Flower-of-Sands_The Extraordinary Adventures of a Female Astronaut

by Grahame R. Smith

  She came to a white egg-shaped building. Entering a spacious lobby, she went to a display of floor panels or sheets that emitted silver mist. She stepped onto to one, which immediately flew towards a ceiling opening out into infinity. Bursting through a galaxy of gold-blue stars and nebula, she was in space, or rather, a simulation of space and approaching an elaborate space station. It was like a sculpture, a giant exhibition of artistic enterprise.

  The magic sheet flew her into a circular lobby. It was difficult to take it all in as there was so much alien detail, but she noticed a group of humanoids who turned towards her as she drew nearer. One detached from the others and approached her. Although humanoid with basic human features, it was, like its friends, of a race she had never encountered.

  ‘Flower-of-Sands,’ it fluted in standard galactic with an accent she could not place. ‘Welcome to training. We are your training assistants. Our job is to prepare you for intergalactic travel and all possible circumstances. It will be physical, intellectual, scientific, and psychological. We understand you are a fighter. We will start there.’

  The lobby transformed into a gym and the assistants encircled her. One of them threw her a white combat uniform. Dumbfounded, she undressed and slipped on the uniform. One of the assistants stepped forward and politely removed her day clothes to the side of the gym. Then they sat, except one.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she said aloud in English, as the creature attacked.

  Six months later, she sat at Seeker’s controls, fully confident and ready for intergalactic launch. The ship and she were of one mind, moulded into a unit. Together, they had travelled the planet, sailed into orbit and beyond. Anticipating her needs, nurturing, and challenging, her ship had become her friend and protector. Now, they were ready.

  Training had been vigorous, surprising, and physically demanding; she had never been so fit, and her combat skills had grown to almost superhuman levels. During her training and relaxation periods, she had had adventures and interesting encounters. These could fill volumes, but it was now time for her to leave them behind. Another universe awaited her.

  She initiated a series of commands and Seeker responded. Soaring into the atmosphere, she was soon in orbit. The ship’s advanced hull-complex protected her from the effects of multiple gees, although she still felt acceleration pressing her into her seat.

  After five widening orbits, the ship was ready for the next phase of her launch. At her command, it thrust out towards deeper in-system space and towards a giant outreach space station placed there by the Shiloramedel and unknown to the people of the Confederacy.

  The Outreach station was a city in space, or rather, a series of cities intertwined. She could not comprehend the enormity of what took place on this artificial island. Lights twinkled and blazed into the night of space, indicating activities of millions of lives that she would never know.

  She bypassed the space city and headed further in-system. After a brief time, Seeker began deceleration as its trajectory brought it towards a massive object. Initially, it looked like a hole in space, a shadow blotting out the stars. She felt as if Seeker was a planet veering too close to its sun; vertigo threatened to overwhelm her as the immensity of the shadow loomed through the hull placed in transparent mode.

  Realizing transparency was a mistake, she switched the hull status to default density as Seeker began docking manoeuvres with what was to be its outer casing, the part that cradled the intergalactic engines fuelled by the super-intergalactic drives, the search for which had dominated her life over the past years.

  The docking and subsequent orientation and checking took several hours. During this time, she was in continuous contact with the Outreach station, which fed and processed data into Seeker’s AI. She was in a ship within a ship, a small seed in a giant fruit, a microchip in a complex mechanism.

  A smiling holo of Seraphina appeared over the control panel. ‘Hi Precious Flower, we wish you good speed and a safe return. We loved having you here. Your presence enriched all our lives. We will miss you dearly. We understand you declined the offer of a ship’s avatar, but you can remember us in your holo igloo. It’ll be some weeks before you break free of the Home Galaxy and its satellite The Throne of Ramold, so treat it like a vacation, and then go to sleep. Have you programmed for dreams?’

  Flower-of-Sands hesitated. ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘Oh, are we allowed to know?’

  Flower-of-Sands smiled. The Marleeseen were terrible gossips. ‘I’ve programmed for Ninthe – a holiday together, on Paradise.’

