Beyond the Stars

by C. S. Wilde

  Hold on, Thor’nack. I’ll be there soon, she tells herself.

  Someone approaches from behind and stops by Sol’ut-eh’s side, jarring her from the desperation gnawing at her core.

  “Are you well, sister?”

  She turns to Ah’rbal-ack-to. Chuck. His pearly white skin has no wrinkles, but the last time I saw his original body there were Advark feet adorning the corners of his eyes. The two little stumps on the sides of his head look smaller than I remembered.

  It’s odd seeing Chuck as a whisar again, especially a young one.

  He stands two heads taller than Sol’ut-eh, his snout pressed tight together, his almond shaped eyes a fierce pale blue. He doesn’t touch her or even glance at her, his attention fully ahead on the supernova.

  Sol’ut-eh remains a mask of stone, remarkable in all her control, but blood has drained from her face. Her palms feel clammy and the muscles in her legs tighten. Maybe I’m wrong—I have to be—but she seems terrified of her own brother.

  Chuck wears a black tunic that ends before his hinged kneecaps, with a silver belt wrapped around his waist. I have no idea what hierarchy wears such clothing.

  Sol’ut-eh turns back to the unstable star ahead, listening to the engine’s distant hum. “I am well, brother.”

  “You do not look like it,” he says as if he’s just eaten something bitter, disgust mingled with apathy in his tone.

  This version of Chuck, no, Ah’rbal-ack-to, feels distant and glacial, nothing like the mentor who practically raised me.

  “Is your dark safe open again?” he speaks in her mind.

  She takes a deep breath and stills her thoughts, ignoring the agony that squeezes her heart like an invisible fist. “No, you did a remarkable job of closing it.”

  His voice booms in her mind. “Your inner thoughts contradict your words.”

  “I will remind you, brother, that it is extremely rude to peer beyond a whisar’s first layer of thought.”

  His serious, dispassionate expression doesn’t waver. “You are my sister.”

  “And what does that mean?” she says without a hint of distress, even though he already unveiled her sham.

  “It means we share the same genetic material. Therefore, I must preserve your existence.” This as if she’s half-witted.

  By the dimensions, who is this creature? Before we were exiled, countless stories featured the legendary Ah’rbal-ack-to, stories filled with glory and heroism. Now that he became Chuck, and a pariah, I’m not sure if such stories still exist, but still, whisars used to regard my mentor as some sort of unbreakable deity. Werhn-za’har’s successor, they said. Rachem-ka ta mar. The chosen one.

  Because of all the glory and respect attached to his name, I could never grasp why Chuck hated being called Ah’rbal-ack-to, or why he closed down and silenced when I mentioned his past before he was assigned to Earth.

  Now I understand.

  “The supernova has reached its final phase,” Sol’ut-eh speaks openly this time, her tone even and blank as she stares at the flickering pink dot, now slightly larger than before. The ship is moving fast. “I hope we reach the colony soon. They can’t escape the gravitational pull of the star, not with their frail medical and research ships.”

  Ah’rbal-ack-to’s uptight position doesn’t change. “I share the same hope. For your mate’s sake. And yours.”

  Sol’ut-eh frowns and wishes she could smack her brother’s face. “What do you mean?”

  “You failed to reproduce.” His chiding tone echoes in her mind.

  She gasps in surprise. “How dare you criticize me? We will have a child when we’re ready. You cannot complain, you don’t even have a mate!”

  “My duties will always come first. You’re our only hope of maintaining our lineage’s genetic material. Once we take Thor’nack from that colony, you will have his child, or else...”

  She turns to him, chest puffed up, head held high. “Or else what?”

  He doesn’t break eye contact as he says, “I’ll request Werhn-za’har to impregnate you. He has done it before. It is a great honor.”

  She steps back as her hand flies to her chest. “You’d never—”

  He leans forward, his eyes glinting like a razor’s blade. “Test me, sister. I dare you.”

  This is not Chuck. This is not the mentor who raised me. This is a monster.

  Red light paints the bridge crimson and a piercing alarm wails three times. The soft, distant hum of the engines stops.

