Sea of Stars – Chapter 9 – Darkness


Author's Note: I wanted to give a sincere thank you to those of you that sent emails and posted reviews encouraging me to continue with "Sea of Stars". My apologies for the long hiatus! I had a job that was sucking the life from my soul! The support has been inspiring and greatly appreciated! I will try not to have such a gap between chapters! Now, with no further delay… Chapter 9!


The gnarled iron of a once-tortured soul is as beautiful as it is grotesque; it twists your heart in painful ways as you come to both love and fear the human wrought by pain.

~ A. M. M. Taylor


Her hair was the color of dried wheat, and it moved with the whim of a warm breeze. Her eyes resembled the cloudless sky around them. The woman smiled, raising him high, over her head. He balanced with the movement, shifting, and hesitantly raising his wings to a sudden gust of wind, but his strong talons held fast to her leather-bound forearm. His skin tingled with the subtle vibration of his feathers. He didn't understand it, but it felt good!

She lowered her arm and he felt the pressure of lift beneath his wings. He was built for this, like the massive, ebony jolly roger, which buffeted aloft from the aft of the Arcadia. He was built to rise with the thermals, and descend at his will. A silent, elusive predator, made to strike with autonomy.

With one, swift motion, his host suddenly thrust him into the open sky. He rode the momentum and released his grip with perfect timing. He spread his massive wings to their full, glorious length. They caught the wind...

Something hit him… It hit him hard! The blow vibrated through his hollow bones! His delicate frame tumbled backwards with the massive shock of it. The woman's scream, a piercing echo at first, quickly weakened and faded, as the bright sky and the green earth spun into a pitiless blackness.

It burned. As the shock and the numbness of the impact diminished, the burning amplified, searing into his tired flesh like cauterizing fire.

He stared at his hands. They seemed so foreign now; unfamiliar, as they held his body suspended on his knees. Fingers spread wide beneath him on a floor of swirling, black ashes.

Droplets of rich, crimson liquid fell, settling in finite circles beneath him. They slowly began to mingle together in the black. His eye followed the thick, oozing fluid, as it sluggishly seeped down the long, wooden shaft protruding from his chest.

An arrow. A simple, archaic weapon. A profound message.

It was not a fatal blow. Not even in his other, loftier form. The assault wasn't meant to end him. It was a message. A message, which spoke volumes.

There would be no peace for him. It would elude him, and dance just beyond his grasp, like a butterfly on the wind… even in his dreams.

"This wasn't part of the contract, Harlock!" A familiar voice rumbled from the darkness around him. The words entwined with a menacing hiss. The voice seemed to vibrate through the ground beneath his hands. It trembled through his bones and settled deep into his chest, like thunder on Earth.

"Why do you care?" Harlock growled, as he slowly leaned back on his haunches. Pain stabbed at him fitfully with each tiny vacillation of muscle.

"Why do you?" The sinister hiss was pronounced, but laced with guttural rumbling. "You've commanded legions to destroy civilizations that would rise against the governance of your precious Earth. Civilizations made of people like her… From this perspective, she's simply another speck of dust!"

"Then she shouldn't matter to you!" Harlock breathed against the pressure of the wound, feeling the darkness writhing around him, like the scaly, slithering body of a great beast. "Just one soul…" he grimaced against the pain. "When I've given you thousands!"

"But she does matter…" The darkness seemed to gather closer, inching into the vacant space between them. Yet, it seemed to hover cautiously beyond his reach.

"Why?" Harlock uttered the question to provoke the blackness. A man who had lost everything of consequence had nothing to fear.

"Because she belongs to me!" The ashy darkness shouted, the form of it twisting sharply with the words. Its voice echoed through a vastness beyond the black, beyond what could be seen or understood. Harlock had the sense there was no end to the cavernous emptiness around them. "You should have taken her life when she asked it of you! You denied her mercy!"

"You don't believe in mercy…" Harlock felt blood rising in his throat. He tried to spit out the bitter taste of it. "But, that's not why she bothers you," Harlock said calmly, even as the pain and the pressure in his chest gripped him once more… Deep, throbbing... relentless. He clenched his jaw, and swallowed the blood. This creature would not gain satisfaction from his weakness.

"She's a distraction! She takes your attention away from more important work! My work!"