  Before winking out, Seraphina turned and smiled towards her friends, whom Flower-of-Sands could see waving in the holo background.

  She continued with her checking and data exchange with the space station. There was still much to do. They needed to configure a precise trajectory and flight plan. There were powerful forces afoot. Neither interstellar nor intergalactic space were empty – magnetic fields, dust clouds, escaped planetary systems, rogue planets, solitary suns, and dark dwarf suns were just a few from an extensive list of hazards. Even with Shiloramedel technology, the universe was a perilous place. After a further few hours, the space station confirmed that she was ready.

  She dimmed the lights, placed the hull in transparency, adjusted her seat for launch, and passed her hand over a central icon on the control panel. Seeker moved forward. Acceleration, experienced as excitement, pressed her into the softness of her seat.

  ‘I’ve done it,’ she cried. ‘I’ve done it.’

  She laughed with pleasure and triumph. Against all odds, she had achieved the impossible. There were dangers and unanswered questions. For example, who was Clayton? What was his relationship with the Rann? Why had he opposed her obtaining the intergalactic drives? How long was his reach? And would he still try to sabotage her mission?

  Well, the answers would have to wait. She was on her way. Her mission was on.

  Chapter 22

  NGC 598: Triangulum Galaxy (The Great Wheel)

  Prince of Thousand Hues floated through pale light streams towards the green energy vortex that intertwined imposing, crystal reflections. He vibrated for a while as if in song before sinking into their peaceful embrace. Maybe he would stay there, never moving, absorbing starlight, forever in bliss. This was his dream; but it was not to be.

  For starters, he needed real sustenance, not just starlight; and the veiled warmth from the distant primary was barely enough to sustain him indefinitely. He needed the nourishment of corporeality, life-giving food from the emanations of dense, living matter.

  He folded into a greenness that morphed into multiple shades. This was his inheritance, his abode of colour, reflection, energy. Floating through a density of rock and iron ore, he arrived into a garden of shimmering translucence. As that happened, his sister, Arabella, detached from him and floated independently, defiant, her halo flickering in disagreement.

  ‘Why the attitude Arabella?’ Prince transmitted.

  ‘I don’t agree with what we are doing,’ she thought towards him. ‘The corporal beings are sentient. We should not be doing this.’

  Prince pulsated exasperation. ‘Not that again. Look, you can’t …’

  ‘Don’t patronize me and don’t try and pretend it is not important. The Inquisition has decreed that the corporals are sentient, and that they suffer.’

  ‘Sentient, yes, but not in the way we understand sentience. They are not aware as we are, and therefore cannot suffer.’

  ‘But we, or rather you and the others, feed off their suffering. Hypocrite!’

  ‘Their emanations, or sufferings, as you like to call it, are mechanical responses to cultivated conditions. These beings are not conscious, as we are.’

  ‘Why then is the Inquisition opposed to it.’

  ‘It is political. The Inquisition hates our realm and all those in it, including you. They wish to cause us as much harm as possible.’

  ‘Rubbish. I am opposed, and will tell Father. What we are doing
is illegal. The Inquisition has already banished us. If they knew of the arrangement that we have with the Pulse, they would descend upon us, and, at best, absorb our essences into their light bodies. We would lose our awareness, and be as nothing.’

  ‘Arabella, you are being alarmist. Now that they have banished us, the Inquisition does not care what we do, provided we do not infringe on their precious worlds. We have our worlds to do with as we please.’

  ‘Not as we please. The Inquisition stipulated that we have a moral duty.’

  ‘That is dangerous, foolhardy thinking. Father may not always be lenient, and Father may not always be Father. The Change is near. Think! He may cast you out of the light, or worse. Be warned.’

  Arabella shook with contempt, but said nothing. They had floated out of the green and descended onto a spacious light-canopy. Beings like themselves surrounded a blazing cloud of undulating colour rhythms. Encased was Father, resplendent, elongated to integrate light-companions coiling through his central light systems in a manner that repelled Arabella, but excited Prince. Perhaps, one day, he mused, if he fulfilled duties decreed by Father, his life would abound with such riches.

