Starborne

A metaphor forwhat, though? Where is she, what is happening to her? Has she been speaking with angels, actual holy angels, or are they stars, or has she simply shed the last shred of her sanity during her venture into the gray nothingness beyond the ship? She seems lost in some unknown and unknowable realm. Her face is flushed; her eyes move about rapidly, darting like trapped fish beneath her closed lids. Words continue to come from her from time to time. Mind to mind, Noelle whispers, the star and I. Mind to mind. Sometimes she begins to hum — an edgy whining sound, climbing almost toward inaudibility, a high-frequency keening. It pains him to hear it: it has the force of hard radiation, expressed as sound.

He has never felt so tired before. He has scarcely slept at all since he and Huw pushed open the door of her cabin and found her in the coma.

She is humming again now, that terrible sound. He clenches his jaws, balls his hands into fists, and forces himself to withstand it. After a while she is silent again.

Then her body goes rigid, pelvis thrusting upward. A convulsion of some sort? No. She’s simply stirring, awakening, at last! He sees lightning bolts of perception flashing through her quivering musculature: the galvanized laboratory frog, twitching at the end of its leads. Her eyelids tremble. She makes a little moaning noise. And her eyes are open.

She looks up at him.

The year-captain stares into her eyes. There is something different about them now. Something new. Something astonishing.

Gently he says, “Your eyes are open. I think you can see me now, Noelle.” He moves his hand back and forth across her face, and her eyes follow the movement.

“I — can — see you, yes. I can see you.”

Her voice is hesitant, faltering, strange for a moment, a foreign voice; but then it becomes more like its usual self as she asks, “How long was I away?”

“Eight ship-days. We were very worried.”

“You look exactly as I thought you would look,” she says. “Your face is thin and hard. But not a dark face. Not a hostile face. I like your face, year-captain.”

“Do you want to talk about where you went, Noelle?”

She smiles. Nods. “I went to visit the … angel. I talked with it.”

“Angel? Really, anangel ?”

“Not really, no. That’s just a word, ‘angel.’ It wasn’t an angel, I suppose, not the kind people used to pray to. Not a physical being, either, not any kind of intelligent organic life-form. It was — was—”

He waits. He stares at her in wonder and bewilderment. He is stunned by the beauty of her eyes, now that her eyes are alive and focused on him.

She says, “It was more like the energy creatures that Heinz was talking about. Incorporeal, is what I mean. But bigger than we could have imagined. Bigger than a whole planet, even. Tremendously big. I don’t know what it was. Not at all.”

“You told me you were talking with a star.”

“ — with a star!” As though it is a completely new idea to her.

“In your delirium. That’s what you said. Talking with a star.”

Her eyes blaze with wild excitement. “Of course! A star! Yes! Yes, year-captain! I think that’s what it was, yes! I was talking with a star.”

Despair engulfs him. She is very far gone in madness, he tells himself.

But he keeps his voice calm. “But how can you talk with a star? What does that mean, talking with a star, Noelle?”

She laughs. “It means talking with a star, year-captain. Nothing more, nothing less. A great ball of fiery gas, year-captain, and it has a mind, it has a consciousness. I think that’s what it was. I’m sure now. I’m sure!”

“But how can a—”

The light goes abruptly from her eyes. They have lost focus. Has she reentered the coma? Apparently so. At any rate she is traveling again; she is no longer with him.

He waits beside her bed. An hour, two hours. Rises. Paces. Sits. Waits. Where has she gone? In what bizarre realm is she journeying now? Her breathing is a distant, impersonal drone. So far away from her now, so remote from any place that he is capable of comprehending.

At last her eyelids flicker again. And then they open.

She looks up at him. Her eyes are living eyes, as they were before. Her face seems transfigured. She is in bliss. To the year-captain she seems still to be at least in part in that other world beyond the ship. “Yes,” she says. “Not an angel, year-captain. A sun. A living intelligent sun.” Her eyes are radiant. “A sun, a star, a sun,” she murmurs. The words are crazy, but not the voice. “I touched the consciousness of a sun. Many suns. Do you believe that, year-captain? Can you? I found a network of stars that live, that think, that have minds, that have souls. That communicate. The whole universe is alive.”

“A star,” he says dully. “You talked with a star. The stars have minds.”

“Yes.”

“All of them? Our own sun too?”