Best of Beyond the Stars

by Patrice Fitzgerald

  But she crossed that line weeks ago. She hurts when she sees the eddies die.

  She places the cap on her head before she can change her mind.

  The cap detects it’s being worn and hums as it warms up. It contracts and loosens a few times, getting a feel for her scalp and her brain, detecting the points at which it will need to apply pulses. It’s a simple version of the device, one even older than the cap her friend used at Randall half a century ago. A light on its handheld control mechanism turns green. Efie has hacked together a radio receiver to attach to it and programmed the cap to reproduce the waveforms it detects. Everything seems to be working.

  She’s terrified. Has never used an Emotive cap before. Isn’t sure what it will make her feel.

  She turns it on.

  The sensations overwhelm her at first. Sadness, anger, fear, and grief and hate, oh hate, oh hate, but there in the corner a muted joy that will blossom the next day when the grief is gone‌—‌It was waiting‌—‌and here just a flatness, and there in the center a calm, a great calm, an unimaginable calm.

  It’s like listening to the static of a radio broadcast.

  Efie’s brain is fast and adaptable. She begins to tune it, homing in on different aspects of the signal, filtering out the noise. She stays away from the sadness‌—‌it’s too big, too close to all that lurks in her heart, and she’s afraid it might sweep her away. The joy feels opiatic, dangerous in another way‌—‌if she lets it take her, she might stay until Rosa wakes up and puts an end to her career. The flatness is only interesting academically.

  It’s the calm that draws her.

  Slowly, slowly, she eliminates everything else.

  A sense of geography establishes itself in her mind. The calm lies at the center of the pool. The other emotions swirl around it, interacting with it, struggling with themselves and each other over it. But the calm is unflappable‌—‌and, she is surprised to note‌—‌suffused with a muted sort of happiness. Different from the giddy joy elsewhere. Akin to satisfaction. A general sense that all is right with the universe.

  Something’s happening. Something big. The sadness, the pain, the loss, and the grief all spike. It’s so hard to squeeze them out, to move past them and into the pool of calm at the center of it all.

  She succeeds.

  The world falls away. The body falls away. The boundaries between things are gone. There is no sadness, no pain, no fear of death because death is as great an illusion as life. She is stardust, pressed together by the random interactions of innumerable quanta, a natural phenomenon that has taken on a brief period of self-awareness, a slowness in the tumbledown rush of an exploding universe, and all the others she has ever interacted with: her unknown parents, her mentor, her friends, her cat, the monks‌—‌are both there and not there, swirls of light that cannot cease to exist because all is one, and the whole is conserved.

  The moment passes. It cannot be held.

  The cap leaves the head and settles gently upon the ground. The eddies swirl with the nanofrantic light of the pulsing algae. The eddy in the center has stopped, but it is not gone. It will be there forever, embedded in the ghostly echoes of a tapestry of light that sometimes freezes long enough to forget what it is and become convinced of its own importance.

  A hand lands on a shoulder. Her shoulder. Sahila’s eyes sparkle. Dawn kisses the horizon, and Rosa will wake up soon, will see the cap and surmise what Efie has done.

  “Come,” Sahi says. “We can return the cap to the temple.”

  Efie shakes her head. This‌—‌this is as important as anything she will discover, here or on any other planet, and it must be shared. This is worth having left Yawo and Anna and everything else for. The government and its targets, Rosa and her career, the university and its buzzing community of strivers‌—‌they feel like so many veils, each masking in its own subtle way a deep and meaningful truth.

  Sahila smiles and sits beside her.

  Before them, the pool of uncountable eddies swirls.

  A Word from Jeff Seymour

  “Eddies” is special to me. I wrote it when my wife and I were planning our wedding, making shotgun fifteen-hour drives between Indiana and upstate New York in the summer of 2014 with cat in tow, in a car that dropped a cylinder when we went up hills and died one day in a burst of smoke. On one of those drives, I took a nap while my wife was at the wheel, and as I dozed, the moment of epiphany Efie has in the story‌—‌that we’re all just light that’s slowed down long enough to forget what it is and become convinced of its own importance, came to me. I woke in the middle of an Ohio cornfield feeling more peaceful than I had in months, and I decided to write a story around that moment.