  Arabella caught his thought and projected contemptuously. ‘Ambitious idiot! Degenerate!’

  Prince ignored her. All his thoughts were of Father who towered over them.

  ‘Father.’ Prince throbbed obeisance. ‘The Pulse have arrived with their consignment. It is delectable, if I may say so, Lord.’

  ‘You have savoured the consignment?’ Father’s threatening thoughts shot through Prince, causing him momentary agony. He curled into a ball, thereby expressing abject obedience and dedication. ‘Oh no, indeed no, noble Lord of Light, I only sensed the exquisite vibrations. They are fresh, untouched and ready for your delight, oh Lord.’

  ‘Good, you have done well. And remember, all of you (here Father addressed the entire flock), the special consignment is for my graciousness and the offspring of my graciousness. Your purpose is to serve that wondrousness selflessly.’

  ‘You cannot do this.’ Arabella’s thoughts reverberated throughout the light-chamber. ‘It is against the stipulations of the Inquisition.’

  As usual, Father ignored her and directed his thoughts to Prince. ‘And where is the consignment?’

  ‘On the harvest world, my Lord. The Pulse have provided a special place that preserves them in optimal delectability. The consignment is being looked after by an insect slave outsourced by the mighty Pulse. An ambassador for the Pulse has more detailed intelligence. He is about to arrive.’

  Other light-beings crowded around Father’s throne, shuddering with obsequiousness. ‘The consignment is the best, they say, oh Lord. Its presence in the Festival of Arc will add such splendour to your Divinity.’

  ‘It is wrong,’ Arabella persisted.

  Father spread himself like a canopy, allowing companions of all six sexes to slip into the more private zones of his light body. He continued to ignore Arabella. ‘The Change is upon me,’ he resounded. ‘This is a great moment, in preparation for the Feast of Arc. Our light panels are transmitting optimal yield from the harvest planet. Soon we will be overflowing with divine emanations.’

  All hovered in silence and respect as Father’s companions exchanged light ecstasy with each other and their host. Stillness prevailed and light from the distant sun passed into night. Nourishment transmitting from the harvest planet flowed abundantly through the light-beings’ habitat. Night held all in frozen stasis as if time itself had ceased. Eventually, the companions emerged from father’s darkest cover, cooed in triumph as the light body of Father collapsed and disintegrated, only to rise again in a new form.

  An awesome being loomed before the assembly. All present, except Arabella, curled up in fear and sycophancy. Every layer of atmosphere vibrated with the power of the new being. Blazing and crazed light whirled in dazzling pools.

  ‘Mother!’ everyone shouted. ‘Mother is upon us. A new era dawns and we are here to obey. Mother, what would you have us do?’

  Mother flashed supremacy, domination, and absolute rule. After basking in this for a considerable time, her thoughts turned to Arabella. Unlike Father, Mother was without mercy; she hated Arabella, whom she saw as an obstacle to her race’s fulfilment. ‘Get that creature out of here.’

  Three sisters of the third-sex, heavily armed with pulsation weapons, turned on Arabella and arrested her. Arabella protested and called upon the Inquisition, but nothing of the Inquisition was present, no assistance available. Arabella was doomed. After a brief struggle, she gave up and became silent. Prince transmitted that he had warned her; she had asked for this and he could do nothing to save her.

  The first of the three sisters of the third-sex turned towards Mother. ‘She is in our power, wondrous ruler of Light. What shall we do with her?’

  Mother reared up and then paused. Those addicted to cruelty waited in anticipation. To witness Arabella’s suffering would be exquisite nourishment, but they dare not press for it. Mother was supreme, her word absolute. To attempt to influence her, unless asked, was suicidal.

  But Mother asked! Mother leaned towards her ingratiating servants, who shook with gratitude and lust for suffering, and asked. ‘What shall we do with her, little servants?’ It was a great honour.

