Voyage Beyond Oblivion

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But I do. No matter where I go, no matter how hard I try to close it out, still I hear the universe itself screaming in agony. The death cry of eternity. That is the terrible truth of this reality that so few of its inhabitants are burdened with knowing. The vacuum of space, that endless abyss, is itself screaming. The universe is alive. And the universe is dying.

The darkness stares back at me as I stand at the porthole, one of hundreds that line this wall of the transport. In the crystoglass, my own face is reflected, its colour drained and replaced by the void beyond. My gaze moves through my reflection's eyes and into that infinitude. Only the familiar pressure at my temple and tension in my jaw, the telltale signs of my urge to turn away, anchor me to my body and keep my mind from drifting absolutely into the depths of that darkness.

And I do want to turn away, to avoid the gaze of the universe, but something compels me to remain a moment longer. It is as though that abyss is pleading with me. I feel its pain. I do not yet know how to quell it.

'Can I see?'

The voice is small, soft. It is enough to break my fixation. At my side is a young girl, a little higher than my knee. Her pink skin is daubed with swirling white lines; she's a Thaalian, one of the survivors of Ontrillia. 'I can't reach the window,' she says.

Whatever melancholy the universe had cast over me is forgotten, giving way to a smile. Thoughts of the abyss are innocently knocked aside by sweet naivety.

'A quick look,' I say, as I hoist her up in my arms. 'But there's not much to see!'

Her reflection replaces mine in the porthole, a perfect image of awe. She stares into the darkness, punctuated by the flickering lights of the stars and distant galaxies.

'There's loads to see!' she yells, before her voice grows quiet. 'That's space… Does it go on forever?'

'Not quite forever,' I tell her.

'It looks like it goes on forever.'

I laugh, taken aback by so pure a view of the cosmos.

'It used to be a lot bigger than this,' I say.

'Bigger? No way!'

'Eva!' I turn to see an older Thaalian, I presume her mother, hurrying towards us.

'She wanted to look out the porthole,' I say as I pass the child into her mother's open arms.

'Oh!' she says, looking from young Eva to me. 'Sorry, she's not travelled through space before. She's a little overexcited.'

'That's okay. I was the same on my first trip. And I was a lot older than her!'

'Eva,' she says, fussing over her daughter, 'you know you shouldn't be running off and talking to strangers.'

'But he was sad, Mama Enna! He was sad space is getting smaller!'

I often think children see so much more than their parents.

'What are you talking about, little one?' As Enna pulls her daughter into a hug, the small metal disk on the back of Eva's neck catches my eye. Not long ago, it would have been an open port for the nutrient feed of a biogenesis pod. Like most of my fellow passengers, Eva was never born, but constructed. I forget how much life the universe has already lost. 'Come on. Mama Mave and Mama Arla are worried sick.'

Enna bows her head to me and I return the Thaalian gesture. I want to offer my condolences for what happened to Ontrillia, but I fear she doesn't need the reminder, so I simply watch as Enna and Eva head back to the sleeping quarters.

Instead of letting myself return to the porthole, I wander inward, towards the centre of the semicircular rest bay, and perch on one of the metal benches that fill the room. That brief interaction with Eva and her mother is perhaps the most pleasant I have had in months. None of my fellow passengers know me here. I prefer it that way. I have walked on worlds where I am called “Destroyer,” or worse yet, “Messiah.” Here, at last, I am just another nameless wanderer.

‘I know who you are.’

The voice comes from beside me. Sitting next to me on the bench is a young woman with a stern face, a hooded purple shawl worn over her black bodysuit. She tilts her head towards me. Her eyes are hidden behind a black visor.

‘I don’t think so,’ I say, drawing my cloak a little tighter about myself, dipping my chin so the firm hexoweave collar hides the lower half of my face.

‘You’re younger than I was expecting.’

‘I’m sorry. I think you’ve got the wrong person.’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ she says, lips curled in an insufferable smile of victory. ‘But why are you heading to Portis Minor?’

‘I live there,’ I lie. ‘Listen, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have had a very long, very tiring journey. And I would like to finish it in peace.’

‘I can’t imagine peace comes easy to a man like you.’

I turn to face her.

‘Not currently,’ I say. ‘Excuse me.’

As soon as I leave my seat, she’s on her feet behind me, footsteps echoing after mine as I cross the bay. I don’t look back.

‘I was on Ontrillia,’ she calls out after me.