  You can find more of my work in the short story collection Three Dances and the novels Soulwoven and Nadya Skylung and the Cloudship Rescue. If you liked the story, drop me a line at www.jeff-seymour.com or on Twitter at @realjeffseymour. I’d love to hear from you.

  Tabitha’s Vacation

  by Michael Anderle

  WHAT YOU THOUGHT you knew about vampires is wrong. So very, very wrong. Over a thousand years ago, a human stumbled across a crashed Kurtherian alien ship and was enhanced to help them fight a war. Unfortunately, he left the ship confused, in pain and incompletely modified. His next twelve centuries and beyond created additional modified humans‌—‌what folklore called vampires.

  Bethany Anne, chosen as the final Matriarch to be charged with the responsibility for all Vampires, helped clean up issues between Vampires and Werewolves, and prepared for the defense of Earth. Now, she has taken the fight out among the stars. She created a law enforcement arm of enhanced humans to track down offenders and exact justice in her name. Once, Ranger Tabitha was told to go on a non-vacation, vacation.

  Because sometimes the only way to rest is to get rid of restless energy.

  CHAPTER ONE

  One Problem, One Ranger.

  I walked into Rossini’s Bar on Planet Bectal with what my boss calls a physical ailment‌—‌a short temper and a bad case of I-don’t-give-a-shit. I was grumping at him for the third monthly meeting in a row about nothing to do when he came to check on me in my part of the sector. As my doctor, he prescribed a two-month vacation.

  My boss knows me too damned well.

  He isn’t going to lose my services for the three months. It’s three because I need two weeks travel both ways, and he knows I know he’s still getting work out of me. So, he can kiss my ass on the actual travel time. I booked that on the nicest, most expensive luxury liner on this side of the Galaxy for my vacation‌—‌everything else was going to be work. Fun work, but work nonetheless.

  Here on Bectal’s world, I would be doing my job. Some vacation. Poking the alien equivalent of anthills, looking under disgusting rocks and kicking over dilapidated buildings to see what maggots from the local equivalent of the criminal world squirmed away. Hoping to be faster than I could figure out what the hell they’d done wrong and if necessary, shoot them.

  My usual sphere of responsibility was two solar systems back and one up and damned if it wasn’t getting too boring. It had taken me thirty years, but I’d finally gotten most organizations to understand The Queen Bitch’s Rule for her Rangers which is ‘One Problem-One Ranger.’ The corollary to it, according my boss, is Rangers have no limits when calling backup, it just can’t be another Ranger.

  One time, on the Sver’an planet, I got into a shouting match with the equivalent of the local Warlord. I hadn’t wanted to lay waste to half a city just to pull out his good-for-absolutely-nothing second cousin from his whatever-the-hell the third parent was called in their family group.

  So, in front of him and his men, I told him I would call for a battalion of the Queen Bitch’s Guardians if he didn’t produce the miscreant.

  That rat-faced POS called my bluff. He didn’t know us Rangers very well. So I did.

  Call, that is.

  Because as a Ranger, we have a direct link to the Queen Bitch hers
elf, Bethany Anne. The conversation back then went something like this:

  “Tet’gurky, you will produce your psychotic murdering little prick from god-knows-what-you-call-the-baby-momma or I’ll call in a battalion of the Queen’s Guardians to pull his useless ass out of this city.”

  I was rather angry at the time. It was my third time to this hellhole of a planet, and the citizens here were having problems with the Queen’s version of justice. Which is to say, ‘be nice to each other, or else.’ Some alien species have a real problem with the nice part. Oh, it isn’t that they don’t understand the concept, it is pretty universal, it’s that they have lived so long on the, ‘those who have strength rule,’ corollary that when someone comes along with more strength, they have to test it.