It was hard to breathe. Harlock leaned forward again, propping himself with one hand, his grip tightening around the burning flesh of the wound with the other. He needed to hear his own voice. "The falcon cannot hear the falconer…" he whispered as he drew shallow, labored breaths. He needed to know, though his breath could be stolen, his words were still his. "Things fall apart…"

"What nonsense is this?" the darkness mused. "What is this you say?"

Harlock lifted his head and spoke his next words to the darkness. "The center cannot hold…"

"You're a fool!" The darkness lashed at him. Sliced his cheek.

Harlock's stomach violently rejected what he had swallowed. He vomited black fluid. It splattered onto the floor at his knees. Unfazed, he raised his head once more and stared defiantly into the black. "Things change," he rasped softly.

"And you think you will change them?" The creature scoffed. "You think you have a choice?" It swirled around him like rage. It was spooling, building in strength and fury.

Harlock's cloak buffeted and billowed in the hot rush of air, pulling hard at his weary shoulders. Yet, he remained steadfast. His jaw clenched, his eye locked on some indiscriminate point in the swirling ash. "I always have a choice," he replied with a confident coolness that could draw a shudder from any normal, living thing. However, this was no normal, living thing.

"You interfered!" the darkness continued. The air itself seemed to suddenly grow still. It was deathly quiet for one long, breathless moment. Finally, words came forth; hot, burning breath against Harlock's face. "Do you believe she's something special? Do you believe she is somehow… important?"

"Do you?" Harlock asked, because he had spared lives before without drawing such attention.

"What is it about her? Tell me! Why do you care so much for this little speck of dust?" Though it seemed quite impossible, the blackness darkened. "Will she change the course of the future?" Narrow scarlet eyes appeared, peering through a receding wave of black, swirling ash. They glared, unblinking, as they drew closer to Harlock's face. "Maybe she's capable of great love? Great sacrifice? Love that inspires the masses? Love that brings change? Oh… the tiresome hope of the desperate!" Though the words were laced with sarcasm, the eyes hovered close, as if they were searching his expression for answers. "Do you think you love her? Is that it?" The heated air around Harlock was suddenly sucked away. The eyes disappeared, as if the creature turned its back to him. "Men like you are not capable of love, Harlock! That's why I chose you!"

Harlock smiled; a small, crooked upturn of the facial muscles on the left side of his face. He closed his eyes and suddenly threw his head back. Despite the stabbing pain of his chest wound and the diminishing capacity of his lungs, he laughed. Not timidly, as one might expect in the presence of overwhelming evil. It was a boastful, hearty, lusty laugh, starkly signifying a lack of mortal fear. He stopped, just long enough to level an equally menacing glare at the creature. "You're afraid," he said, with a cool, calculating malice that had taken years to master.

"I fear nothing!" The scarlet eyes were upon Harlock once more. The voice rumbled, vibrating through the ground like thunder. Its hot breath filled the narrow space between them with the pungent odor of burning sulfur. "I was the creator of fear, long before men had words to describe it!"

Harlock was unmoved. "She doesn't belong to you!"

"You're right! Not now! Not like you! You should remember that!"

Harlock shook his head. His strength, his voice, was weakening, but his resolve endured. "The center cannot hold…" With the last bit of breath in his lungs, he began to laugh again. The darkness spun about him; an abrasive cyclone of black sand ripping away his clothes.

Harlock leaned back, throwing his arms open. He let the storm come. His hearty laughter drowned out the rising squall, until the burning ash stripped the flesh from his bones…

His brain recited words he remembered, as it withered in his skull. Ancient words, from a poem so old, he hardly understood its meaning. But the words lingered in his mind. Fervent, dying thoughts…

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity…

He awoke with a soft gasp, lifting his head in the same moment.

A stunning contrast: hideous darkness replaced so abruptly by the delicate light of Mimay's iridescent glow.

He realized, in his exhaustion, he had fallen asleep, seated in the ornate, wooden chair near his desk in the Captain's quarters. His perspiring palms rested atop the smooth, hand-carved skulls abutting the armrests. Mimay was seated at his feet, leaning on his knee. She looked up at him, the glassy, luminous orbs of her eyes somehow expressing profound concern.

Her cool hand was against his face. He hadn't realized there were tears in his eye, until one slipped down his face. She brushed it away with her thumb.

