Omphalos

by Harper J. Cole

  Gypsy felt another stab of anguilt, though with rather less emphasis on the guilt part this time, as she really didn’t like Rivers: cold, confident, unsympathetic. Hastily, she finished her current prayer, setting the rosary beads down as a second beep sounded.

  “Yes?”

  “I trust I’m not disturbing you?” Gypsy could imagine Rivers cocking a cynical eyebrow as she said it, maybe running a slow hand through her curls as she sat before her computer screen scanning readouts.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good. I’ve been going through your calculations for our next Kohler-Schmid jump, and there’s something I’d like to clarify. I’ve sent them back with my annotation.”

  “Oh … fine, I’ll take a look now. Erm, call you back if that’s okay?”

  “Certainly.”

  Frowning, Gypsy returned her rosary beads to their customary place – the handful of prayers she’d managed before the interruption would have to be re-done, of course – and activated the screen built into her desk. Seating herself, she scrolled through Rivers’ annotated copy of her navigation calculations. This was the first time in their entire voyage that anyone had asked her about her work. Why start now?

  There proved to be only one annotation. Rivers had highlighted a set of equations and written a single word in the margin alongside them.

  “ERROR??”

  Gypsy grimaced, shaking her head. Error? No, of course there wasn’t an error. She’d double-checked all her calculations as usual. The refractive settings were listed in a neat row at the bottom, ensuring that the Bona Dea’s KSD would manipulate the surrounding ephemeral particles correctly.

  Yet even as she thought this, Gypsy’s instincts told her that something was amiss; the numbers on her screen looked ugly, not the mathematical masterpiece she was used to. With trepidation, she searched the screen, seeking the unthinkable – human error.

  It took her two passes to find the problem, in part because she couldn’t quite accept that it might really be there. Then the abomination sprang forth – right there, in the middle of the screen, she had added eight and five and got fourteen. Gypsy, who could recite pi forward and back to ten thousand places, had made a blunder a schoolgirl shouldn’t have been guilty of.

  “Liar!” Gypsy didn’t know whether she was shouting at Rivers and her mocking double question marks, the mathematics that had betrayed her, or the cruel universe itself. She balled her hand into a fist and raised it high above her head. “You! You…” But she did not strike the screen as she had intended. The flash of blind fury gave way to a throbbing nausea.

  We’d have barely made it a light year. One of our precious jumps completely wasted because of me. How could this happen? How?

  How?

  She didn’t know, but a seed of suspicion had already begun to grow in her mind. Eight and five made thirteen, an unlucky number. Lately Gypsy had been slipping back to her old habits of avoiding that number at all costs. If she happened to glimpse thirteen on her clock, she would look away until she was quite sure that the safety of fourteen had been reached. Had she begun to perceive numbers differently, subconsciously eradicating the ones she didn’t like?

  Maths is the only thing I’ve ever understood. If I lose that, what do I have left?

  * * *

  The rest of the day trotted past quickly. Gypsy corrected her mistake, triple-checking the calculations this time, and sent the figures back to Rivers with an apologetic note. She couldn’t bring herself to speak directly to the Professor, knowing how every word of reply would have to be scanned for signs of amusement or contempt.

  Triple-checking would have to be the norm from now on; Gypsy didn’t look forward to the extra work, but felt a bit better once she’d made the decision. She got through her afternoon prayers without further mishap, used the bathroom, tapped the mirror seven times. Ate the dinner Annie had provided, wishing that the technician could be here with her. Maybe tomorrow…

  An hour spent doing number puzzles on her computer restored Gypsy’s faith in her mathematical skills somewhat. Then came her bedtime routine: a change of clothes, a final set of prayers, a scan of the ephemeral particles through her quantum goggles, medication taken with a sip of water. Soon, she was tucked up in bed next to her teddy bear.

  Before going to sleep, Gypsy slipped her headphones back on. Tomorrow, she would be able to fantasise that she was back home again, Annie’s regrettable comments in the morning reduced to the status of potential false memory.

  Tomorrow, yes. Maybe tomorrow I’ll open my door and see Mum’s face again.