  A lot.

  All the damn time‌—‌it was starting to piss me off. Sure, the first time a people tests Bethany Anne’s rules I get it. By the second time, I’m wondering if this area just didn’t get the memo (and I call to make sure the PR department sent the damn memo.) By the third time, it’s just a case of who is backing down first, them, or me.

  It sure the hell isn’t going to be me.

  So, it was my third time speaking to Tet’gurky so I figured he had to have read the memo, and they had done the research, and the rumors about Bethany Anne’s Guardians had to have made their way around the planet from the fighting two solar years back.

  But the little prick answered me, “Do it, Ranger Tabitha.” He waved his furry little arms around his Warren with the other fifteen leaders of his clan, “I don’t think we are so significant to the Queen Bitch that she would waste such valuable resources as a battalion of her finest soldiers to locate one little problem child.”

  “He’s not a child, Tet’gurky, he’s created his own little psychopaths with baby mommas,” I answered.

  “You say psychopath, we say the strongest is always right. He was the strongest.” Tet’gurky’s sibilant laughter spread to the fifteen little rat-faced throats around him, and it pissed me off.

  It wasn’t my job to kill them all, no matter how upset I was at being laughed at. My job was bringing the little bastard to justice for killing someone on the world under my jurisdiction. So, fuck’em.

  Bethany Anne?

  Hello, Tabitha!

  Do you have a second to chat? I asked. While she is a friend, she’s still the Queen and even after a hundred and fifty years, I treat her as my liege first, my friend second.

  Yes, I’m en route to check on a diplomatic impasse. We’re in the middle of a transition, recalculating the heading. I fucking hate this shit. Some of the ships with us are so damned slow.

  Well, if you didn’t ride in the fastest chariot, perhaps you wouldn’t be so impatient.

  Yeah, well, some things don’t change with age. But, enough about me, what’s up with you? You rarely call just to say ‘hi.’

  Sorry about that. Bethany Anne was right. I did rarely call just to chat. I’ve got a problem here on Sver’an where I’m trying to pull out a POS. I either need to get help from the local Warlord, who is related to the little creep, or drop a lot of shock and awe to make them produce the freak. Or actually tear apart this city to get to him. So, I told him to produce, or I’d request help.

  He called your bluff, did he? Bethany Anne laughed.

  Yes! Little turd-magnet says he doesn’t think his little cousin-or-other is important enough for you to support me.

  Tabitha, have you changed your body recently to grow red hair? she asked me.

  No, why? I responded, confused.

  Because your language when you change your body to grow red hair reverts back to when we first met.

  Oh, hadn’t noticed.

  Either way, tell him that I will speak to him within two galactic-standard hours, and he will produce his cousin. If I’m waiting more than five minutes, I’ll find his cousin, and he and his men are forfeit. Please keep the area calm until then.

  Wait, what? I just need a battalion. I’m not asking you to show up.

  I understand, but think about your reputation. When you threaten a Queen’s Battalion on this nowhere little planet, and the Queen Bitch shows up?

  Yeah, but which rep? The one with the criminals, or the one in the Rangers? I complained. My group is going to laugh their asses off.

  Well, the rep with the Rangers is your own to deal with. Besides, Barnabas is going to think this is funny as hell.

  Yeah, well, he would. I grumped.

  All right, Pilot says the new course is locked in and I’ve told the group I’ll catch back up to them on the third jump. Besides, you can tell the other Rangers I was bored.

  You are bored, I told her.

  See! When you tell the truth, the truth will set you free.

  With that, she closed off our connection.

  I looked back over at Tet’gurky, a clearly noticeable annoyance showing on my face.

  “What?” he asked, an expression I’d learned was glee for his kind, “Did she tell you to figure it out on your own?” He gave that shitty laugh again, and his group took it up. Sixteen annoying hissing laughs.

