Omphalos Read online

  OMPHALOS

  © 2019 Harper J. Cole

  All rights reserved

  Cover design by James, GoOnWrite.com

  Based on artwork by Tithi Luadthong

  Dedicated to my Aunt Sue

  A devoted reader!

  Content Warning

  This story features a character with religion-themed Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, and the latter part of the book delves into that area in some detail. These passages have the potential to trigger those with a similar affliction – please bear that in mind before reading.

  If you recognise something of yourself in Gypsy, there’s a chance you may have OCD. Fortunately, there are a lot of resources online to help with this. I’d recommend taking a look at https://iocdf.org (the International OCD Foundation).

  PART FIVE – KERIN

  I

  Two things fill the mind with ever-increasing wonder and awe, the more often and the more intensely the mind of thought is drawn to them: the starry heavens above me and the moral law within me.

  – Immanuel Kant, Critique of Practical Reason

  “Ah, will you look at that? The shining heavens are my oyster, as I dine in the restaurant of the celestial mind.”

  Annabelle Grace, refusing to see her enthusiasm dulled by the bulky spacesuit she wore, nor even by basic safety protocols, swung her arms expansively above her head. The movement caused her feet to slip loose from the rungs which lined the Bona Dea’s hull, and she drifted several inches away before chief technician Lorna Costa reached across and yanked her back into place.

  “Quit with the pseudo-profundities and concentrate,” she snapped. “Do you want to become the galaxy’s newest and dullest astronomical body?”

  “I happen to be tethered,” returned Annie, with good humour. “And I happen to have some kick-ass emergency jets on my back. You’re right, though – my body is pretty astronomical.”

  “Emergency means emergency. Not to be relied upon. Space isn’t a playground, we’re out here to work. Get your head back on the job.”

  “Fine, fine. But we’re pretty much finished, right?”

  “Not necessarily.” Costa ran a hand over the titanium alloy plate she’d just welded in place. “Doria, how are we looking?”

  “Back in the safe zone,” came the reply over their suit speakers. Doria al-Hawsawi, First Officer of the Bona Dea, was monitoring their progress from the ship’s Hub, situated somewhere behind the section of fatigued metal they were shoring up. She, too, would be tethered, the ship’s artificial gravity having been temporarily switched off – it was a needless complication when EVA work was under way.

  “How far above the recommended lower bound are we?”

  “Nearly two percent.”

  “Since we’re out here, we may as well top it up to five percent,” said Costa.

  “If you’d like.”

  Costa snorted. “‘Like’ isn’t the word, but safety first. Hand me another plate, Annie. Make this one a 22E.”

  “Right.” After making sure she had a firm grip on the rungs with her right hand, Annie used her left to work one of the small and gently curving 22Es from its protective casing. Her movements were slow and careful – she knew when to cut out the tomfoolery. Costa had her laser torch in hand, and accidents were very much on the cards if they got careless.

  “Yes, just there, hold it in place,” ordered Costa. “Hopefully this won’t take long.”

  “Don’t you like EVA?” asked Annie. “One of the main attractions of the job for me.”

  “Hate it.”

  That explained Costa’s edginess – Annie’s best attempts to lightened the mood had all fallen flat. She considered her crewmate: scowl clearly visible through the clear polycarbonate of her helmet, face shining with sweat as she began to bond the new plate in place with brief, precise bursts from the torch.

  “Guess it’s not for everyone. Is it the zero-gravity? Or do you not like heights?”

  “Heights?” Costa managed to shake her head derisively without taking her eyes off the hull. “I swear, Annie, I don’t know how you ever find your way outta bed sometimes, never mind outer space. Fear of heights? There are no heights. Not out here. If you fall, you keep falling. That’s what freaks me out.”

  “Guess it is a bit weird when you put it like that,” mused Annie, unoffended. “Me, I see space as being like a big black marble, mebbe a thousand miles wide, with stars painted on the inside and with us sitting smack-bang in the middle of it. Maybe my brain has to picture it that way, because the reality would drive me nuts.”