  Sol’ut-eh’s heartbeat thumps against her chest, her throat tightening. “What’s happening?”

  “Control your emotions,” Ah’rbal-ack-to snarls with grinding teeth.

  The door to the bridge slides open and Werhn-za’har enters, his yellow eyes shining in the way of a panther at midnight. He wears a red tunic with a golden belt, the attire of a master councilor.

  This version of Werhn-za’har, much like Ah’rbal-ack-to’s, feels strange to me. The Werhn-za’har I know never looked down on anyone, not even the apprentices. James said he resembled the alien version of the Dalai Lama, and he was correct. However, this Werhn-za’har walks to us with his snout raised high as if he exists in a plane much higher than ours. Even when he approaches Ah’rbal-ack-to, who’s much taller than him, Werhn-za’har feels… taller. Worst of all, my former mentor shrinks beneath his presence. It’s an odd scene to witness. I’ve never seen Chuck bow down to anyone.

  “We cannot go further,” Werhn-za’har says.

  The ground beneath Sol’ut-eh’s feet crumbles, her whole world disintegrates, but she keeps her emotions below her first layer of thought. “What is the problem, master councilor?”

  He stares at the flickering pink star. “We learned that Famda Seven is a colony of rebels.”

  Sol’ut-eh swallows dry, clenches her fists, but her thoughts above the first layer remain a blank canvas. “Surely not all of them belong to the resistance, master councilor. We must consider that the population consists of sixty million whisars.”

  “Certainly not all of them, indeed.” He looks down to his bulky three-fingered feet. “However, intelligence says that a great deal of the population has acquired a way of life in which strong emotions are commonplace.” Werhn-za’har clicks his blue tongue and shrugs. “The majority that remains sane refuses to eliminate the infected. In fact, they’ve come to co-exist with each other.”

  “They simply show tolerance,” Sol’ut-eh says. “Perhaps we could learn from those colonists.”

  Werhn-za’har holds both hands behind his back. “I will remind you that tolerance threatens our republic.”

  “Master councilor, you cannot tag an entire population as rebels when only half of them experience strong emotions. Perhaps five or ten percent of such half are actually rebels.” Sol’ut-eh snorts and shakes her head. She can’t believe she’s having this argument. “The reasonable assessment is to save the colony and later judge the rebels.”

  Would Thor’nack be one of those rebels? Certainly, they both felt strong emotions, but they weren’t rebels, not that Sol’ut-eh knew of. Indeed, she hadn’t seen Thor’nack since her last mission, and perhaps his situation had changed in the meantime, but she missed him dearly and she loved him nonetheless, rebel or not.

  By the raise of Werhn-za’har’s brow, he considers Sol’ut-eh’s manners disrespectful. At this point, she doesn’t care.

  He crosses his languid arms. “The prime minister begs to differ from your conclusion.”

  “You are the council,” Sol’ut-eh says. “The prime minister shouldn’t—”

  “The council cannot stop the prime minister. This is his jurisdiction.” Werhn-za’har shakes his head. “Perhaps this will change someday, but that day is not now.”

  “You don’t want to help them,” she snarls, all muscles in her face clenched.

  A flash of anger passes through Werhn-za’har’s expression. Sol’ut-eh wonders if this was a figment of her distressed state.

  “You ha
ve no idea what I want, officer,” he says.

  “Esteemed mentor,” Ah’rbal-ack-to interrupts. “Surely mass genocide is not a viable solution.”

  Good. Even he thinks this is madness.

  “My mate is innocent, he has done nothing against the republic.” A tremor takes hold of Sol’ut-eh’s body, but she controls it. I have a newfound respect for her. If it were James in that colony, so close to the supernova, I don’t know what I’d have done. Tears threaten to flow down her eyes, but she stops them, perhaps out of pride, perhaps out of choice. “I beg of you, master councilor, save him.”

  Werhn-za’har sighs, his shoulders heaving down, and for the first time, I see the primary chief officer I used to know. A sorrow for things to come envelops him as he says, “A great deal of rebel orders have been given from that colony. The prime minister’s decision is to cut the threat by its roots.” The kindness in Werhn-za’har vanishes as he frowns at her. “Use logic, officer, and the solution will be clear to you.” He turns around and orders the captain to change the ship’s course.

