Starborne (45 page)

There is more to see. There is so much to see th
at Noelle is dazzled and dazed by it all, here in this universe of angels, this infinity of go
d
like beings, beings who were old when the sky was young, beings who have seen the before and will see the after. After a time she can absorb nothing more of it.
Her guide seems to comprehend that; for the tour is brought to an end, and Noelle returns to the bosom of her own angel, and glides downward and inward, to that hidden zone of serenity that lies beneath the roiling tongues of fire, and there she rests, th
e
re she sleeps.

Sleeps. Sleeps.

***

“
How long has she been in the coma now?”
the year-captain asks. “
Is it a week yet?”

“
This is the eighth day,”
Leon says.

“
The eighth day. Do you think she
’
ll come out of it at all?”

Leon shrugs. “
How can I say? What do I
know? Am I an expert on things of this sort? Is anybody?”

“
I understand,”
says the year-captain softly.

She has been wandering in delirium most of the time since losing consciousness. Troubled, fearful, the year-captain has kept a somber vigil at her bedsi
de, losing track of the time himself as the days slide by and there is no change in her condition.

Sometimes it seems to him that she is rising toward consciousness; intelligible words, even whole sentences, bubble dreamily from her lips. The dreaming Noel
le talks of light, of a brilliant unbearable white glow, of arcs of energy, of intense solar eruptions. A star holds me, she mu
t
ters. She tells him that she has been conversing with a star.

How poetic, the year-captain thinks: what a lovely metaphor. Co
n
ve
rsing with a star.

A metaphor for
what
, 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 ve
n
ture into the gray nothingne
ss 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 befo
re. 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 whil
e 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 ligh
t
ning-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 astonis
hing.

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 ho
stile 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, an
angel
?”

“
Not really, no. That
’
s just a word,
‘
angel.
’
It wasn
’
t an angel, I
su
p
pose, 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 a
live and focused on him.

She says, “
It was more like the energy creatures that Heinz was tal
k
ing 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 a
t 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 hi
m
self.

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

She la
ughs. “
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 re-entered 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 rea
lm 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 ey
e
s 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, th
a
t 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?”

“
All of them. They sit out here and talk to each other. We were mo
v
ing between them, out here in the middle of the galaxy, and their co
n
versations drowned out my link with Yvonne. That was the interference, year-captain. It was the stars, talking to each other out here. Filling my wavelength, leaving me no room to get thr
ough to Yvonne.”

This conversation has taken on for him the texture of a dream.

Quietly he says, “
Why wasn
’
t our sun overriding you and Yvonne while you were still back on Earth?”

She shrugs. “
It isn
’
t old enough. I saw it
—
the angel took me to see it. Our
sun. It
’
s like a child, a little child playing a game of hoops in a playground. It takes
—
I don
’
t know, many billions of years
—
until they
’
re mature, until they can talk to each other on the main frequency. Our sun just isn
’
t old enough, year-captain. None
o
f the stars close to Earth is old enough. But out here
—”

“
Are you in contact with it now?”

“
Yes. With it and with many others. And with Yvonne.”

Madness. Madness.

“
Yvonne too?”
he asks.

“
She
’
s back in the link with me. She
’
s in the circuit.”
Noelle looks s
traight into his eyes. “
I can bring others into the circuit. I could bring you in, year-captain.”

“
Me?”

“
You. Would you like to touch a star with your mind?”

“
What will happen to me? Will it harm me?”

“
Did it harm me, year-captain?”

“
Will I still be me, af
terward?”

“
Am I still me, year-captain?”

He is silent for a long time.

Then in a dull strange voice he says, “
I
’
m afraid, Noelle.”

“
No. You
’
ve never been afraid of anything.”

“
I
’
m afraid now. Afraid of this.”

“
No. No.”

“
I am.”

“
Open to me. Try. See what ha
ppens.”

“
And if I don
’
t like it?”

“
You will. You will. Have faith, year-captain. You had faith in something when you joined this expedition, didn
’
t you? You must have. Have faith now. Tell me: do you believe any of what I
’
ve been saying to you since I awak
ened?”

He hesitates.

“
Do you?”

“
Yes,”
he says, recklessly.

“
Then have faith in me. Touch a star, year-captain.”

He puts his hand on hers. “
Go ahead,”
he says, and his soul becomes a solarium.

***

Afterward, with the solar pulsations still reverberating in the mirrors of his mind, with blue-white sparks leaping in his synapses, he says, “
What about the others?”

“
I
’
ll bring them in too.”

The year-captain, for all the changes that he has undergone in
these last few moments, nevertheless feels a sudden surprising flicker of m
o
mentary petty resentment. He does not want to share with all of them the thing that he has attained with Noelle. She is his; he is hers. But in the instant that he conceives his re
sentment he realizes the absurdity of it, and he abolishes it. Yvonne is here too. He can feel her, Noelle
’
s other half. Earth-sister, star-sister, both together once more, and he is with them. The others should join them also. Yes. Yes.
Let them in
.

“
Take
my hand,”
Noelle says.

They reach out together. Their mind moves through the ship and one by one it finds and touches the other voyagers. Sieglinde is the first they encounter, blustery recalcitrant Sieglinde; and she seems to understand at once, and yiel
ds. Then Zena; then Leila; then Elizabeth, with a cry of joy. Heinz. He dives in without hesitation. Paco, after just a moment of uncertainty, gives himself to it in the deepest gladness and relief. Leon. Roy. On and on through the ship. One after another,
and the more of them that are in it, the more swiftly the rest accede. The year-captain feels Noelle surging in tandem with him as the union grows, feels Yvonne, feels greater presences, luminous, ancient. All are joined. The whole ship is one. The words
of the final verses of the ancient Norse poem that he once knew so well, that dark saga of the Twilight of the Gods, roll through his mind.
Now do I see the earth anew rise all green from the waves again.…
In wondrous beauty once again shall the golden tabl
es stand mid the grass.…