  The ecstatic answer flooded the chamber. ‘Encase her in fire and let her cook tenderly in slow orbit around our star. Or, we suggest …’

  ‘Hum, well, we shall see. For the time being, freeze her and leave her to float in the upper layers. She will expire slowly, so you can feast on her suffering. Then we will intercept, restore her, and subject her to another torture. Suggestions are welcome.’

  The third-sex sisters, increasing their hold on Arabella, ascended towards the ceiling of the colour chamber, passed through its shimmering surface, and sailed into the vortex that led to the upper reaches of the atmosphere. Mother shuddered with pleasure, having issued her first merciless decree. To be merciless was lifeblood, filling her with delirious pleasure.

  After emitting a final blaze of vainglory, she got down to more practical matters. ‘Where is the Pulse ambassador?’

  A cringing colour conglomerate slid out of the huddle of cruelty-loving servants and curled into a submissive ball. Prince was grateful that Mother did not ask for him.

  ‘I am here Mother,’ the ambassador trembled.

  ‘You have a report?’

  ‘Yes, wondrous Mother, I have.’

  ‘Then report!’ The chamber almost dissolved with the power of Mother’s command.

  ‘M … Mother, I have communed with the Pulse and they agree to your conditions – naturally. However, they have a query. A corporal being, like those on our farm planets, has traversed the mighty chasm of space that separates our worlds from the great beyond. It seems to be acting independently. Something, somehow, has sent it here, perhaps to investigate our activities.’

  Mother reared up – ominous, threatening. ‘Are you suggesting that such a creature is acting independently?’

  ‘No, no, I assure you Mother, I would never dream of such blasphemy.’

  ‘Good, but be warned. Explain this phenomenon?’

  ‘The Pulse believe that the creature is directed by the unknown intelligence from the great beyond, and that it is in pursuit of the delectable morsels that await your feasting, supreme Mother.’

  ‘I thought they had dismissed this so called unknown intelligence from the great beyond as ineffective.’

  ‘They had indeed, but circumstances have changed. Although they claim to have corrupted leading elements of the unknown intelligence, something has interfered with the process and released this corporal spy in our direction.’

  ‘Spy?’

  ‘Yes, supreme one.’

  ‘And, what do the Pulse intend to do?’

  ‘In a word, sabotage. They suggest …’

  ‘Send this so-called corporal spy to the primary harvest planet where it can contribute to our fe
asting.’

  ‘But the Pulse wanted to capture it and torture it for information. Surely its pain would be a special treat for your supremacy.’

  ‘How dare you “but” me. We will gorge on your suffering if you show such despicable audacity again. Go! Speak to the Pulse and issue my decree. There will be no argument. The corporal being that affronts us with its very existence will savour the throes of our harvest world. If it is self-aware, as Arabella insists, then long may it suffer. And send Arabella there too. As she insists these corporals are sentient, let her join them. Let her contribute to the delicious mix of which she is so intent on depriving us. There is no room for insubordination in my society. Do it!’

  A flush of applause and worship echoed through the chamber. A further group of third-sex-sisters blended colours, leapt from the chamber, and began flight towards the upper atmosphere. Prince looked on helplessly; he had warned Arabella, but she had ignored him, and he dare not say anything. Father was now Mother, and that was not a good part of the cycle. He could sense the excitement of the sisters. After tormenting Arabella for a few of the planet’s revolutions, they would escort her to the solar system that supported their peoples’ food factories. There they would leave her to suffer the same fate of her so-called corporal friends.

  He sensed that the growing vainglory of Mother would soon demand a sacrifice and a pitiless gorging of someone’s inner light. Arabella had gone and he could be next. He kowtowed himself into a tight ball of compliance. Mother, in her ecstasy of triumph, did not notice him, and began to move away, intending to search elsewhere for suitable prey, probably the nurseries of the fourth and fifth sexes. The orgy could last for many revolutions of the planet, during which time Prince would lie low and hope that Mother would forget his involvement with the Pulse and appoint another to head up negotiations.