  A welcome drowsiness clouded Gypsy’s brain. All things seemed possible.

  But when she closed her eyes the tears slipped free, pooling on the pillow by her cheek.

  III

  …This morning we arrived in Kerinian space. It says a lot about the nature of our voyage so far that visiting an alien planet, while by no means a mundane event, no longer feels momentous or historic. Most of the crew with whom I’ve spoken in the past few days were simply glad to see a journey of nearly 11 weeks drawing to an end. The depths of space feel all the emptier when contrasted with a living world, and the friends we’ve lost are missed all the more.

  So, what can we expect from Kerin? We can expect to be expected, for one thing. We detected a fleet of some sixteen ships in the vicinity of the planet when we arrived, and they wasted no time in heading straight for us. A welcoming committee, I hope.

  Kerin itself is the most populous and technologically advanced of the six Matan worlds. They boast of being pre-eminent amongst the colonies, a status their distant cousins grudgingly concede. The Ramiran encyclopaedia devotes dozens of sections to its dissemination of Kerinian culture, but the very first line is the one that stands out to me: “Kerin is a land built for giants, populated by ants”…

  – Daniella Winters, Journal Entry #599

  A thousand miniature novae burst into life before the bow of the Bona Dea, dazzling in their coordination and array of colours. For a moment, a sea of baubles seemed to hang against the blackness of space. Then, as the energy that had created this artificial miracle began to dissipate, a second wave of lights sprang forth, then a third hot on its heels.

  Whoever had designed this display really knew their stuff.

  “Could we do that?” asked Hunter. “Make fireworks that work in space?”

  Professor Sandra Rivers, standing beside her in the Hub, nodded instantly. The sharp motion caused her bandage to slip down over one eye; she pushed it back into place with a frown. “Yes, it’s not all that difficult. Oxygen-based explosions are impossible out here, of course, but weak chemical bonds make a more than adequate catalyst. Rather wasteful, I must say, but perhaps that’s the point.”

  “Showing off,” agreed Hunter. “Kerin has a reputation for opulence and they mean to maintain it. They’re sending out a message to the other colonies – ‘This is how we greet alien visitors, match us if you can.”

  In truth, they weren’t getting the full effect of the display, viewing it as they were on the Hub’s single viewscreen. The bulk of the crew were gathered at the observation platform, enjoying an unfiltered view through the broad transparency there. As ceremonial greetings went, it wasn’t a bad one, though the silence of space made this a purely visual treat.

  The final wave of colours faded; ebony ruled the heavens once more. Hunter could again clearly see the Kerinian fleet that had been sent to greet them: fifteen identical ships, sleek and grey, plus one rather grander vessel, decked out in crimson and adorned with rigid flags of the same colour.

  Hunter tapped a control and re-opened their audio link to this ship.

  “Vice President Chapashazon, you honour us with your gesture of greeting. What a beacon Kerin must be, that you bring such light to the cosmos.”

  She was peripherally aware of Rivers affecting an expression of pained amusement, but her experience with Matans thus far suggested that they appreciated extravagant language wh
en conducting diplomacy. Certainly, the voice of Chapashazon, youthful and male, conveyed no dissatisfaction when he responded. “Your indulgence is greatly appreciated, hero of Rerutha. Grander displays await you on the planet’s surface, including a military parade and an audience with the president herself. Before that, I should like to see your vessel with my own eyes. I am ready to come aboard.”

  Hunter automatically held up a cautioning hand, though the Kerinian could not see the gesture. “That may prove challenging. Creating a means by which we could safely pass from our ship to a Gataran space station took some time.”

  “We are Kerin,” said the vice president firmly. “A docking corridor has already been designed specifically for this purpose. As long as you remain in our space, all your needs will be anticipated and catered for.”

  “That’s good to know. Still, I’d appreciate it if you’d talk through the specifications of this corridor with my chief scientist.”

  “Unnecessary, but I’m willing if it will ease your concerns. Put her on.”

  As Rivers took over the Bona Dea’s end of the conversation, Hunter exchanged glances with al-Hawsawi, the Hub’s only other occupant. The veteran pilot smiled slightly, and mouthed a single word: forceful.

