To Sleep in a Sea of Stars

by Christopher Paolini

Heave and bluster, boil and froth; you can’t conceal the void within your words. If knowledge were yours, then confidence too. But ’tisn’t, so isn’t. Cracked the pedestal, and perilous the statue that stands above. – Gregorovich

  Blank verse? Seriously? Is that the best you can do? – Kira

  A long pause followed, and for the first time, she felt as if she’d one-upped him. Then:

  Amusements are hard to find when one finds oneself bounded in a nutshell. – Gregorovich

  And yet, you might rightly be counted as a king of infinite space. – Kira

  Were it not that I have bad dreams. – Gregorovich

  Were it not for the bad dreams. – Kira

  … – Gregorovich

  She tapped a fingernail against the console.

  It’s not easy, is it? – Kira

  Why should it be? Nature has no regard for those who squirm and crawl within its tainted depths. The storm that batters, batters all. None are spared. Not you, not I, not the stars in the sky. We bind our cloaks and bend our heads and focus on our lives. But the storm, it never breaks, never fades. – Gregorovich

  Cheery. Thinking about it doesn’t really help, does it? The best we can do is, as you said, bend our heads and focus on our lives. – Kira

  So don’t think. Be a sleeper devoid of dreams. – Gregorovich

  Maybe I will. – Kira

  That doesn’t change the fact, the question yet remains: What are you, O Queen of Tentacles? – Gregorovich

  Call me that again and I’ll find a way to put hot sauce in your nutrient bath. – Kira

  An empty promise from an empty voice. The fearful mind cannot accept its limits. It shrieks and flees before admitting ignorance, unable to face the threat to its identity. – Gregorovich

  You don’t know what you’re talking about. – Kira

  Deny, deny, deny. It matters not. The truth of what you are will out, regardless. When it does, the choice is yours: believe or don’t believe. I care not which. I, for one, shall be prepared, whatever the answer may be. Until that time, I’ll spend my hours in watching you, watching most intently, O Formless One. – Gregorovich

  Watch all you like. You won’t find what you’re looking for. – Kira

  She closed the display with a flick of her finger. To her relief, the green light stayed dull and dead. The ship mind’s banter had left her unsettled. Still, she was glad she’d held her ground. Despite his assertions, Gregorovich was wrong. She knew who she was. She just didn’t know what the damn suit was. Not really.

  Enough. She’d had enough.

  She removed the Entropists’ gemlike token from her pocket and slipped it into the desk drawer. It would be safer there than if she carried it around everywhere. Then, with a grateful sigh, she peeled off her torn clothes. A quick scrub with a wet towel, and she fell into the bunk and wrapped herself in a blanket.

  For a time, Kira couldn’t stop her mind from cycling. Images of the Jellies and the dead nightmare kept intruding, and at times Kira imagined she could smell the acrid scent Falconi’s grenades produced when they exploded. Again and again she felt the Soft Blade sliding into the flesh of the Jelly, and then that became confused with her memory of stabbing the Numenist and of Alan dead in her arms.… So many mistakes. So very many mistakes.

  It was a struggle, but in the end, she managed to fall asleep. And despite what she’d said to Gregorovich, Kira dreamed, and while she dreamed, there came to her another vision:

  In the golden light of summer’s eve, the sounds of shrieking filled the hungry forest. She sat upon a prominence, watching the play of life among the purple trees while awaiting the expected return of her companions.

  Below, a centipede-like creature scurried forth from the gloom-shrouded underbrush and darted into a burrow beneath a clump of roots. Chasing it was a long-armed, snake-necked, sloth-bodied predator with a head like a toothed worm and legs that jointed backward. The hunter snapped at the burrow, but too slow to catch its prey.

  Frustrated, the snake-necked sloth sat on its haunches and tore with hooked and knobbled fingers at the earthen hole, hissing from its slitted mouth.

  It dug and dug, growing more agitated the whole while. The roots were hard, the ground rocky, and little progress was made. Then the hunter reached into the burrow with one long finger, attempting to scoop out the centipede.