  Sol’ut-eh walks to him and grabs his shoulder. “I beg of you, master councilor, please…”

  He jerks his arm away from her and raises his hand. “The resistance is a disease in our society.” He nods to the flickering pink star in the distance. “Let nature run its course. This way, we won’t be actively exterminating them.” He nods at Ah’rbal-ack-to. “Your brother understands.”

  Ah’rbal-ack-to blinks, the corners of his snout trembling. “I-I…”

  “The council stands with the prime minister,” Werhn-za’har grumbles, clearly displeased with his apprentice’s reply—or lack thereof. “Let it be done with.”

  “This is genocide!” Sol’ut-eh’s breathing grows frantic as fire bursts in her brain and tears flood her cheeks. “You’re dooming them all!”

  Werhn-za’har widens his yellow, predatory eyes, then turns them into slits. “Ah’rbal-ack-to, either kill your sister or lock her dark safe.”

  Ah’rbal-ack-to stares at him for a moment, a battle taking place behind his cold eyes. Finally, he grabs Sol’ut-eh by her arms and says quietly, “Yes, esteemed mentor.”

  Sol’ut-eh thrashes against her brother’s iron grip. “Give me a ship! Let me at least die with my mate!”

  Werhn-za’har wrinkles his snout and stares away from Sol’ut-eh. I can’t be sure if seeing her this way pains him, or if he’s disgusted by her obvious display of emotions. Perhaps both. Without a word, he turns and walks off the bridge.

  “Brother, help me!” She cries, thrashing and screaming, but Ah’rbal-ack-to’s grip is too strong and she can’t break free.

  “I cannot let you die with him,” he says under his breath, pain etched into his words.

  The ship came to a halt at such a close distance. The supernova is the size of an apple now. Sol’ut-eh spots a dark, tiny dot against the shifting glimmer of the star. The colony.

  Despair claws at my chest as our realities mix. I can’t explain or understand why, but James is there, in that little black dot, together with Thor’nack. An invisible wrecking ball slams against me, shattering flesh and bone into pieces. I can’t let him die!

  His name—and Thor’nack’s—burst from our throats, crack midway and turn into wallowing whimpers. There’s nothing we can do to save those we love. We free one arm from Ah’rbal-ack-to and stretch it toward the window, wishing we could smash out of the spaceship and fly into space.

  So close…

  The star suddenly grows brighter, larger, before its smoldering pink flares engulf the colony. We shake, can’t feel our feet, can’t hear a sound, hearts ripped from our chest.

  Something inside us shatters and pierces our organs, our feelings, thoughts, all that makes us what we are. We drop to our knees and wail.

  James, Thor’nack, was burnt alive, disintegrated between one moment and the next, along with sixty million whisars, humans. His unspoken cries ring in my ears. Just like that, he’s gone, the best part of me obliterated.

  Ice starts coating my fingers, hands, feet, covering the way into my core. I’m not freezing, though. The ice calls to me, promising no more pain as it wraps around me like a soothing blanket.

  My vision blurs. It’s so bright now. We’re not in the spaceship anymore, we’re in a white room.

  Two silhouettes stand ahead, one so small and human, the other so white and tall.

  “By the dimensions, what’s happening to her?” Sol’ut-eh asks, her voice weak and distant. I can barely discern her words.

  Chuck’s voice comes muffled, as if he were speaking underwater. “Sister, what have you done?”

  15

  -Miriam-

  I gaze down at my arm to see a sharp crystal layer covering my skin. It’s not just my skin, though. All my muscles and bones have turned to ice, glinting against the room’s white lights like a great diamond.

  My crystal body reverberates in synchrony with the storm outside, as if this moon and I were made of the same fabric. The ice is this moon, and I’m the ice now.

  I need to find that man, the one with blue eyes, brown curls, and a long sweet smile. I can’t remember his name, but he’s dead. Obliterated. A stinging sensation prickles against my chest. The ice promises me that I can bring the man back. All I need to do is merge with the cracked glaciers outside and play with the furious flurries that saturate the view. Everything will be better once I become one with the ice. I’ll fix this moon’s weather, and then I’ll fix blue eyes, sweet smile.