  Hunter nodded, though she might have used a less flattering term herself. Chapashazon had a poorly-disguised imperious streak – if this was the vice president, what must the top dog be like? She was the one Hunter would have to convince to part with a fragment of Vitana’s artefact.

  It seems like the script’s already been written for our visit. Kerin will play the gallant host, we the grateful barbarians, in awe of their splendour. A chance for them to re-assert their position as monarchs of the galaxy, above not only the other colonies, but us as well.

  What happens if we try to tweak that script a little bit?

  * * *

  Annie had no clear plans after enjoying the fireworks display, this being one of her all-too-rare leisure periods. Turning from the group of women who still lingered before the observation window, she headed for the ship’s garden, with no clear idea as to what to do once she got there.

  Maybe I’ll meditate, or somethin’ …

  Upon reaching the entrance, however, she found her feet bearing her further along the corridor, up to the door that still bore the names of both Gypsy and Alice Cumberland.

  Yeah. Can’t let this slide anymore. Gypsy Moth didn’t come check out the fireworks. She never leaves her room, never looks at me when I visit. Doc says to give her time, but she doesn’t know her like I reckon I’m starting to. Folks like Gypsy need a friendly kick up the ass sometimes, or they’ll stick in a rut, and stay stuck.

  The door to Alice’s room slid aside at Annie’s touch. A familiar stab of sadness at the unoccupied space within. No cheerful greeting, no cup of tea on the go. Annie crossed to Gypsy’s door, then hesitated, unsure what she was going to say, or what she actually wanted Gypsy to do. At length, she shrugged. Just make it up as I go along, that’s what I usually do.

  Annie knocked on the door.

  There was no immediate response, which was unusual. She could count on a mumbled, “um, hang on a moment,” most days. Could Gypsy still be asleep? Unlikely, as it was past midday. She knocked again, calling the mathematician’s name. Still no response.

  Alarming. Gypsy couldn’t be in physical distress, though – her wristband would have conveyed that information at once, and Dr. Little or Iris would already have come running from Medical.

  But there were other sorts of distress besides the physical.

  Annie cautiously creaked the door ajar. After a glance at the scene inside, she swung it fully open.

  Gypsy sat on the edge of her bed, facing away from Annie, head bowed and fists clenched. She wore her pale nightgown, and her hair was wild and unkempt. Spread before her was a chaotic rainbow of colour. Shirts, dresses and undergarments of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet had been pulled from their stations in Gypsy’s cupboard and cast furiously about the room. The drawers themselves had been yanked free and flung into the wall opposite, ripping holes large enough to show the cold titanium alloy behind. Splinters of wood lay scattered amongst the bright clothing on the carpet, as did pencils, paper, chess pieces, tooth brushes, towels.

  For a small woman, Gypsy had created an impressive degree of destruction.

  Annie stepped cautiously into the room. “You alright?” she asked, then cursed herself inwardly. What kind of a stupid question was that?

  The wiry mathematician did not object. “Yes,” she said woodenly, then followed up with a “No,” which was surely more honest but not spoken with any more feeling. “Barrier One broke ahead of schedule. Oh dear, that’s blown it, hasn’t it? That’s blown it!” Her face contorted briefly with pain and anger, then relaxed.

  Annie didn’t know how to react. Her instincts were to hug the distraught woman, let her cry in her arms, but she knew Gypsy didn’t like to be touched. There seemed nothing to do but to hover on the periphery of her friend’s vision, unable either to act or to withdraw. “Barrier what?” she asked helplessly. “I don’t understand.”

  Gypsy uncurled a trembling hand and pointed at her holographic window. Annie noticed for the first time that it was dark, and not the dark of night. Stepping around a stained and crumpled yellow dress, she crossed to the curtains and nudged them aside.

  No images of a peaceful English suburbia greeted her, no sunny sky nor cloudy day. There was only a dull black box, dead and empty. She turned slowly back to Gypsy, who regarded her with eyes surprisingly empty of tears.

  “I got up this morning, and saw … that.”

