Author's Note: Thanks for reviewing! And remember: A crazy person simply sees what no one else has or can. So does a genius, only a genius reaches for what they see.

Stones and Ripples

"Amara, I've spoken with Vice Admiral Harris, and he's agreed to let you stay in my quarters aboard the Belkadan base. Also, there's a scientist there mapping the Unknown Regions. You should talk to him about Earth. I'll meet you there."

The miniature Jonathan fizzled and disappeared. Amara pushed the 'play' button again. She let her head slump onto the pillow and placed the disk beside her so that the image's eyes looked straight into her own. Her smile slipped into a grimace, and she closed her eyes against the tears. The sun had crested Belkadan hours ago, staring through the thin window at her where she still lay between the stiff white sheets of Jonathan's bed. "…I'll meet you there." The recording ended.

This is stupid, Amara thought for the umpteenth time, but when she moved to shove the small, black disk beneath her pillow, her finger pushed 'play' instead. But this time, when holo-Jonathan once again sprung up beside her, she was able to push him away and sit up. She pressed icy fingers to her burning eyes, wiping away a few lingering tears. For goodness sake, he isn't dead. With an irritated shake of her head, she thrust off the bedcovers and got out of bed.

"Ripples…sometimes the ripples make the stones, yes, yes… What did you say your name was?"

"Amara."

"Steadfast, immortal. Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you your name?"

But thankfully Professor J'jalad Reach didn't wait for an answer. One of the dozen star charts (he insisted upon flimsiplast maps) littering his desk caught his attention. With one long, knobby finger, he drew invisible lines from one system to another, mumbling about stone-making ripples. In his nest of papers, bobbing his head slightly, the doctor brought to mind a bald, half-mad stork. His eyes were dark and glassy like wet black marbles; his nose looked long and sharp enough to slice the star chart he was bent double over, and his jaundice-yellow skin had the thin, stretched appearance of someone who habitually forgets to eat.

Amara considered leaving—she'd already taken a step back—surely this couldn't be the scientist Jonathan had mentioned? This old man dancing on the rim of the loony bin?

"Please, take a seat," Prof. Reach gestured to the spindly chair before his desk without looking up, "Yes, yes—heaven knows I have all I need of seats."

Well, I guess everyone needs a daily dose of crazy, Amara thought as she sank into the proffered chair. It wobbled ominously beneath her—its back left leg was a third shorter than the others, so she had to lean forward to keep from toppling over. When she was situated, the mad scientist squinted at her through his right eye.

"And you are…?"

"Amara."

"Yes," he said, "yes." He went back to his charts; his hands scuttled across the sheets like spiders weaving intricate webs. "Pushing, always pushing, until one slides beneath the other. No…no, until one slides into the other. Ripples make stones, not the other way around." Amara watched him as he pressed the sides of his hands together, attempting to illustrate the strange plate tectonics he was describing. His skeletal body shook with the effort. But one hand always slipped below the other instead of fusing. After a few unsuccessful tries, his hands fell to the table and lay still. "Everyone wants something—though few know what they really want, yes, yes. What do you want, Immortal?"

Not quite sure Professor Reach was addressing her, Amara hesitated and, when he said nothing further, she answered. "I…" She swallowed. I want Jonathan to be safe. The professor stared at his exhausted hands. "I want to find my home planet."

"Did you lose it?"

"What? No."

"Oh—then it was stolen?"

"No!" Amara said, flustered.

The mad scientist raised his head; his bushy white eyebrows (the only hair on his body) arched. "My dear, you seem a bit confused," he said kindly, "Your planet lost you, not the other way around." Amara wondered if her mouth was hanging open—she clenched her teeth in case it was. Reach continued: "Often, when one is lost, it's best to remain where one is. That way, whoever lost you, can find you, yes, yes?" He was trying to be funny, but she didn't laugh. His watery, vacant eyes once again rested on his spidery hands. "Then again, perhaps you weren't lost. You were released."

Amara's mind was buzzing. She imagined Earth going up to the lost and found at the mall and inquiring whether someone had dropped off a wayward Earthling. ("Pardon me, sir, but has anyone turned in an Amara Marie Richards? I seem to have misplaced her.") She saw Earth releasing her like a bird, hands opening to release her wings. ("If you love something, let it go…") Or perhaps I'm the dove, searching for an olive branch. But mostly she was thinking how utterly nuts the man sitting in front of her was. I've had enough. But as she moved to stand she leaned backward, and the chair rocked back, dumping her on the floor.

Professor J'jalad Reach stood then and looked down at where she sat rubbing the back of her head. His eyes were sharp and clear. They held her still. "Steadfast… Few people know what they truly want. Fewer are their names. Are you?" He stepped around the desk, never taking his eyes off her. Memories pricked the back of Amara's skull, bad memories. Her right hand curled into a fist; her legs tensed, ready to run. "I've heard about you—I've wondered, like others, where you come from, wondered…." He stopped an arm's length away, and smiled, a warm, grandfatherly smile. He offered her his hand. "What is the name of your planet, Amara Immortal?"

Amara told herself to breath, and took his hand; it was dry and cool, like polished wood. He helped her to her feet. "Earth," she replied, breathless.

Reach's eyes grew glassy again. "Where?" His fingers twitched.

"I think on one of the galaxy's arms."

He stared at her, through her as if the secrets stars whisper only to each other were etched into her bones. Then he whisked back to his desk and rifled through the maps until he found one, mostly blank, depicting the Unknown Regions. Recently drawn concentric circles radiated out from the galaxy's center like ripples and collided with more ripples invading the Unknown Regions from somewhere off the map. He muttered to himself: "Ripples make the stones, yes, yes. And where ripples meet…there are new stones."

Amara figured she'd get used to him, even if she never understood a word he said.

Walking back to her room, Amara stumbled upon the young second lieutenant and the tattooed woman she'd seen in the hangar. The woman's dark locks were disheveled, and she groaned into the man's mouth as he pressed her against the cool, gray wall. The woman untucked his shirt slid one blue-scrolled hand beneath it, but he pulled back. "I can't…" he began and gasped when the woman's hand roved lower. "I have to…"

"That squid, Cracknar, can wait—come on, Rick. How often do you get to play hooky with a stunning and willing young woman?" she whispered against his neck.

"Syri," Rick pleaded, trying to step back, but he didn't stand a chance. Syri's plum-purple lips crashed onto his.

Amara flushed and turned back the way she had come. Seems like a good day to take the long route. She sincerely hoped she wouldn't run into the couple again. Seeing them together—Amara shook her head and willed the blush from her cheeks. I'm not jealous.

Busy not being seen (and not being jealous) as she snuck away, Amara didn't notice the pair of pupil-less, indigo eyes that followed her around the corner.