  “Maybe. That’s no use for me though – I’ve never had much imagination. I see what’s real.” She completed a circuit with the laser torch. “Okay, I can finish up by myself. Feel free to head back inside.”

  “I’ll wait for you.” If Costa was feeling the pressure that badly, Annie didn’t want to leave her alone. She worked her way back along the nose of the ship to give the other woman some space, and began checking that the equipment and supplies they hadn’t used were properly secured. The suit’s interior readouts, situated by her right cheek, showed a heart rate of seventy-three. That was pleasing – barely above her normal rate. The suit itself was functioning almost perfectly, though there was a slight fogging on the inside of her helmet, which shouldn’t happen. A case of the dehumidifier not pulling its weight? She’d have to take a look at it later.

  If she got time.

  Her gaze moved outwards, to the starscape surrounding them. So many more points of light out here than were visible through Earth’s atmosphere: static, untwinkling, daubed with pastel colours. She’d been telling the truth – she really did instinctively perceive the heavens as a continuous curving surface, sweeping majestically overhead and underfoot. Even that image was mind-boggling enough, but the truth? That was nearly unfathomable. Annie forced herself to see that pairs of stars who looked like neighbours to the naked eye might be a hundred light years apart, while the black void of space stretched past them, on, on, on …

  Yeah, thought Annie. That is kinda unnerving.

  Another glance at her vitals. Heart rate up to seventy-eight. Guess there’s some things our fragile human brains just aren’t meant to think about.

  “Which one of you is our sun?” she asked, seeking to distract herself. “You, there, shining in the middle of the crowd? Or you, maybe, the little speck keeping his own company.”

  “You’re pointing the wrong way,” said Costa helpfully. “Sol is somewhere to your right, back past aft and down a bit.”

  “Been keeping tabs on it, huh?” Annie manoeuvred herself to look in the right direction. “Feels closer when we’re out here. Just think, if I had a strong enough telescope, and if the skies are clear over Oklahoma, there’d be nothing to stop me seeing my house from here.”

  Gentle laughter filtered through her suit’s radio. “That depends on whether your house is 20,000 years old,” said al-Hawsawi. “We’ve taken short-cuts to get out this far, but light has to go the long way around. Your super-telescope might catch sight of a woolly mammoth or two though.”

  “Whoa … imagine! It’d be worth coming out here just to see that.” Annie gazed in awe at the beautiful vista. So many wonders hidden in plain sight out here. Even if I could jump from star to star in the blink of an eye, I’d never see them all.

  Nothing in all the galaxy beats home, though.

  “Come on, shift it! What are you waiting for?” Annie abruptly realised that Costa had finished her repairs and was heading back to the airlock.

  “Sorry, just thinking about Earth. We’re gonna get back there, you know.” Annie felt irrationally certain of this. “Just a few more pit stops, then home.”

  But Costa was silent as she drifted by, her face turned from the sta
rlight.

  * * *

  The two-woman EVA team were soon back inside; al-Hawsawi, after giving the crew appropriate notice, slowly restored the gravity to Earth levels.

  In the Medical Bay, Captain Miriam Hunter was relieved to get her feet back on the ground. It wasn’t the lack of gravity that had bothered her, so much as not being in the Hub while the repair work took place. Micro-managing had been a vice she’d indulged in more than once during her career; she knew how it could weaken trust levels between superiors and subordinates, and had therefore allowed the experienced al-Hawsawi to co-ordinate the routine operation without her.

  “Well, Miriam, your self-control gets an A+ grade,” said Dr. Wanda Little breezily. The petite woman smiled as she applied a clip to her hair – the chestnut brown locks had become disordered with no gravity to hold them in place. “You resisted the urge to check up on the Hub. Quite a few longing looks cast in that direction, though …”

  “Guilty as charged,” smiled Hunter. “And I’m glad to get at least one passing grade today. Any other tortures you want to put me through?” Eager to distract herself from the repairs, she had arranged for a pelvic exam and general physical check-up, both of which were somewhat overdue. They had completed the bulk of the tests before having to pause and secure any breakables, themselves included.