  “I understand,” said Annie, unsure whether she really did or not. “We’re short of technicians these days, on account of, ah, of our losses, but this is probably an easy fix. Loose connection, burnt out fuse mebbe. Stuff that’s not going to kill us if it breaks doesn’t have the same kinda fail-safes and backups built in. But I can fix it – back up and running in half an hour, guaranteed!”

  Gypsy shook her head sharply. “What’s the point? What was ever the point? It’s a lie. Just another lie I tell myself to keep the nightmares away. We’re not home, we’re stuck out here, and even if we do get back to Earth, she won’t be there. She’s g-gone.” Scrunching her eyes closed, Gypsy forced the words out with a Herculean effort. “My mother is dead. I have to say it; I have to accept it. I’ve known that from the moment it happened. But I don’t know why. What good can it do to face the truth, when it means the end of who I am? She’d want me to move on and start a new life, but I don’t know how to live. I never have.” Her whole body sagged, bereft of fight and energy.

  Annie’s eyes had clouded over with tears as her friend spoke. She blinked them clear. What can I do? Nothing. So arrogant, to think I was gonna be the one to save her. Been patting myself on the back about how mature I’ve gotten out here, but I’m still the class clown. Got no solutions to heartbreak cos I’ve never had to face any.

  Then she set her jaw firm.

  I can try.

  Crossing the room decisively, Annie knelt before Gypsy and looked her dead in the eye.

  “Get dressed, Gypsy Queen. I’m gonna show you what I know about livin’…”

  * * *

  Annie waited in Alice’s room while her friend picked out an outfit. When Gypsy emerged a few minutes later, she was dressed all in violet.

  “Nice choice! You’ll turn some heads in that get-up. Let’s hit the town.”

  Gypsy blushed. “If heads turn, it’ll be away from me. Perhaps I prefer that really, but … oh!” She stopped dead.

  “What’s up?” Gypsy had come to a halt before a large canvas. Annie recognised it as the one Alice had often been working on when she’d visited, a painting showing a field filled with baby’s-breath flowers. The sky was overcast, but a narrow ray of sunlight had broken through the clouds to catch the petals of a single pale flower, an improbable illumination that set it apart fr
om all its floral brethren. “I’m no art critic, but that looks pretty good.”

  “Yes, it is, but I never noticed, I never knew…” Gypsy’s voice, so flat and dead ten minutes ago, was choked with emotion now. She raised a hand, laying the fingers softly on the canvas. “It’s finished. The touching up’s all there now; there were still patches missing the day before Gatari. She must’ve done it in the night.

  “It’s like she knew…”

  * * *

  As Annie had promised, they hit the town – or, more accurately, the garden, the gym and the social lounge. Barbara Young had been at work in the first of these venues, but hadn’t objected to Annie giving her friend a quick tour. She pointed out her favourite plants, comparing them to the ones she’d seen on the Oklahoman commune where she grew up, and pretended to understand how aeroponics worked when Gypsy asked about it; she was peripherally aware of Barbara wincing at some of her explanations, but the gardener was kind enough not to correct her.

  Then it was onto the gym, where Gypsy struggled mightily with even the smallest weights, and could barely manage a hundred metres on the walker before she started panting for breath.

  “Don’t worry,” said Annie as Gypsy eased to a stop, visibly perspiring. “It’ll get easier once you’re practising regularly, and you’ll feel splendifer-licious afterwards. Skirts ain’t the best for working out in though – guess you’ve not got anything different though? No? No probs, I’ve got plenty of spare stuff, and you’re not too far off my size. Next time we’ll swing past my room and pick you out a new kit. How does that sound?”

  Gypsy’s eyes had widened and glazed over. “Uh-huh,” she mumbled.

  Doesn’t sound too keen. Let’s move onto the next thing. “To the lounge, Gypsy Moth! Fun awaits!”

  Annie’s favourite lounge activity had been Conquest: Andromeda, but the crew had traded that game away two planets ago. Still, there were lower-tech pursuits available; they joined Atmospheric Scientist Bala Abayomi and 2nd Officer Shamecca Jackson for a game of draw poker.