Star Wanderers: Tales of the Far Outworlds (Omnibus V-VIII) Page 3

  Her heart leaped in her chest as she recognized the familiar scene. Home, she thought to herself. Until that point, she hadn’t been aware of any direction in her work—she always did her best work from the subconscious. But now that she knew where she was going, it was as if the floodgates of her mind had opened. The line between perception and imagination blurred, and soon, she was swept away in the ecstasy of creation.

  She bent her foot down toward the crescent world below, and it touched the grainy off-white floor tiles of Megiddo Station. The walls and ceiling were next, with the chugging ventilators and slight taste of smoke in the air. The red-orange light of the system sun shone overhead through the narrow spaceframe window, casting hard shadows against the floor.

  She walked spinward up the curved hallway, adding details as quickly as her mind could recall them. Saints adorned the door lintels: Oriana, patron saint of the star cluster; Gaia Mariya, the holy mother; Christi Adonis, the Father of all. In a little niche, candles burned softly like silent prayers, while empty computer terminals and kiosks stood ready for use.

  One by one, people began to appear. They paid her no mind, of course—they were only projections—but they added a sense of homeliness to the place, and Noemi found herself saying hello to them as if they were real people. Haulers and station officials, beggars and old, hunchbacked women—she thought she recognized some of the faces, but it was impossible to say for sure. As a crowd, they ignored her, which was just as well. She didn’t know what she’d do if she found herself face to face with one of her family. In the artificial dream world of the simulator, the possibility of that was all too real.

  To forestall it, she raised her hands and flew out through the window, diving into the depths of space. To a normal mind, such an act would be impossible, but she had long since learned how to crack the data and break the illusion. She soared past the double ring of Megiddo Station, observing the patchwork of haphazard additions to the superstructure. The newest module was the giant hydroponics facility at the hub—the one that had become poisoned due to an engineering oversight.

  She sighed and turned away, looking outward to the stars. If she had any sort of future, that was where she’d find it. As for her home, it was now only the stuff of dream simulations. She would never see it with her natural eyes again.

  * * * * *

  As always, the hunger was the first thing to hit her when she jacked out. It came as a low, throbbing emptiness that gnawed at her from the inside, a painful reminder that reality could not be cheated.

  She sat up slowly, removing the dream monitor with care as she lowered her legs over the edge of the cot. The air in the starship had a sterile, recycled quality to it, completely different from the air back home. She’d never thought she’d miss the taste of stale body odor, but she had a feeling that the small things were going to affect her even more than the big things.

  I wonder when we’re going to eat, she thought, clutching at her stomach. Would it be wrong to ask? She was so hungry—

  No, she told herself, shuddering as sudden fear seized her. What if he took it wrong? It was risky to make demands on him so soon. She didn’t want to seem needy, after all. Better to wait.

  But I’m so hungry …

  What if he didn’t have enough food for the both of them? What if he had to ration his stores as carefully as they did back home? If she asked him out of turn, that could put her in a lot of trouble.

  And yet … what if he just didn’t know she was hungry? She could be starving for hours—could practically starve to death, even—and he’d never find out until it was too late.

  She took a sharp breath and began to nervously bite her nails. The trick was finding a way to communicate. But how? She didn’t know a word of his language—not a single word. And to try and ask on her own, that was much too pushy. Perhaps if he could see that she—

  No, she told herself, burying her head in her hands. Don’t go to him—that’s much too pushy.

  But she was so hungry …

  In the end, her stomach had the stronger argument. Before she could step into the cockpit, though, the stranger came through the open doorway. He greeted her with a boyish grin and a few softly spoken words from his own language. From the innocent tone of his voice, her previous fears melted away like the icy surface of a sun-grazing comet.

  Here goes nothing. She patted her stomach and gave him the most apologetic look she could muster.

  His grin fell, and his cheeks turned bright red. A moment later, he opened one of the larger wall compartments and began punching buttons. Noemi’s heart skipped a beat—it was a food synthesizer, much like the ones back home. This one, however, was full. Her stomach growled in anticipation.

  Don’t be too eager, she told herself. You don’t want him to think you’re starving.

  The stranger pulled out a pair of bowls and set them carefully on the ground. Still mumbling to himself (he had a peculiar habit of that), he reached into a side compartment and pulled out a jar of flaky brown things. When she hesitated, he took her hands and formed them into a cupping shape. His skin was warm to the touch.

  He poured out the flakes, and she realized to her surprise that they were dried fruit. How long had it been since the fruit stores had run out back home? Almost a year, perhaps more. She lifted them gingerly to her mouth, resisting the urge to eat them all at once. When she smiled at the stranger, however, his cheeks blushed red.

  He almost seems a little sentimental, she thought. How many times has he blushed since I stepped onto his ship? At least he hadn’t abused her yet—that was surely a blessing.

  He motioned to the floor, and they both sat down. The synthesizer finished its cycle, and he lifted their bowls to the dispenser underneath. As Noemi had expected, the goop that came out was a thick gray sludge—but edible, all the same. She attacked her bowl the moment he set it back down in front of her, but he made her stop and showed her how to crumble bits of the dried fruit and mix them in. Of course, she thought, silently chastising herself for being overeager. Fortunately, the stranger didn’t seem to mind.