‘Then I am glad you are alive.’

‘We don’t have to be enemies!’

I look over my shoulder at her.

‘Nor do we have to be friends.’

The bay doors slide open before me, the dull grey metal giving way to a whole wall of similar grey doors, each leading to a pod-lift. I approach the nearest, waving my hand over the control panel and step in as soon as the doors part.

Turning, I see the young woman’s face still watching me from the rest bay. As the doors close and she is obscured from view, I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t need companions on this journey.

I really didn’t want to do this, her voice tells me.

I look around, one hand reaching for the blade hidden beneath my cloak, when I realise – she’s not in here. She’s in my head.

‘You’re a telepath.’

Are you responding out loud? I can feel the smirk on her face. My grip on my weapon tightens. It’s not just the irritation. There’s something else. My every instinct is telling me to prepare for attack.

‘You’re one of the Sisterhood?’

I was assuming you’d already figured that out. Or are you this hostile to everyone you meet?

‘Only people who think they know me.’

Something’s wrong. The silence, the stillness. The pod-lift isn’t moving. She’s holding it in place. It’s a simple telekinetic trick, so why is it putting my teeth on edge? Why does my heart feel as though it may, at any second, burst out of my chest?

I don’t have time for your self-indulgent melodrama. You need to hear me out.

I can feel her composure slipping. And suddenly, it clicks. The fear I am feeling is not my own. It’s hers.

‘How long do you think you can keep up this connection?’

Listen to me, Destroyer. Something ice cold shoots through me. For a fleeting moment, my breath hangs frozen in my lungs. She feels it too. I know she does. The effect of her own words. The Sisterhood do not cross paths with the Brotherhood lightly.

‘I am no Brother of the Forge.’

You are their favourite toy. Rest assured, we do not wish to spark rivalry between our fellowships by interfering with your holy mission.

‘Then don’t interfere.’

The fact I am talking to you at all, let alone daring to enter your mind, should tell you exactly how pressing this matter is.

Her voice is quickening, a tremor biting at the words as they enter my mind. I almost lose my footing as the pod-lift jerks upwards, slipping free of her grasp. In the next second, she has seized it again.

‘How are you liking my mind, Sister?’

Please, listen to me, Galar-

‘No.’

Her voice stalls. Where there was, a moment ago, a conscious stream of thought, there is now something shuddering and indistinct, her mind faltering upon what dwells in mine. The pod-lift shudders around me as it again resumes its ascent. ‘Please, do not use that name. You won’t like the corners of my mind it touches.’

Then… what should I call you?

‘You don’t need to call me anything. Just leave me be.’

This transport is harbouring a grave threat. Why are you so insistent on ignoring it? Do you not think yourself a saviour?

‘You need to get out of my head before it really hurts you, Sister. Please.’

Then help us!

‘I do not wish you harm, but there is little I can do to prevent it. My mind is not a safe place for a telepath!’

PLEASE-

There is a spike, harsh and piercing, shooting through my consciousness. All rational thought vanishes, lost in a primal scream that tears its way through my mind and hers from somewhere far beyond. It crashes through me, clawing at every thread of my being. It is a force of supernature, one I have grown used to, but she has not. We are still connected. My body convulses at her pain. For a moment that feels eternal, her shrill white scream fills the abyss. Then she is gone and I am a shaking, shuddering, breathless mess as the pod-lift doors slide open.

My wild staring eyes and bared teeth greet the squat, unassuming amphibious gentleman who stands at the threshold. His perfectly round bright green eyes blink a couple of times. The skin on his broad, ridged head is slick and blue and he is covered, from the neck down, by a sea-green robe made of countless haphazard pleats that dance against one another even as he stands perfectly still.

‘Maybe you should get the next one,’ I suggest.

Apparently nonplused, he shuffles into the pod-lift with me and waves a hand over the controls. The doors close once more. The man – I believe he is a Tolfog – looks straight at me, then back to the controls and swipes his hand downwards across the interface.

‘Apologies,’ says a mechanical voice, emanating from the control panel, ‘all lower bays, from Level Tor to Level Zel, have been placed in quarantine and are strictly out of bounds to all passengers and unauthorised staff.’

‘Seven levels completely out of action,’ says the Tolfog. ‘I’d say that’s cause for concern at the very least, wouldn’t you?’

‘Um…’ I stare at the short amphibian as he turns towards me, an expectant look on his face. ‘Just keep to the upper levels and I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ I tell him.