His throat was raw and dry. He must have been breathing hard in his sleep.

"I didn't want to wake you, but you were dreaming," she said softly. Her feathery voice was always soothing, in a delightfully haunting way.

"How long?" he asked, as he lifted his head, gathering his wits. Though his memory of the dream was sparse and fleeting, a lingering ache remained in his chest.

"Not long enough," she replied, scooping up the half-full glass of crimson wine from the desk. She offered it to him, because alcohol was a form of nourishment to the Jurin people. "You look so tired. Your aura…"

Harlock smiled as he accepted the glass. To Mimay, the wine might as well have been warm broth. He took a drink, and held the spicy liquid in his mouth for a moment, allowing it to cleanse the bitterness from his tongue. He tried to swallow it down, but the harsh dryness of his throat remained. "You're starting to sound like Doctor Zero… except for the aura…" He was surprised by the roughness of his voice. He offered the willowy creature at his knee a reassuring smile as she brushed the hair from his face. The concern in her expression never wavered.

She withdrew her hand and looked away from him, averting her mesmerizing gaze to the floor. "I'm afraid…" she whispered.

"You have nothing to fear, Mimay…"

"I'm afraid for you, Harlock!" Her words were suddenly urgent, yet her voice a gentle whisper. "There is darkness in you, and I fear I cannot save you from it!"

"I am the darkness, Mimay…" He touched her cheek with the back of his hand; a tender acknowledgement to her concern. "You can't separate me from it. We are one and the same… I am the darkness, so that others may see the light."

"Why? Why must it be you?" She grasped his outstretched hand in hers.

"Without the darkness of space, we can't see the stars… Why must you be the last of your kind? Why must those frail shoulders bear such a burden?"

She laid her head on his knee, and wrapped her arms around his tall, leather boot. "You cannot leave me… I gave my life to you… If you go to hell, I will follow you! I swear it!"

"No…" He placed his hand upon her head. The strands of her luminescent, gossamer hair were silky to his touch. He felt the persistent warmth of her glow beneath his palm. "If you have given your life to me, you will live! I command it! You are stronger than you know… You must promise me… I saved you to live…" She didn't answer him, but he sensed her desire to please him, and her silent acquiescence to his request.

The quiet between them was long, but comfortable. It was what lingered between them most, because words were so often unnecessary when two beings knew each other. They listened to the soft, slow creaking of the ancient, decorative wood which adorned the Captain's quarters. The Arcadia had a language all her own, and these common, tranquil sounds said it was time for rest.

"I wonder…"

"Yes, Mimay?"

"What it has cost you… These decisions…"

"The wrong decisions have cost me too much. The reckoning will finally be my end, but I embrace it. The right decisions have given me hope, that life endures, and it is still priceless… How can you speak of cost, when life is at stake?" He stroked the diaphanous strands of her hair. She tightened her embrace on his lower leg, her cheek still pressed to his knee. She couldn't seem to look up at him. "Please, Mimay… No more talk of darkness. Leave these fears. They aren't your burden." He knew his request was a delay of the inevitable.

She would concede. It was too hard for her to see him unhappy. She released him without meeting his eyes and rose to her knees. She reached for the old, leather-bound book on his desk; a dusty collection of historic facts from his personal collection. She pulled it toward her, because it was simply too heavy to be lifted from where she knelt on the floor. "What do your historians say?" She seemed to regard the detailed illustrations before her with curiosity. She rubbed a page between her fingers, seeming to delight in the uneven texture of handmade paper. She was mimicking a habit of his, and it made him smile.

They shared an interest in things forged by human hands. Though the need for books had died-out, more than two-thousand years ago, human artisans on remote planets still maintained the tradition of print. Jurans it seemed, had been so reliant on technology, craftsmanship was no longer a linchpin of their society.

Harlock had a weakness for useful words bound in hand-tooled leather. He found a contemplative peace in reading the printed word. It was a warmth, and a connection, which could not be duplicated by glowing letters on a handheld screen. Even turning the pages held a novelty that never seemed to grow old.

"Come!" he said aloud, in response to a polite knock at the doors to the Captain's quarters. The massive, wooden door squeaked on its brass hinges as it moved. Kei appeared, slipping her tiny frame halfway into the narrow opening. It was unusual for her to visit the Captain in his quarters, because her business with him was so rarely personal.