  As she started her second bowl, the stranger pointed to her and asked a question. She glanced up and smiled, hoping that that would satisfy him, but of course it didn’t. He pointed at himself and said:

  “Jeremaya.”

  Noemi paused. Something told her that this was important. He pointed to himself and repeated, looking at her expectantly.

  “Jeremahra?” she asked, pronouncing the word as best she could.

  He nodded and smiled “Jeremaya.”

  That’s his name, Noemi realized. She pointed to him again.

  “Jeremahra.”

  He shrugged and spoke to her again. When she blinked in incomprehension, he pointed to himself and then at her.

  “Noemi!” she said, her heart leaping in her chest. “Jeremahra, Noemi.”

  “No-em-ee?” Jeremahra asked. She nodded vigorously and pointed to herself.

  “Noemi.”

  It felt so wonderful to be able to communicate, even with only a simple word. Finally, the stranger was no longer just a stranger—he was a man with a proper name.

  Jeremahra.

  She finished off her second bowl with relish—perhaps a little too much relish. He stared at her for a long while in silence, as if lost in thought. Noemi blushed a little and stared politely at the floor, folding her hands in her lap.

  What does he think of me? she wondered. Probably that I’m as lanky as spaceframe and eat like a garbage recycler. And yet, when she hazarded a quick glance at him, none of that showed in his eyes. He had chosen her over her sisters, after all—even over Marta.

  What kind of a man was he? Probably a young fortune seeker, like so many of the other star wanderers who came through Delta Oriana. Across the Outworlds, it was common practice for fathers to send their eldest sons away from home, to wander the stars until they found a place to settle down. Her grandfather had been a star wanderer, settling at Megiddo Sta
tion after almost ten years of starfaring. But her father had refused to leave, calling it a stupid tradition.

  Jeremahra didn’t seem stupid, though. A bit boyish, perhaps, but not stupid.

  If he is a star wanderer, Noemi thought to herself, it must have been hard for him to leave his home. It was hard enough for her. To leave everything behind, knowing that she could never go back—she feared it would destroy her.

  Well, she thought, I suppose that’s one thing we have in common. If Jeremahra was a star wanderer in search of a new home, then so was she. It wasn’t going to help them overcome the language barrier, but at least it was a start.

  Chapter 3

  Noemi bit her lip as the water from the starship’s shower unit trickled down her back and chest. Her knees trembled and her stomach felt weak, even more than when she’d said goodbye to her family.

  The wife does not have authority over her own body, but yields it to her husband. In the same way, the husband does not have authority over his own body, but yields it to his wife. Those words from the Old-Earth Bible played over and over in her mind, making her skin crawl. She didn’t know what Jeremahra expected of her, but she was his wife now, and at Delta Oriana, that meant some very specific things.

  It’s not wrong if you’re married, she told herself, trying in vain to calm her fraying nerves. As the oldest in the family, she’d always done her best to set the example and be a good girl. Not that it was difficult—none of the station boys had ever shown much interest in her. There had been another wanderer, once, but they’d only kissed—nothing more.

  She took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her wet hair, scrubbing it down until her scalp felt raw. Soap suds ran across her face and neck, and she closed her eyes to keep them out. The water pressure wasn’t very strong, but that was all right—she was used to that. She could deal with it quite easily.

  Will it hurt? she wondered, her heart racing. She’d heard that it sometimes did, especially the first time. And yet, she couldn’t deny that part of her hungered for it. That was the thing that had always frightened her—the dark, sensual part of herself that she’d never understood. Perhaps that was why she was so terrified right now—not for anything that Jeremahra might do to her, but for the dark and secret things that she might discover about herself.

  Enough of this.

  She rinsed the last of the soap from her hair and shut off the water. The shower nozzles retracted into the cylindrical wall, and hot air blasted her from overhead. She raised her hands to facilitate the drying process, and the water ran quickly down her skin, first in rivulets, then in dribbles. The vacuum at her feet ensured that as little moisture was wasted as possible.

  When it was finished, she stepped out of the shower and into the tiny bathroom. There was barely enough room in the narrow space to turn around, which was just as well since the mirror was only about twenty centimeters square. Still, she did her best to make herself presentable, which mostly consisted of running her fingers through her hair and slapping her cheeks to keep them from looking too pale.

  All right, she thought, clenching her fingers into nervous little fists. Let’s go.

  She palmed the door to the cabin, and it slid open with a low hiss. A peek outside confirmed that Jeremahra was still in the cockpit, where he’d been when she’d left him. She stepped out into the cabin, barefoot and naked, but he was too focused on his instruments to look back and see her.

  I’ll have to wait, then, she told herself, but when he comes, I’ll be ready. The cot was still inclined to accommodate the dream monitor; she lowered it down until it was flat, then lay on her back with her arms by her side. With her feet pointed toward the front of the ship, she had a good view of the cockpit doorway. She arched her back, thrusting up her chest as much as she could, but it didn’t make much of a difference. Still, if she bent her legs in just the right way—

  Footsteps sounded in the cockpit, and Jeremahra appeared in the doorway. Noemi’s heart stopped, and time froze as their gaze met.