  “Just going to take a look at your heart rate after a little light exercise. Step thisaway, if you please.” Little led her over to a treadmill, on which Hunter was soon walking at a brisk pace. There was no need for further equipment; the wristband she wore was always monitoring her vitals, and the results were on permanent display. Twenty feet away, a wall of the Medical Bay was given over to a series of twenty-one screens, one for each crew member. Glancing over, Hunter could just about make out her own readings, though the screen was partly obscured by the ship’s other doctor, Iris Jones. The bespectacled young woman stood, hands clasped behind her back, scrutinising the readouts for Annie Grace and Lorna Costa in silence.

  Hunter let her eyes wander along the wall of monitors, and frowned at what she saw.

  Following her gaze, Little nodded in sympathy. “Six blank screens,” she whispered.

  “Yes.” Six screens that would never light up again. One for each woman she’d lost. All very well chiding myself for micromanagement, but I let my team go into danger without me back on Gatari …

  “Hopefully Kerin won’t be so deadly,” she said aloud.

  “I’m sure it won’t. Three more jumps to get there?”

  “That’s the plan. About 24 hours until the next one, barring the unexpected.”

  “The KSD’s an amazing little toy, isn’t it?” said Little casually.

  “It sure is.”

  “Which dome was it that overloaded on our last jump?”

  Hunter glanced down at Little. The doctor was leaning an elbow on the treadmill’s control panel, her gaze fixed on Iris, her features neutral.

  The two of them went back a long way, having met during a class on the biology of space travel some thirty years ago. They were somewhere between friends and acquaintances; Hunter enjoyed Little’s positive outlook, but did find her habit of springing impromptu Psych tests on people quite irritating. This particular question was plainly chosen to see how well she was handling their latest setback.

  “The eastern one,” she replied, then added flippantly, “two down, three to go.”

  “It had been so long since the northern dome failed, I was beginning to think that maybe the rest were going to last the full course.”

  “I wasn’t. Annie’s magic touch coaxed out a couple more KSD jumps than we might have gotten otherwise, but she was always clear on what was going to happen. The remaining domes will turn black, one by one. After that, no more jumping – wherever we are, we stay, barring divine intervention. I’ve accepted the reality of our situation.”

  Little smiled, warmly enough that Hunter regretted her brief annoyance. “And you’re handling it beautifully, Miriam. Inspirationally! You’ve unified the crew behind you.”

  The Captain smiled back, and wiped at her brow, glistening now with perspiration. Somewhat excessive praise, but a well-intentioned effort to boost her morale. “Thanks, nice to know I haven’t snapped under the pressure. How about letting me off this contraption as a reward?”

  “Consider it done.” A couple of taps on the control board, and the belt eased to a halt. “Iris will have your summary pretty soonish. Is there anything else on your mind? You know I’ll always lend an ear.”

  Hunter seated herself, a trifle disappointed at how quickly she’d gotten out of breath. “To be honest, my thoughts have taken a rather philosophical turn lately. We’ve done our best to avoid unnecessary meddling since we arrived here. No arms trading, no upsetting the balance of power. But our visit will have consequences, won’t it? We’re the first true alien species these people have seen. The simple fact of our existence must inevitably lead to significant cultural changes, and there’s no way to predict whether they’ll be good or bad.”

  “I think we could probably say that of any action, or any inaction for that matter. The butterfly effect. If you try to foresee every possibility then you really will snap.”

  Hunter frowned. “Point taken, but you don’t need to use too much imagination to see how us stirring up Vitana may make trouble for these people. And look at us now, going from world to world, gathering their most prized cultural treasures.”

  “To contact the only being that might get us home.”

  “Chitana, yes. The Matan’s ‘Greater God’. What if it turns out to be hostile? It could wipe out every Matan in the galaxy.”

