12
Anlyn piloted the Bern ship through the Great Rift, sliding from one galaxy to another. As she scanned the backdrop of stars ahead of her, checking out the various structures floating in the void beyond, Edison began his prepared spiel in flawless Bern. She couldn’t understand most of the individual words—her Bern in deplorable shape for a member of royalty—but she’d helped write the speech in Drenard, so she could somewhat keep up, translating in her head:
“Greetings, members of the great Bern race. We come unarmed and without malice. Please do not fire upon us. As ambassadors for the Drenard empire, we wish to communicate, nothing more. Please do not fire. We wish to speak in peace with your cultural representatives.”
Edison lowered the mic and Anlyn checked the SADAR screen, or whatever the Bern called their version of it. Seeing nothing, she peered forward, squinting at the large structures floating silently in the distance.
“Another iteration?” Edison asked.
Anlyn shook her head. “I don’t think anyone will hear you.” She spread her hands toward the view through the canopy. “Where are the ships? All the activity?”
“The prophecy contained much accuracy,” Edison said, chortling.
Anlyn didn’t laugh. She settled back into her seat and grabbed the flight controls, spinning the ship in place. “We should tell Bishar. The Circle will want to—”
She fell silent. Looking back, a solid wall of gold stood in the open slit of space. The last hole in the barrier could be seen squeezing shut, one of the armored canisters brought forward and locked into place.
Anlyn reached for the radio. “Bishar, this is Anlyn, respond.” She waited a moment for a reply. “Hello? Anyone, please answer.”
Nothing.
Her hand dropped to her lap in frustration.
Edison took the radio from her grasp and returned it to the dash. “Reveal your ruminations,” he said.
“You want to know what I think? I’m starting to wonder what we’re doing here. Where are the Bern? I don’t—we aren’t supposed to be doing this by ourselves.” Anlyn looked down at her lap. “Those two boys playing with your lance . . . what were their names—?”
“Who? You speak with adequate volume,” Edison said, “but it appears self-directed.”
“This was all a mistake. Everything. The speech, the prophecy, all those people . . .” Anlyn glanced over at Edison, then looked away. “I’m sorry, I think I really messed up this time—”
Edison reached over and squeezed her arm; he growled in her native tongue: “Love, are we more lost than when we met?”
Anlyn thought about that.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “But back then, we had at least known what galaxy we were in.”
“Ceti,” said Edison, switching back to English.
“What?” Anlyn lifted her head.
“We currently occupy the galaxy designated Ceti by the Terran federation.” He gestured to the screen ahead of him, then clacked a few buttons with his claws and the image zoomed in. “Observe. Our position is precisely determined.” He flashed his teeth.
“Like I know where the Ceti galaxy is,” Anlyn said, wiping at her face. She couldn’t tell if her love was being sweet to change the subject, or just unaware. Either way, she tried to pull herself together.
“It is situated approximately two point eight five million light years from the Local Cluster,” Edison said.
Anlyn glanced at his screen, then sat up straight and looked at her own. “How do I pull that up over here?”
Edison pointed to a button on his display. Anlyn pressed hers and tried to memorize the swirling shape of the word and the position of the key. The display of ranged targets disappeared from her screen, replaced with a standard looking chart. The names were gibberish, but she took the dotted trails for supply routes between good hyperspace jumps.
“How are you telling which galaxy we’re in? Mine just shows nearby systems.”
Edison clacked on his keys, and her screen duplicated his view. Their ship stood in the center, a blip nearly the size of what seemed to be an elliptical galaxy. Edison marked a target off to one edge, a fuzzy spiral in a cluster of several other blurry patches.
“The marker indicates home,” he said.
“You’re sure?”
He turned to her with a hurt look, then bared his teeth. “Positive.” His claws tapped on the keys, and more targets lit up, his deep voice calling out names as they flashed. “The Milky Way. Andromeda. Triangulum. The more diminutive objects in periphery represent the dwarf galaxies within the cluster. The overall pattern is immediately recognizable. The only difference is the angle of reference, which is inclined forty two degrees from normal, and askew eighteen degrees clockwise.”
Edison glanced over at her and seemed to catch the confused expres-sion on her face. He looked back to the map and held his hands out like he was clutching an invisible sphere. He swiveled both hands together and said in Drenard: “If you just rotate the map in your mind—”
“If you rotate it in your mind,” Anlyn said. “Some of us are normal.”
Edison’s teeth winked out in a sideways smile.
“Okay,” Anlyn said, wiggling to sit up straight, “So, the one we’re in, it’s called ‘Ceti?’” Anlyn tried to memorize the squiggle below their ship indicator; her brain didn’t feel quite up for the challenge. It was weird enough hearing Edison refer to galaxies with their Earth-names while speaking in Drenard. The last thing she needed was a third language thrown into the mix.
“That’s correct. And this one is labeled ‘Bern.’” He typed something, and a galaxy became highlighted in red.
“Oh, wait. I recognize that one. The shape anyway. Okay, I think I have my bearings. I’m just used to everything being centered on Drenard and right-side up.” Anlyn traced the black space around their ship’s indicator. “I wonder if the lack of lines between galaxies means we’re stuck in this one?” She shook her head. “No, of course not. There won’t be any resistance out here, no blockades and no keeps. It’s all Bern space, so there should be rifts with lots of traffic.”
“I’m confused,” Edison said. “The only way home should be through there.” He pointed at the shiny wall of plated armor ahead of them.
“It is.” Anlyn gripped the flight controls and spun the ship around to face the silent structures in the distance. “But we aren’t going home.”
She began accelerating out toward the large stations.
“We’re going to find the Bern and make first contact,” she said. “All over again. Prophecy or no prophecy, we’re here and we’re together, which makes this galaxy as good as any other.”
Edison reached over and rubbed her arm. “Agreed,” he said. “Besides, the most impossible thing we’ll ever do in all our lives has already been accomplished.”
“Which is?” Anlyn asked.
“Locating each other, of course.”