  A screech rang forth as the snake-necked sloth yanked back its hand. Blackish blood dripped from finger’s end.

  The creature howled, though not with pain but with anger. It thrashed its head and trampled across the underbrush, crushing fronds and flowers and fruiting bodies. Again it howled, and then it grabbed the nearest trunk and shook it with such force, the tree swayed.

  A crack echoed among the sweltering forest, and a cluster of spiked seed pods fell from the canopy and struck the sloth on the head and shoulders. It yelped and collapsed into the dirt, where it lay twitching and kicking while foam formed at the corners of its gaping maw.

  In time, the kicking stopped.

  Later still, the centipede-like creature ventured forth from its burrow, slow and timid. It climbed onto the slack neck of the sloth and sat there, feelers twitching. Then it bent and began to eat the soft meat of the throat.

  …

  Another of the now familiar disjunctions. She was crouched next to a tidal pool, shadowed from the heat of the harsh sun by a spur of volcanic rock. In the pool floated a translucent orb no bigger than her thumb.

  The orb was not alive. But it was not dead. It was a thing in between. A potential unrealized.

  She watched with hope, waiting for the moment of transformation, when potential might become actuality.

  There. A soft movement of light from within, and the orb pulsed as if taking its first tentative breath. Happiness and wonder replaced hope at the gift of first life. What had been done would change all the fractures to follow, first here and then—given time and fortune—in the great whirl of stars beyond.

  And she saw it was good.

  CHAPTER XII

  LESSONS

  1.

  Kira felt surprisingly well rested when she woke.

  A thick layer of dust fell from her body as she sat up. She stretched and spat out the few grains that fell into her mouth. The dust tasted like slate.

  She started to stand and realized she was sitting in a hole in the bedding. During the night, the Soft Blade had absorbed most of the blanket and mattress, as well as part of the composite frame beneath. Only a few centimeters of material still separated her from the reclamation equipment below.

  Kira guessed the xeno must have needed to replenish itself after fighting the previous day. In fact, it felt thicker, as if it was adapting in response to the threats they’d faced. The fibers on her chest and forearms in particular seemed harder, more robust.

  The responsiveness of the suit continued to impress her. “You know we’re at war, don’t you?” she murmured.

  She turned on her console to find a message waiting for her:

  Come see me once you’re up. – Sparrow

  Kira made a face. She wasn’t looking forward to whatever Sparrow had planned for her. If it could help with the Soft Blade, then great, but Kira wasn’t convinced. Still, if she wanted to avoid antagonizing Falconi, then she had to play along, and she did need to figure out a better way to control the xeno.…

  She closed Sparrow’s text and wrote to Gregorovich instead:

  My bed and blankets need to be replaced. The suit ate through them last night. If it’s not too much trouble for a ship mind such as yourself, of course. – Kira

  His reply was nearly instantaneous. Sometimes she envied the speed with which ship minds could think, but then she remembered how much she liked having a body.

  Perhaps you should try feeding your ravenous leech something better than a smorgasbord of polycarbonates. It simply CAN’T be good for a growing parasite. – Gregorovich

  Have any suggestions? – Kira

  Wh
y yes, yes I do. If your charming little symbiont insists upon chewing on my bones, I’d rather it be somewhere away from needed systems like oh, say, life support. In the machine room, we have raw stock for printing and repairs. Something in there should appeal to the palate of your alien overlord. Check with Hwa-jung; she can show you where it is. – Gregorovich

  Kira raised her eyebrows. He was actually trying to be helpful, even if he couldn’t stop insulting her.

  Why thank you. I’ll be sure to save you from immediate disintegration when my alien overlords take over the system. – Kira

  Ahahaha. Truly, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard this century. You’re killing me here.… Why don’t you go cause some trouble, like a good monkey? That seems to be what you’re best at. – Gregorovich

  She rolled her eyes and closed the window. Then—after dressing in her old jumpsuit and taking a moment to gather her thoughts—she activated the display camera and recorded a message for her family, much as she had on the Valkyrie. Only this time, Kira made no attempt to hide the truth. “We found an alien artifact on Adrasteia,” she said. “I found it, actually.” She told them everything that had happened from then on, including the attack on the Extenuating Circumstances. Now that the existence of the Soft Blade was public knowledge, Kira saw no point in keeping the details from her family, no matter how the UMC or the League might have classified the information.