The Captain was an educated man, a self-educated man, in many ways. His past in the military made him a keen student of human behavior because of his need to anticipate actions and situations. Her demeanor immediately communicated a weight and importance to her visit. Her youth and inexperience left her vulnerable to subjective examination. To disguise and confound her subordinates was knowledge the Captain hoped to impart upon her during her time under his command.

"You've completed your analysis," Harlock said to her, as she slipped silently into the room, closing the door behind her.

"No," she shook her head, as she crossed the distance from the door to the head of his desk, "but I have enough to make a conclusion."

He met her eyes as she approached and noted subtle, unspoken concern. Yes, he looked awful. Yes, he felt worse than he looked, but he didn't want advice or commentary. So, he was the first to avert his eyes to her hands as she placed a computer tablet on the desk between them and spun it around with one finger to orient the image to he and Mimay.

Kei was becoming a skillful student of human behavior herself. She took the hint and launched directly into the business at hand. "We're where we should be, but not when we should be." Kei leaned on one straightened arm and manipulated the graphics with the elegant touch of her fingers. "The final data purge for the Mars station was triggered by a sudden event, which led to its structural collapse. The data purge was dated March 23rd, 2202..."

"The 'event'," Harlock stated, knowingly interrupting her train of thought.

"Sir?" She looked at him, then glanced at Mimay.

"The event. What was it?"

"Undetermined. Subsequent investigations in historical records were also inconclusive." She manipulated the graphics on the screen with her fingers, quickly recalling a labeled schematic of the station. "Diagnostic data indicated a power drain from all systems, simultaneously…"

"All systems? Even the redundancies?"

"Everything! Simultaneously!" Kei replied. She drilled down on the schematic, until she found an outline of the accident report. "Life support, security, navigation, communication; the list goes on! The structural failure and the explosive decompression which followed were the result of a sudden, massive power surge. It burned through the entire electrical infrastructure and triggered a meltdown of the power core. However, the actual cause of the initial power drain remains a mystery. We could assume the power surge was an overcompensation by recovery protocols, but again, the data is inconclusive."

Kei gave him a moment to consider the information. When he didn't comment, she continued. "The time jump, Sir," she pointed to the date in glowing letters on the screen. "Why now? Why here?"

Rarely did he feel obligated to reply, even when he did have an answer. In this case, he didn't have one, but the lack of it might be considered a weakness among the crew. His silence was her answer. Like a respectful crew member, who knew the subtleties of her captain, she took note of it and moved on.

"I've started work on breaking the IN-Skip algorithm security…"

"No." Harlock said suddenly. "Leave it."

"Sir?"

He felt Mimay's eyes on him, in addition to Kei's. He knew Mimay was reading him, in her own way. Only she knew of his ability to confer privately with the central computer. Only she knew of the central computer's troubling silence since the IN-Skip.

"The answers will come," he continued. "We must give them time!"

"I don't understand, Sir!"

"You don't have to understand to believe, Kei. It's called 'faith'."

"Faith…" Kei repeated the word as she glanced at Mimay, seeming to test it on her own tongue as if it was something foreign to her. Harlock was aware it was not a concept he spoke about openly. "Faith in what?" she asked, hesitantly.

Harlock didn't answer her.

"You're not suggesting we stay here!"

"I'm saying there's a reason for here, for now. We need to understand why, before we change our situation."

The Captain knew Kei trusted him. Perhaps more than many of the other crew members. She followed his orders, even when she didn't understand them. She understood the definition of faith more than anyone. Thus, he regretted his earlier comment when he defined it for her. "Sometimes the best option is to wait and observe before we jump to action."

"Captain, there are risks with this particular decision… conflicts, repercussions, which could be serious… Theories abound on this!"

"Yes, Kei, but sometimes the answers are worth the risks. Activity will muddy the water. Understand?"

"Yes, sir…" she hesitated, stood straight, then looked down at the floor. There was something else, but it was difficult for her. "The woman you brought aboard…"

Every crew member aboard the Arcadia had a past, including the Captain. Privacy was respected. Rumors and superfluous talk regarding crew or guests was discouraged. The Captain preferred to judge each member of his crew, solely on their contributions to the Arcadia, not by what they had done before they came aboard. Kei was hardly old enough to possess a past, but she respected this unwritten rule, and followed the Captain's example.