  This is it.

  His eyes widened in shock, and his cheeks instantly turned white. Something in his expression told her that if he’d shared her religion, he’d be crossing himself right now. Instead, he stammered some oath and steepled his hands beneath his nose. As quickly as he’d come, he turned on his heel and retreated to the cockpit.

  Noemi sat up at once. For a second, she almost followed after him, but self-consciousness overcame her and she stopped short of that.

  What just happened?

  She waited silently and counted to ten, but he didn’t return. Instead, he seemed to be reclining the pilot’s chair back far enough to sleep on. She waited a little while longer, but then the lights went out, and she was still alone.

  A strange mixture of relief and disappointment flooded over her, making her arms turn to water as she fell back to the cot. In an unexpected way, the rejection made her feel empty and lost. Did he not want her? But if so, why had he chosen her? They were married now—he was completely within his rights to take her. Or was now just not the right time for him? She stared at the ceiling trying to make sense of it all, but exhaustion soon overtook her.

  * * * * *

  Her dreams were tense and lucid, like being trapped in the simulator without the ability to command the data.

  She dreamed she was in a wide, grassy meadow, barefoot in her simple white dress. The grass tickled her feet as she walked—the dream was so intense, it felt almost real. All around her, dark mountain peaks rose up toward the sky, cloudless and blue as the legends described Old Earth.

  She looked behind her and saw the wreckage of a city, or perhaps a fallen space station. Corroded metal spires stuck up at odd angles, while the towering remains of collapsed and twisted structures broke the natural flow of the landscape. The derelict stood at the edge of a meadow, at least a kilometer off. Something about it called to her, and in the dream she couldn’t refuse.

  She walked slowly at first, unsure of herself, but as she drew closer her steps became more certain. Dark purple storm clouds gathered above her, while the flowers bloomed in shades of brilliant turquoise. A warm, gentle rain began to fall, soaking her clothes and hair and skin with its life-giving moisture.

  Jeremahra is in there.

  The realization made her hesitate. Did she really want to be with him? They barely even knew each other, and things had been so awkward between them already. Still, something drew her to him, like a cold and lonely comet falling through the void toward a brilliant star. She knew it was just a dream, but in that moment it felt like something more.

  Her vision widened, and she saw that the field in which she stood was just a tiny island in the midst of a lifeless wasteland. A sudden fear seized her, and she realized that this wasteland was devouring the grassy field, turning it to a bleak and lonely desert.

  She broke into a run, her rain-soaked dress clinging to her skin. In that moment, she saw everything clearly—so clearly that it almost seemed like a divine revelation. Providence had put her into the hands of this kind and gentle star wanderer for a reason. She didn’t know what that reason was yet, but she felt it with every particle of her soul.

  She ran faster and faster, the grass so thick it almost rose above her head. The color of turquoise filled her vision, imbuing the dream with an intensity that all but swept her away. The rain fell thicker, great fat raindrops pelting her skin, and in that moment she was naked—naked and not ashamed. Instead, she felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders—a weight that until that moment she didn’t know existed.

  She entered the wreckage and gasped for breath, her body dripping wet. Puddles were everywhere, but the walls and floor were a dark maroon color, cold and lifeless. She started to look for Jeremahra, but her legs froze up, and her arms refused to move. It was as if something in the darkness had taken control of her own body, so that she was utterly helpless. Exerting all her strength, she lifted her arms over her head, trying to break out
of it. Reality shifted, then parted like a veil, and she was torn away from the dream that held her.

  * * * * *

  Noemi moaned and twisted, her arms stiff and her body sore. She felt like she’d slept on a metal slab—which wasn’t too far from the truth. With her hands above her head, she arced her back and stretched, yawning as she slowly came to her senses.

  She opened her eyes and saw a face staring down at her. Her blood froze, and her heart skipped a beat—if not for her dream, she would have shrieked in fright.

  “Whoa,” said Jeremahra, holding up his hands. His eyes widened, and for a moment he seemed about to dart back to the cockpit.

  Wait!

  She slipped her legs over the side of the cot and sat up, holding the blanket to her chest with one hand. With the other, she reached out and took his hand. It felt unnaturally clammy—as if he were even more nervous than her. That possibility had not even occurred to her, and it made all her fears from yesterday seem a bit silly. When she looked into his eyes, she saw nothing but harmlessness. Whatever else he was, Jeremahra was a good man who wouldn’t mistreat her.

  Do you want to go through with this? Noemi wished she could ask. If not, why did you choose me back at the station? The yearning from her dream returned in force, arousing a dark, sensual hunger that welled up deep inside of her. A tremor passed through her body, making her shiver with nervous anticipation.

  Jeremahra hesitated, pulling back. Her grip on his hand tightened, but he pulled himself free. He didn’t leave, however. Instead, he stood as if perched on the top of a precipice, unsure which way to fall.