‘No,’ he snaps. ‘If you don’t start listening to me, nobody on this transport is going to survive.’

I stare a second longer before I realise the Tolfog is not the one speaking.

‘Oh, for the love of the last king!’ I fall back against the pod-lift wall and run my hands through my hair. ‘You’re controlling an innocent passenger! Where exactly does that fall in the Sisterhood’s code of ethics?’

‘When life is at risk, firmly in the “Acceptable” column. Are you going to help me, or are you going to stand by and do nothing while every passenger on this transport faces certain death?’

‘Everybody dies! I have had to embrace that fact,’ I hiss into the face of the unassuming Tolfog. ‘And this? This is one transport ship. This is not even a drop in the ocean next to this universe. What makes you think this mission requires me of all people?’

The Tolfog stares for a moment, blinks again, regarding me carefully. For a moment, I fear the Sister possessing him has relinquished her grip and I have screamed into the face of an unassuming refugee. But then he responds.

‘I don’t know what I was expecting from you. But I didn’t for one moment think you would be so comfortable letting innocent people die.’

‘Sorry to disappoint.’ I step away and turn back towards the door, hanging my head so my collar obscures my view of him.

‘But you are right about one thing,’ the Tolfog continues. ‘If this were simply about saving a transport, the Sisterhood would handle it ourselves. I am afraid this concerns the Adherents.’

I turn back to him – to her. When my eyes meet the Tolfog’s it is as though he is not there and my gaze has found the Sister of Eridien who speaks through him. I nod, silent.

‘Next time,’ I say, ‘lead with that.’ The Tolfog shrugs. ‘Okay. Let’s talk. Face to face.’

When the pod-lift doors open, depositing us back at the rest bay, the Tolfog sticks his head out, looks around and mutters something about a faulty control panel. He selects a new level, as I walk back towards the young woman I met earlier. She has resumed her place on the bench.

‘Have the Brotherhood really not taught you how to communicate telepathically without moving your lips?’ she asks.

‘I’ve not spent as much time with the Brotherhood as you seem to think. And besides, you’ve seen my mind. It’s not easy for anyone to teach me the art of telepathy.’

She nods and turns to look towards the portholes lining the wall. For a moment, that is where her gaze rests, on those tiny shards of deep space. Then she looks back to me. Even through the visor, I can feel her eyes on me.

‘That noise,’ she says, ‘that… maelstrom in your mind… is it always there?’

‘I’ve learnt to live with it.’

She pulls the visor away from her face, revealing the distinctive golden irises of the Sisters of Eridien. Those piercing, beautiful eyes search my face, as if hoping to find there some explanation for what she experienced.

‘I’ve heard what they say about you, but I never expected to find such power in your mind.’

‘It doesn’t come from me,’ I tell her. ‘I’m just more attuned to it than most.’

‘So where does it come from?’

I nod back to the portholes and she follows my gaze.

‘That’s the sound of the universe. The living essence of this reality – in its death throes.’

‘And you can feel it. Constantly.’ She considers this for a moment, then her face lights up a little as she leans in close. ‘Do you really have the sword?’

I roll my eyes as I try to withdraw, but she pulls on my arm. ‘Do you?’

‘Look…’ I take her hand in mine and press our palms together, fingers splayed, mirroring each other. ‘I am flesh and blood. Okay? Not a god, not a monster, not whatever you have heard. Just me.’

‘And what about your parents?’

I lower my hand.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I heard… well, I heard you were half-human. Is that true? Does the human race really exist?’

My focus drifts away from her, out towards the expanse of the rest bay. The question rings in my mind as I watch a woman in a flowing white cloak enter the room. Her movements are light, weightless. She looks slowly about the bay as she drifts through it, the light dancing about her form, never quite settling upon her. She only becomes still when her gaze falls on me. I know she is not truly there, cannot be there, but in that moment I am lost in the trance from which she has emerged.

And in the next moment, she is gone, my attention returned to the Sister of Eridien at my side.

‘Not anymore,’ I say. ‘This isn’t what I came to talk about.’

‘No. Of course,’ she says. ‘So, what do I call you?’

‘Galen will do fine.’

‘I prefer it to your full name,’ she says with half a smile.

‘And you?’

‘Nema. Sister Nema of Eridien.’

I give a small, formal nod.

‘So, tell me, Sister Nema – what do the Adherents of Oblivion want with this transport?’