  “No,” I told him, “She said to tell you she would be here within two galactic-standard hours, and you would either produce him within five minutes, or every one of your lives here are forfeit,” I smiled sardonically back at him.

  Tet’gurky’s laughing stopped abruptly and his face turned angry, “She didn’t! You lie to continue this negotiation.” He was leaning towards me. I wanted to punch his nose out the other side of his skull.

  “No, you ass,” I reached into my duster and pulled out a clock timer. It’s a rolled up little piece of plastic maybe ten inches long and four tall. I had my cyber-core program it to two galactic standard hours. That was about three and a half hours on this world. I walked over to the wall to the left of his desk. We had been bitching at each other in the back room of a bar. It had seven round tables in it and five of them were filled. I took a knife from under my coat and pinned the clock to the wall, stabbing it hard to hold it in place, turned to the table next to me, grabbed a chair and sat down. “When that reaches zero, if the Queen hasn’t shown up, I’ll leave.”

  The men all looked back to Tet’gurky, for guidance, I guessed. “So, that is a Ranger’s promise?” he asked. Apparently, rat-face had been studying.

  I nodded, “Yes, it is. More, it’s a promise from Ranger Tabitha specifically.” I had cultivated the hell out of never personally swearing on my name unless I knew something would happen. “If she isn’t here within two hours, I walk without your cousin. However, if she is here within two hours, she expects your cousin to be here as well. I’m sure you know the ‘or else’ if that doesn’t happen,” I smiled at him. To a lot of aliens, a human smiling is a scary sight. Sver’an smile showing their teeth during negotiations as well, so no psychological benefit to me.

  “What if I have him brought nearby, are you going to grab him and leave?” Tet’gurky asked, “Is this another Ranger trick?” he hissed, a little worry cracking through his mask of boldness.

  Well, shit. He had been researching the Rangers, and specifically me. I enjoyed tricking the hell out of my foes. It kept the many years of my life interesting.

  “Nope, no trick. I’ve talked with the Queen, and she should be here soon. I guess she was in the neighborhood... and bored.” I faked a yawn and looked back up at the clock. Three minutes had elapsed. Shit, this was going to be one long ass boring two hours.

  Then again, I started to see Tet’gurky sweat, so maybe it wasn’t.

  I reached under my duster for another knife and began to clean my fingernails with it. It was all show. This knife was dull. The knives I actually use would slice my fool fingers off at the tip, and I’d have to grow them back. Which, frankly, for fingers is an annoying pain in the ass as it makes it difficult to grab shit. The other Rangers think it’s funny as hell to give you a sphere large enough you need the non-existent tips of your fingers to grab.


  Last time it happened to me, I used a type of glue to grab it with my palm and gave them the smallest-fingered rude gesture ever.

  Just after I got inducted into the Rangers, back on Earth before we closed the door on that rat-infested place... Huh, rats, I guess everything’s coming up rats for me right now. Anyway, I digress. Back when I was on Earth and had just been inducted into the Rangers, I did all I could to study the original Texas Rangers.

  Then the stories about the Lone Ranger and finally American westerns in general as I’m originally from South America on that world. I never wore a cowboy duster until we left Earth and I started doing this job on other planets.

  First, because they weren’t fashionable on Earth. I mean, how the hell do you get respect for being a Ranger when everyone looks at you and asks if you’re trying to copy the movie The Matrix? Out here, no one knows about the Matrix, and considering the second and third films from that series, that’s a blessing.

  Second, because I didn’t need to keep so much shit on me back then, including special vials of blood in case I became someone’s bitch in a fight. It doesn’t happen often, but every now and then someone is as fast as me, or stronger than me or just downright sneakier than me.

  I’m ok with faster or stronger, but sneakier pisses me off.

  Now I’ve got a damned military arsenal secreted about my body, including the body armor hidden underneath all these body hugging clothes. With the Kurtherian Nanites I’ve got running through my system, I can change my appearance over time and adjust my body.