"Go on, Kei," the Captain said gently.

"The woman… I ran her DNA profile…"

"And?"

Kei shook her head as if she dismissed the thought. "It's probably nothing…"

"Not if it bothers you, Kei. You have good instincts. Trust them."

Kei sighed. She leaned on her arm again and pulled-up the girl's electronic profile on the tablet. A small head-shot was aligned with a few, sparse paragraphs; a brief synopsis of the girl's history.

This was the measure of a life in those chaotic days, Harlock thought.

"She was a civilian medic. A good one. She saved some lives in difficult rescue operations and was recruited to supplement military medevac missions, but…" Harlock was silent, allowing her to collect her thoughts. "She wasn't listed as a casualty of the Mars base. In fact, there's no record of her assignment there… Her profile states she died in a medevac accident on Earth."

Again, the Captain felt no obligation to reply with words. His eye traced the menial, but respectful words of the girl's obituary. Jessica Yamamoto… Jessica… We now have a name, he thought. He leaned back in his chair and Kei straightened at the same moment.

"In the eyes of history, Captain, this woman is dead. She's alive because of us, and we shouldn't be here…"

She stopped suddenly, when his eye was upon her. She briefly closed her eyes and took a breath, seemingly regretful of her last words. However, the Captain spoke before she could offer penance.

"Assemble the men on the bridge," he said firmly. "It's time I told them about our situation."

"Yes, Captain," Kei replied with a respectful nod. She turned on her heel and walked to the door. The moment she grasped the ornate, brass handle, her captain spoke her name. She looked back at him.

"Don't be fearful of things you don't fully understand," he said gently. "Be curious."

"Yes, Captain," she replied softly, with another curt nod to mark her understanding.

Mimay gathered her flowing gown in her elegant hand and rose from her knees. Harlock watched her, admiring her grace as she moved. She never seemed to mind his eye on her. Yet, this time, she didn't glance playfully over her shoulder to meet his eye as she moved toward the massive, crosshatched window which made the entire back wall of the Captain's quarters. She seemed contemplative in her silence, resting a hand upon the glass as she stared out at the stars.

"There's something you haven't told me about her." Harlock said softly.

The pause between them was long, and poignant. "You haven't asked the right question."


This ship… this vessel… slipping through the vast silence of space, had a heartbeat. She could feel the vibration in the marrow of her bones. She awoke to the sound, perhaps an hour ago, surprised she hadn't noticed it before. Perhaps the noise in her had not yet been soft enough.

Jessica was drawn to it. So much so, she left the warmth of her bed for a place on the cool tiles of the floor, where she could press her hand and her ear to the wall. She listened intently, because the sound was so intrinsically comforting.

With her eyes closed, she could imagine her head against her husband's chest. His hand in her hair, holding her to him. The resonating sound of his breath in her head. The steady rhythm of his heart in her ear.

Distress had a unique signature; a slight ripple, disrupting the continuity of peace. It was a small disturbance to the steady current of energy which flowed through all things. She was sensitive to such things, and although it might have been considered a strength to others, she considered it a distracting weakness. The constant suffering of Earth's decimated population was a slowly debilitating source of stress. The immense isolation of space was a strange relief.

She rose to her feet, leaving the refuge of her own thoughts, her own wishes, because she couldn't ignore the signs, any more than she could ignore her own physical pain. She followed them through the darkness of the infirmary because she didn't need light to guide her.

There was a soft flicker in the distance, playfully emanating from the entrance of another room, which stood between her and the main entrance of the infirmary. Surely, she was being guided again. Manipulated. She padded cautiously to the threshold, cursing herself for her unyielding curiosity.


"A time jump? By accident? How does that happen?" The doctor exclaimed. "I didn't think something like that was possible!"

"It's not impossible," Yatteran replied thoughtfully. "It's just… not recommended."

"It wasn't an accident," Harlock said calmly, shifting in his position at the helm. "IN-Skip code doesn't change by itself… There's a purpose here, a reason."

"You're saying we've been guided here…" The doctor didn't hide the skepticism in his tone and the concern on his face was evident. "By whom?"