  Little shrugged theatrically. “What if it turns out to be benevolent? It could cure every disease in the galaxy, stop every war.”

  Hunter laughed at that. “‘Stop speculating about what you can’t control’ is the message I’m getting here.”

  “Oh, speculating is perfectly healthy, it’s the worrying you need to avoid.”

  “Duly noted.” Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Hunter glanced up to see Iris approaching, bearing a handpad. “Wanda, you don’t need to worry about me – these little philosophical musings are really just mental exercises to distract me. Our course is set. We collect the rest of Vitana’s fragments, we join them together, then we take stock and see what sort of shape we’re in. Which leads us back nicely to the purpose of my visit. What shape am I in?”

  Iris didn’t respond directly, instead passing the pad over to Little. “Grace and Costa are both safely back aboard,” she reported.

  “Good, good,” said Little absently, her eyes rapidly scanning the results of the captain’s physical exam. “Well, Miriam. I’d say you’re in pretty good shape for a 62-year-old. Cardio just now was above average for your age – your heart and lungs are in good shape. Pelvic exam was clean, no troubles there. No signs of osteoporosis, arthritis, etcetera. No kidney problems, bladder problems. Reflexes and memory are both excellent for your age.”

  “The phrase ‘for your age’ seems to be cropping up rather a lot.”

  Little laughed. “Honestly, you’re not that different from the 57-year-old Miriam who set off on this expedition, except in one area…”

  “Eyesight.” Hunter grimaced slightly. She’d been hoping her recent fuzziness of vision had been caused by lack of sleep, but had known better in her heart.

  “Yes, your myopia’s back for round 2, I’m afraid. A little over fourteen years since your laser surgery, isn’t it? That’s not so bad.”

  “Any chance of staving it off the same way again?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it, for two reasons. Firstly, there’s a serious risk to your vision if we remove any more corneal tissue. Secondly, we don’t have the equipment aboard. We do probably have the raw material to make what we’d need, and our technicians have the skill to put it together…”

  Hunter shook her head decisively. “No, they’ve got more important things to
do than attend to my vanity.” She sighed. “Funny, isn’t it? Humans have mastered space, but we’ve never done the same with time. It doesn’t matter how far we go, the mundane indignities of age are still waiting for us, our clocks still ticking even half a galaxy away.”

  “Oh, ‘indignities’ might be a little harsh, Miriam. I’m sure we can set you up with a very sophisticated pair of glasses. Horn-rimmed, perhaps? The schoolmarm look?”

  “Just plain black frames will be fine. Guess I’ll be joining you, Iris. Any advice on the art of spectacle-wearing?”

  Iris, who had been watching the conversation in silence, seemed momentarily taken aback by the question. She touched her spectacles tentatively, as though she had forgotten that they were there.

  “No advice.”

  “Pretty rare to see young people wearing them. Was laser surgery impossible for you?”

  The doctor’s eyes flicked upwards in recollection. “I could have had it. I chose not to. Spectacles can lend an air of sophistication that go well with the practice of medicine, or at least that’s what I thought. It was pure self-indulgence.”

  Hunter studied the young woman thoughtfully. “There’s nothing wrong with a little affectation here and there.”

  “And if my glasses broke during surgery, and I lost a patient due to my ‘affectation’? No, this is unacceptable. I’ll undergo the procedure, first chance I get.” Frowning, Iris turned and walked back to the crew monitors.

  “Is she alright?” asked Hunter.

  “A little withdrawn this past year, but she’s always been quiet.”

  “I’ve noticed that she’s taken to buttoning her collar all the way up to the top. Hiding the scar she picked up on Gatari.”

  “Oh, that’s perfectly natural. Who’d want to be reminded of a near-death experience?”

  “Fair enough. It’s hard for me to judge how psychologically robust the crew is, sometimes, because they act differently when I’m around. You see them all pretty regularly. How’s our general esprit de corps?” Seeing Little hesitating, Hunter added. “Be honest, Wanda.”