  Following that, she recorded a similar message for Alan’s brother.

  Her eyes were full of tears by the time she finished. She allowed them to flow freely, and then wiped her cheeks dry with the heels of her hands.

  Accessing the Wallfish’s transmitter, she queued the two messages for delivery to 61 Cygni’s nearest FTL relay.

  There was a good chance the League would intercept any signals from the Wallfish. There was an equally good chance that the Jellies were jamming her home system (as they had 61 Cygni) and that the message for her family wouldn’t get through. But she had to try. And Kira took some comfort in knowing that a record of her words existed. As long as they remained preserved somewhere in the circuits and memory banks of the League’s computers, they might eventually reach their intended recipients.

  Either way, she’d fulfilled her responsibility as best she could, and it was a weight off her mind.

  She spent the next few minutes writing an account of the most recent dream from the Soft Blade. Then—resigned to what she felt sure was going to be an unpleasant experience with Sparrow—she hurried out of the cabin and headed toward the galley.

  As she descended along the central ladder, Kira felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen. She sucked in her breath, surprised, and stopped where she was.

  That was odd.

  She waited a little while but didn’t feel anything else. An upset stomach from the food the previous night or a small muscle strain, she guessed. Nothing to worry about.

  She continued climbing.

  At the galley, she set water to boil and then texted Vishal: She figured she couldn’t go wrong by starting off with a peace offering.

  The doctor answered just as the water boiled:

 

  She made two cups: one chell, and one double-strength coffee. Then she carried the mugs to sickbay and knocked on the pressure door.

  “Mind if I come in?”

  “Door’s unlocked,” said Sparrow.

  Kira pushed it open with her shoulder, careful not to spill the drinks.

  Sparrow was sitting upright on the infirmary bed, perfectly manicured hands folded across her belly, a holo-display open in front of her. She didn’t look too bad, considering; her skin actually had some color, and her eyes were sharp and alert. Several layers of bandages wrapped her waist, and a small, square machine was clipped to the top of her pants.

  “I was wondering when you’d show up,” she said.

  “Is this a bad time?”

  “It’s the only time we’ve got.”

  Kira held out the mug with the two shots. “Vishal said you like coffee.”

  Sparrow accepted the mug. “Mmm. I do. Although it makes me pee, and going to the bathroom is a pain in the ass right now. Literally.”

  “Do you want chell instead? I have some.”

  “No.” Sparrow inhaled the steam wafting from the coffee. “No, this is perfect. Thank you.”

  Kira pulled over the doctor’s stool and sat. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good, considering.” Sparrow grimaced. “My side itches like crazy, and the doc says there’s nothing he can do about it. Plus, I can’t digest food properly. He’s been feeding me through a drip.”

  “Is he going to be able to patch you up before we leave?”

  Sparrow took another sip. “Surgery is scheduled for tonight.” She looked at Kira. “Thanks for stopping that Jelly, by the way. I owe you.”

  “You would have done the same,” said Kira.

  The small, hard-faced woman smirked. “Suppose I would have. Might not have done any good without your xeno. You’re one scary mofo when you’re angry.”

  The praise sat badly with Kira. “I just wish I could have gotten there faster.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Sparrow smiled more openly. “We gave those Jellies a hell of a surprise, eh?”

  “Yeah … You heard about the nightmares?”

  “Sure did.” Sparrow gestured at the display. “I was just reading the reports. Real shame what happened to Ruslan’s beanstalk. If only they’d had a proper defense network, they might have been able to save it.”

  Kira blew on her chell. “You were in the UMC, weren’t you?”

  “UMCM, technically. Fourteenth division, Europa Command. Seven years enlisted. Ooh-rah, baby.”