  “Miriam, by the dimensions, listen to me,” a boy with red hair croaks. I capture his voice but not exactly the meaning of his words, because the ice keeps calling.

  I need to go, crash through the window, but there are lifeforms in here with me. Their frenzied heartbeats thump in the back of my head, their lungs expanding and squeezing. So fragile. They won’t survive outside like I will, they don’t have the ice. So I step toward the glass window and touch it. Glass, ice, all the same. My fingers melt into the window, molecules bending, changing. It’s remarkable.

  Yes, I can fix everything.

  “Miriam!” the boy shouts from afar.

  One step, then another, and I’m outside, my feet heavy against the hard ice, cracking the floor as I go. A vast expanse of nothingness, and I’m braving through it, trailing a blaze in unchartered lands. I glance back and see the boy, his hands stamped against the window, his tiny features crumpled. A drop or two of liquid leaks from his eyes.

  He is unimportant, the ice says.

  I turn forward and lay my hands down on the ground. The warm core of Do’zun thumps through my fingers, arms, through all of me. All these hard layers of ice, they melt toward the center, oceans swirling down below, the brink of life under miles and miles of ice.

  A hard gust slams against my body, almost throwing me to the ground. I should’ve foreseen it. I am Do’zun after all.

  Such terrible weather… I need to see the sky. The brutal windblasts wane, and clouds sluggishly dissipate to reveal the universe above. Trillions of stars blink like a swarm of fireflies, trapped in the velvety fabric of the universe. Mak-tahar’s nebula, a rainbow-colored nimbus, is stamped in the distance, near the blue sun—the size of a button from here. On the opposite side, beyond the horizon, rests the planet Do’yan, a giant dome of life. Its continents are covered by yellow lands peppered by brown and red, a navy colored ocean separating them. Random clouds dance across the atmosphere. This planet, it reminds me of something… home… what is home? Blue eyes comes from home, but who is he? I’m not sure of his eyes anymore, were they really blue? I only see a blurred semblance when I think of him.

  “Miriam,” a voice echoes in my mind.

  Who’s Miriam? I turn around to see a being wrapped in a white suit that shapes its large proportions, covering it from head to toe, including the tail that swings behind. It’s a female, I feel, see her there, beneath those heavy layers. Her white, reptilian face is covered by a big helmet that refl
ects the universe.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I ask, nodding to the sky.

  “It is.” The female takes a step forward. Her heartbeat warns me she’s fearful, but she doesn’t need to be. Ba-Dum. Ba-Dum. If only she could see what I see, feel the marvelousness of this moon, of the entire cosmos that pulses beyond the horizon.

  “Do you know your name?” she asks.

  I shrug. “I need no name. No one does.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Her unease flows in big waves, I can feel them in the same way I feel the orbit of this moon, spinning us at high speed. She clears her throat. “Your name is Miriam.”

  I stare at the universe above and all its vast, unending wonders. A soothing, warm sensation bursts in my core. “What’s the importance of a name?”

  If only she could see…

  “Does James Bauman mean anything to you?”

  Another name. Unnecessary things, names, but this particular one reconstructs a memory. Warm smile, curly hair… blue eyes. Yes, they were blue, I remember now. His stubble prickled my skin when he kissed my forehead. This memory hits me with the strength of the wind gusts I just stopped. My lungs quake and crystal tears drop down my cheeks. I turn to the female. “I watched him die, but I can fix it.” I point upward with trembling crystal arms that now look milky and opaque. “I fixed the sky, see?”

  The female shakes her head. “James isn’t dead. My mate, Thor’nack, is. It’s his death you saw, not James’. Our minds somehow melted into one another making my reality yours.” She takes another step and now we’re only a couple feet away.

  An invisible force expands from inside my body, stretching the walls of my organs. “James is alive?”

  “You need to go back to him, remember?” The female takes another step, so close now. “You can’t be with him if you stay here.”

  Yes. My name is Miriam, hers is Sol’ut-eh. Chuck’s probably back at the base and James is on Earth, safe and sound.