Harlock didn't answer the question. He kept his eye on the stars beyond the bridge window as he continued with words he rehearsed in his own mind before addressing the crew. "Stealth and observation is the key. We'll monitor the communication channels of the time and dig into our own archives for answers."

"So… we're staying?" Yatteran asked.

"Yes. Until our purpose reveals itself."

"Then, we have no support… No safe harbor…" the Doctor said softly.

Harlock looked at Doctor Zero. The concern on the doctor's face had not gone unnoticed. "Doctor?"

The doctor suddenly looked up at his captain. He seemed shaken from his deep thoughts. "Diaba's situation is quite critical. I was hoping to widen my selection of antibiotics and antivirals, in addition to restocking basic supplies. Diaba's fighting a particularly aggressive respiratory complication from his accident. I need to seek other interventions for him." He paused a moment, thoughtfully scratching his chin. "Perhaps this goes without saying, but if we could minimize hazards to the crew… forego any large-scale ventures which may include great risk…"

"We aren't planning any conflicts, Doctor."

"Yes, well… what you plan and what actually occurs aren't always in synch!"

Harlock gave the man a wry smile.

"We'll need to consider water harvesting," Kei added. "I suggest we assign a team to refit the purification system to handle raw, unprocessed water."

Harlock acknowledged the proposal with a nod. "Water rationing is in effect, until we find a suitable alternative for resupply. Early settlers harvested frozen water from the poles of Mars. That may be our best option for now."

"Captain," Yatteran spoke up. "Based on relevant theories concerning time travel, we should minimize any interaction with the natives, so-to-speak. Our actions could be... detrimental."

"Understood. General knowledge of history indicates this was a very vulnerable time for Earth. Earth's population was gravely decimated by interplanetary war. This is a period of recovery. They have limited resources. Limited defenses. It's unlikely they can track our movements."

"They'll be sending ships to investigate the Mars base," Kei added.

"Yes, but again, their technology is limited. They were just beginning to develop warp technology for long-distance space travel. Thus, the chances of running into the natives is extremely low. However, don't let the perceived inferiority of the technology lull you into a false sense of security. Be vigilant. Be wary. Don't be caught off-guard. Let's avoid crossing any paths until we are certain of our purpose. I ask all of you to be patient. We've been in uncertain circumstances before."

"We've already intervened," the doctor said. "What about the girl?"

Harlock glanced at Kei. She was silent.

Yatteran rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "I don't think her survival is a threat, if she is aboard the Arcadia. However, we must consider the repercussions of dropping her into a timeline which is no longer intended for her."

"What happens now?" the doctor asked.

"We focus on the basics. We stay clear of history, and we wait," Harlock replied. "The answers will come. That is all," he dismissed the small audience with a terse nod.

"Back to Mars, Captain?" Yatteran asked, as the crew dispersed.

"Set coordinates for Mars. Let's do some old-fashioned harvesting! Shall we?"

Harlock turned and walked away from the helm. He sank his weary bones into the familiar luxury of the ornate, high-backed throne at the center of the bridge. Tochiro always had a flare for the dramatic in his designs, but he never failed to consider comfort.

The Doctor approached the captain with a casual air as the crew scattered to their stations. The little man leaned into his captain's ear with his hands behind his back. "You haven't slept," he said softly, so as not to catch the ear of the curious.

"I have," Harlock countered, throwing an offended glance at the man. "Just not very well."

"You look like hell! I think you should come by the infirmary. Let me take a look at you."

The captain smiled at the little man's concern, but the adrenaline spurred by the thoughts of a new adventure pumped through his veins. He had no time to be ill. "I'm fine, Doc! Concentrate on getting Diaba back on his feet! He'll want to be a part of this!"

The Doctor nodded, not hiding his disappointment. Harlock didn't acknowledge the sudden, sharp pain in his chest until his friend turned and walked away from him. He raised his hand and pressed it into his chest, over his heart, where the piercing sensation of the arrow still lingered. The feeling would subside, eventually. It always did.


A large, semi-translucent figment of a monitor bathed the room in a cool blue hue. The image emanated from a long, glowing strip of light, bisecting a black band in the ceiling. The image was suspended above the bed in the room, where the golden-haired boy lay. It was the boy's ICU suite.

She approached the display, and recognized the attributes of a medical record. It was a history of vital signs, a list of files representing body scans, a featureless, androgynous, human figure with hotspots of interest for a medical practitioner, and a list of files for blood-analytics.