  “That’s how you got MilCom access.”

  “You know it. Used my lieutenant’s old login.” A feral smile crossed Sparrow’s lips. “He was a bastard anyway.” She cleared the display with an unnecessarily violent swipe. “They really should change those codes more often.”

  “So now you work security. Is that it? You don’t just pick things up and put them down.”

  “No, not really.” Sparrow scratched her side. “Most days it’s pretty boring. Eat, shit, sleep, repeat. Sometimes it’s more exciting. Knock a few heads together, cover Falconi’s back when he’s making deals, keep an eye on the cargo when we’re docked. That sort of thing. It’s a living. Beats sitting in a VR tank, waiting to get old.”

  Kira could relate. She’d felt much the same when deciding to pursue xenobiology as a career.

  “And every once in a while,” said Sparrow, bright fire kindling in her eyes, “you end up at the pointy end of the knife, like we did yesterday, and then you get to find out what you’re made of. Don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Sparrow studied her, serious. “Speaking of knocking heads together, I saw the video of what you did to Bob.”

  Another small, quick pain lanced her abdomen. Kira ignored it. “You knew him?”

  “I met him. Vishal had him in here, pissing and moaning while he got stitched up.… So what went wrong in the hold?”

  “Falconi must have told you.”

  Sparrow shrugged. “Sure, but I’d rather hear it from you.”

  The surface of Kira’s chell was dark and oily. On it, she could see her face in a warped reflection. “Short version? I got hurt. I wanted it to stop. I lashed out. Or rather the Soft Blade lashed out for me.… It’s sometimes hard to tell the difference.”

  “Were you angry? Did Bob’s idiot maneuver get under your skin?”

  “… Yeah. It did.”

  “Uh-huh.” Sparrow caught her gaze by pointing at Kira’s face. “That nose of yours must have caused you all sorts of pain when it broke.”

  She touched it, self-conscious. “Have you broken yours?”

  “Three times. Got it straightened out, though.”
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  Kira struggled to find the right words. “Look … Don’t take this the wrong way, Sparrow, but I really don’t see how you can help me with the xeno. I’m here because Falconi insisted, but—”

  Sparrow cocked her head. “Do you know what the military does?”

  “I—”

  “Let me tell you. The military accepts everyone who volunteers, assuming they meet the basic requirements. That means, at one end of the spectrum, you get people who would just as soon cut your throat as shake your hand. And at the other end of the spectrum, you get people so timid they wouldn’t hurt a fly. And what the military does is teach both of them how and when to apply violence. That, and how to take orders.

  “A trained Marine doesn’t go around stabbing guys just because they broke their nose. That would be a disproportionate use of force. You pull a stunt like that in the UMC, and you’ll be lucky to get court-martialed. And that’s if you don’t get yourself or your team killed. Losing your temper is a cop-out. A cheap cop-out. You don’t get to lose your temper. Not when lives are on the line. Violence is a tool. Nothing more, nothing less. And its use should be as carefully calibrated as … as the cuts of a surgeon’s scalpel.”

  Kira raised an eyebrow. “You sound more like a philosopher than a fighter.”

  “What, you think all jarheads are stupid?” Sparrow chuckled before going serious again. “All good soldiers are philosophers, same as a priest or a professor. You have to be when you deal with matters of life and death.”

  “Did you see any action when you were in the service?”

  “Oh yeah.” She eyed Kira. “You think the galaxy is a peaceful place, and it is, for the most part. Ignoring the Jellies, your odds of getting hurt or killed in a violent encounter are lower now than at any other time in history. And yet more people are actually fighting—fighting and dying—than ever before. You know why?”

  “Because there are more people alive now,” said Kira.

  “Bingo. The percentages have gotten lower, but the overall numbers keep going up.” Sparrow shrugged. “So yeah. We saw a lot of action.”

  Kira took her first sip of chell. It was rich and warm, with a spicy aftertaste like cinnamon. Her belly was hurting again, and she rubbed it without thinking. “Alright. But I still don’t see how you can help me control the suit.”