very small base, given its location.” Chuck shrugs. “Let’s see if you like it, shall we?”

  Something thorny and bitter swirls in my stomach. “We’re not going to a whisar base! Have you lost your mind?” I stand up and my tray clanks loudly against the floor, spilling my food. “The Doya’tep Primary Chief Officer will contact the prime minister and we’ll be executed on the spot! Then they’ll come for James and Casey!”

  Chuck bites his lip. “Miriam, I have everything under control, I promise you.”

  I’m shaking hard enough to make my vision tremble. “You’ve killed us both!”

  We learned about this in school, it’s called space madness. It’s a rare phenomenon since whisars can’t experience strong emotions, but it’s possible. There are tales of crew members deciding to take a stroll in the vacuum without protective gear, or captains flying straight into a supernova’s core, killing their entire crew in the process. But Chuck is an experienced star flyer. He couldn’t be going mad.

  Could he?

  Chuck holds my gaze and speaks with a soothing tone. “Miriam, I need you to take a deep breath.”

  My body feels too heavy, as if it were made of stone. When I glance down, I realize that my feet have merged with the metallic floor, the skin on my calves shiny, dark and cold. The ship starts shaking with the strength of a magnitude nine earthquake, and my bones reverberate with it. The ship’s fuselage and I are one and I can feel it buckle, outer panels breaking loose, parts of me lost in the vacuum outside. Alarm bells ring deep as red light drenches the ship. Wires dangle from the walls, metallic intestines from a disemboweled carcass.

  Panic settles in and I fall deeper up to my knees. I try to control the thousands of thought tendrils merging me with the ship, but nothing changes. I’m killing us and I’ve got no control over it!

  “Stop!” I yelp.

  An electronic monotone warns us, “Breach into quantum drive in fifty latas.”

  Space dust. We’ll be space dust soon.

  I’m so sorry, James.

  “Deep breaths, Miriam!” Chuck shouts. “You can do this!”

  Nodding, I force air in and out of my lungs, recalling our meditation sessions.

  “That’s it. Deep breaths, dear,” he says, watching the shaking walls around us. “Remember, find a calm place. No, don’t look down!”

  “Breach into quantum drive in thirty latas.”

  I envision James just ahead, smiling as he gently caresses my cheek with the back of his hand. “I love you,” he whispers through soft lips. I inhale and exhale. James wraps his arms around me and nibbles the skin at the curve of my neck. “Stay with me,” he murmurs.

  Inhale again. Exhale.

  Repeat.

  Chuck’s big green eyes ooze certainty, telling me I won’t kill us both today. A soothing serenity slips into my skin. He’s always had so much faith in me…

  “Breach into quantum drive in twenty latas.”

  Ignore the warnings. Focus on Chuck, on James. Breathe.

  Slowly, I begin to feel the tips of my toes. When I check, I’m my full self, the balls of my feet are stamped against the floor and not melted within it. The ship stops quivering and the red lights fade.

  “Quantum drive integrity maintained.”

  I drop to the ground, shaking and hyperventilating. Tears swell at the corners of my eyes as I press my forehead against the cold metal.

  “Why is this happening to me?” I whimper, a swirling emptiness washing through every corner of my body.

  “You must calm yourself.” Chuck pats my back, letting out a relieved sigh. “I know someone at the base. We’ll be fine.”

  Perhaps we will. But I simply can’t believe him.

  11

  -James-

  There she is, just ahead. “Miriam!”

  I sprint to my wife and take her in my arms, spinning her around. I drown in the sweet scent at the curve of her neck. God, I’ll never let go. “I missed you so much.”

  I caress her cheeks and take in all of her before we kiss, slowly, lazily, her lips so soft. But something’s wrong. Her skin’s too light under my fingers, almost as if I were holding a cloud. When I open my eyes, Miriam’s fading right in front of me.

  “No!” I try to grab her, keep her here with me just a little longer, but it’s fruitless. Despair wraps me like a python and I can’t think, can’t breathe. “Mir!”

  “Remember me,” she whispers before disappearing completely.