The images for the body scans opened by themselves, expanding from the small red hotspot over the figure's chest. Each image paused for a few moments before cycling to the next one. Jessica analyzed them as they presented themselves, noting a menacing, expanding mass of white in each lung. The series revealed a progressively worsening fluid-load in the plural sack, encasing the lungs.

She looked for an input device, but quickly realized the display reacted to touch. It was a glowing magnetic field suspended in the air, which responded to the motions of her hands. Useful functionality for a practitioner attempting to maintain a sterile field.

She reviewed the scans again, paying attention to the timestamps of each record. This was the distress she sensed. The fluid accumulation was unusually aggressive, but it was hardly alarming. Pneumonia, she thought. The doctor is aware of this!I've heard him talking about it! She pressed her face into her hands, then rubbed her tired eyes before taking a closer look at the boy's face.

She touched the boy's forehead, brushing a flash of sweaty, golden hair from his eyes. He was hot to the touch. It will get worse for him, before it gets better. She turned, suddenly, and walked quickly to the doorway.

"That's it?" Came a voice, seemingly out of nowhere.

Jessica halted at the threshold, freezing herself in midstride. She sighed with frustration as she settled into a sustainable stance. "So, you can talk," she said, and she slowly turned her head until she made eye contact with the translucent figment of a little man. He was wrapped to the chin, in a dusty, brown cloak. The same cloak that had led through the halls before. He appeared suddenly, while her back was turned, a wisp of cosmic dust in the air to mark his arrival.

"That's it!" He repeated, the circular glasses beneath the wide-brimmed, bullet-ridden hat flashed with the colors of the glowing monitor between them. "I give you all of that, and you just walk away?"

She turned her head away from him and leaned against the doorframe. She could just walk away. In fact, that's all she wanted to do, but something made her hesitate. Curiosity, perhaps. Stubbornness, more likely. She turned around suddenly and faced him. "The last time I followed you, I was nearly sucked into space!"

"I thought that's what you wanted!"

Jessica froze, mouth open. Her next retort, clinging to the tip of her tongue. The sarcasm of the comeback drew blood, and it surprised her. "You're too cheeky to be an A.I.," she said softly.

"You know what I am," he said.

"Yes," she nodded slowly. "I know."

"He'll die without your help!"

"You don't know that! You have a trained doctor…"

"Who's been called to the bridge!"

"Then call him back!" She raised her voice, glaring at the misty remnant of the little man as if that alone would move him to action.

He was silent. The glare of the glasses prevented her from reading his eyes, but the rim of his hat tilted down with the somber incline of his head.

She cocked her head as a sudden realization swept over her. "You can't…" She noticed the little man's body was fading slowly before her.

"I've used all my energy to reach out to you! You've seen this before! The doctor won't have time to figure it out…"

"I've already helped the boy once!" She took a step back. "If he remembers… It could start all over again!" She turned away from the little man again, determined to start out the door. If she could make it back to her room, she could curl into a ball beneath the covers, and pretend she never saw a thing. However, his words froze her at the threshold once more.

"He came to help you!"

"I didn't ask for help…" She realized her hand, resting on the doorframe, had clenched into a trembling fist.

"But you needed it!" He gave her a moment to reply, but she was bitterly silent.

She heard him take a calming intake of breath, then sigh. Curious how the dead still clung to the habits of life, she thought.

"You won't do it," he continued. "You won't turn your back on him!"

She scoffed at his words, shaking her head.

"It's not in your nature. It's never been you."

She felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes. What could he know about my nature?

"I know it's been difficult…"

"Stop…" She breathed over her shoulder, furious that her emotions outweighed her will to show strength.

"I know it seemed hopeless sometimes…"

She turned back to him, fists clenched. "Stop it!" She spit the words like venom.

"Jessica…"

"What do you want from me!" she breathed desperately.

He hesitated, shaking his head. He seemed to grasp urgently for the right words. "You were a light…" he whispered. "You were a light that shouldn't have been extinguished!"

"I don't understand," she said softly. She blinked and felt a tear slip down her cheek. When she opened her eyes again, he was gone.


Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come 'round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

"The Second Coming" – W. B. Yeats, 1919 A.D.