  I wake with a scream stuck in my throat and blood blasting in my veins. The sensation I’m falling within myself infests every corner of my body as hurried breaths rush in and out. I’m leaning against a marbled wall, my feet and hands tied with computer wires that squeeze hard enough to turn my wrists and ankles red.

  The woman, I mean, the male, Zedphir-something, peers at me with big brown eyes outlined by pitch-black eyelashes.

  Did he retouch his make-up?

  “Human females like to groom themselves for several reasons,” Zed says with his vessel’s soft but fierce tone. “I had to learn the make-up ritual to blend in perfectly. I pay extreme attention to details. It’s why I’m such an excellent student.”

  “You’ve said that already.” I wriggle against the cables, and a muscle in my back strains with the effort. The cables don’t buckle an inch.

  Zed squints at me, his red lips twisting in a bitter way. “I do not need to explain myself to you, human.”

  “Didn’t ask you to.”

  Zed gapes at this, either befuddled or annoyed, I can’t tell which. After a while, he breaks eye contact. “What played in your mind…I do not have the vocabulary to describe it.” He stops for a moment, frowning at the ground. “This sensation, corroding you from inside. I believe humans call it terror? It was extremely uncomfortable.”

  “That’s the nature of nightmares,” I say through gritted teeth. Fuck, I’m living one right now.

  Giant waves of panic crash inside me as I assess my situation. Even if I freed myself, Zed could smash me against the ceiling with a single thought. He’ll soon report me to the whisarn authorities—if he hasn’t already. Then a bunch of security officers will crack my mind before finishing me off. Maybe they’ll throw my corpse into outer space, maybe they’ll use my genetic material for a new vessel. It won’t matter by then.

  One thing is certain: after they’re done with me, they’ll be coming for Miriam and Chuck.

  I writhe against the cables, pushing my wrists and ankles outward, but the tight wires bite my skin. I’m so fucked. A useless nerd, that’s what I am. Anger, blinding and red, concentrates in my chest. Useless. And now I’ve doomed them all.

  “What will you do with me?” I ask, every word an effort. A stupid question, considering I’m fully aware of what he’
ll do.

  “Nightmares,” Zed mumbles, ignoring my little breakdown. “I’m grateful I cannot experience such things.”

  “What will you do with me?” I insist, because I need to hear it from him. There’s this tiny shred of hope flickering inside me, saying that I can save Miriam and Chuck and Casey. Zed’s words need to destroy that senseless idea.

  Let it be done with.

  He sets a few stray hairs back into his high ponytail and crouches in front of me. “I haven’t decided yet. But I’d never kill you, if that’s what you fear.” He frowns, pursing his red lips. “By all the dimensions, I’m an apprentice, not a brutal security officer.”

  “I don’t fear you, kid.” I emphasize the word kid because that’s what he is, and it gives me an advantage point, though that might be just in my head. “I fear what your kind will do to me once you report to your bosses. I’m scared of what they’ll do to my wife and my friends.”

  He stamps a hand with long red fingernails on his chest. “Do not call me kid. I’m not a simple child, not like human children at least.” He huffs and crosses his arms. “I’m a competent apprentice. My brain is far more developed than those of your infants. I’m certainly smarter than you.”

  Says the guy who thought I was a whisar master officer, but I don’t mention that. It could get me into unnecessary trouble.

  Only now do I realize he’s crouching over high heels, which demands extraordinary balance. His feet must hurt like hell.

  Zed raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Jealous?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  He pouts. “I’ll have you know it took me a long time to adapt to these torture devices.”

  “I think they’re called stilettos.” Miriam wears a red pair sometimes during certain… activities.

  Zed squints as if I just offended him. “So you say, human.” He blows air through his lips. “I should report you. Hiding you from the base could bring severe consequences upon me.” His eyes twinkle and he grins in the way of someone about to let me in on a huge secret. “However, you can tell me a world of things I’d never learn in class, and that’s a strong argument in your favor.” He shrugs his slender shoulders. “Besides, there’s the undeniable luck factor.”

 

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