The Oceans between Stars Read online

  DEDICATION

  FOR ANNIE, COPILOT, ALWAYS

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Prelude

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Interlude

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Back Ad

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  PRELUDE

  2ND PLANET OF THE 28TH PLANETARY SYSTEM

  8TH SECTOR—SPIRAL GALAXY 93—

  GALACTIC SUPERCLUSTER 714

  Just over fifteen light-years from the solar system you call home, inside a small triangular dwelling whose surface shimmered like a road in midday sun, a light began to blink. The light was on a phone, or something like a phone. Picture the newest, sleekest phone you can—probably that one your friend just got; you know, the friend who always gets the newest things—only now imagine it bent into a ring and hovering just above the skin of your wrist, except that skin is the lavender color of a predawn sky, and covered in millions of tiny bristles, which are in this case grayish-black but can be other colors, too. Also, you must imagine that the phone has a sort of fluttering warmth on its underside that is synced to your pulse, while its outer surface displays no numbers or symbols but only intermittent blooms of light in wavelengths that your human eyes would not even be able to perceive. . . .

  Let’s just call it a phone.

  The wrist with the phone rested on a table, and the blinking caught the attention of its wearer. She paused from eating her cereal and watching a comedy show on a small screen. The phone sang to her in infrared light. Her eyes, which were shaped like human eyes but were sky blue where yours are white, and had black irises and gold pupils, saw the different temperatures of the light the same way that you would see colors.

  Most of the features of this being, known as a Telphon, were similar to a human’s. Her two eyes were in the same position as yours; she had one nose in the middle of her face, and two arms and two legs in the same spots as you; she walked upright and had the same number of vocal cords and ears and allergies and dreams. If you basically picture a young human girl only with the different eyes and skin and also a tight white braid of silky hair spiraling around the crown of her head—technically she had a tail too, just a small one, but let’s remember that you once had one, too—that will be fine for the moment.

  The girl’s phone was delivering an urgent message.

  The message was not good.

  The girl, whose full name was Xela-4 but who went by Xela, was about ten Earth years old. In Telphon years she was twenty-seven, but years are just revolutions around a star, and Xela’s star was quite a bit smaller than yours.

  She looked up and saw other blinking lights around the room. Her mother, sitting across the table, and her father, standing in the kitchen, were getting messages on their phones, too.

  Mom and Dad shared a look. “Turn on the TV,” said Dad.

  Mom whistled and the television rippled to life. Xela whistled off her pad. The television and the pad, the table Xela was sitting at, as well as the cereal and spoon and even the milk, were all somewhat similar to what you would have seen on Earth, as most things on Telos were. Give a planet four or five billion years to get organized, and you will often get something Earthlike. You will also often get something very different, depending on a great many variables, but in this case, Telos and Earth shared enough similarities that their life-forms had much in common. (It’s worth noting that what you will get after eight or even ten billion years can be quite different, but what was happening this autumn morning on Telos was only the latest proof that making it that long in this universe is extremely rare.)

  The television showed a live scene from the far side of the planet. Tiny sparks of light in the crimson evening sky. Millions of them, raining down from space.

  “Are those shooting stars?” asked Xela. She did not call them shooting stars, exactly. This is just an approximate translation. Even the minor differences between Telphons and humans are enough to create a language that to you would sound sort of like the chirping and clucking of large birds.

  Mom, whose name was Marnia-2, peered at the screen. “Maybe xanodites?”

  Calo-6, Xela’s dad, frowned at his phone. “The lab says the initial readings indicate metal . . . and electronic signals.”

  The view on the TV zoomed back, revealing the copper-colored ocean off the coast of Ocelia, one of Telos’s major cities. Xela stared, transfixed by the rain of golden lights nearing the planet’s surface; she thought it was lovely. Later, she would remember thinking that, and she would feel so stupid.

  “Did one of our orbiters explode?” Mom wondered.

  “They’re trying to find out,” said Dad. “They—”

  At that moment, the first of the falling embers hit the water, and there was a flash of brilliant white light. More of the objects landed and the light grew bigger, and bigger.

  “Oh no,” said Mom.

  The blast spread, ballooning into the sky and racing across the water toward the city. Churning and convulsing, a wall of fire. It hit the first glittering buildings along the shore, and Xela thought it must be a trick of the light because the buildings seemed to vaporize—

  The scene cut out. A newscaster appeared, frantic. “We’ve lost all contact with Ocelia,” she said. “Reports from the surrounding districts describe a wall of fire advancing in all directions. I’m told now that we’ve just received this satellite imagery—”

  The scene switched to a view of the far side of Telos from space. Half the planet was still lit in the rusty light of their red dwarf star, the other half in shadow. The brilliant firestorm bloomed in the dark, spreading like a spill, a perfect circle growing and growing, enveloping more and more of the planet’s surface.

  “We have to go,” said Dad softly, reading from his phone. “We have to go right now.”

  “What is it, Dad?” Xela kept staring at the expanding light.

  The newscaster reappeared. She was looking off camera, her face pale. “We what?” Now back to the camera. “Ladies and gentlemen, we—”

  The broadcast went dark.

  “What’s going on?” Xela asked.

  Mom’s hand closed around Xela’s arm. “Come on, Xela, now!”

  Her cereal bowl smashed to the floor as Mom dragged her toward the door. Xela felt her heart galloping in her chest. “But I don’t have my jacket, or my backpack, I—”

  “There’s no time!” said Dad, holding the front door open for them. He checked his phone. “They’re saying eighteen minutes.”

  “Until what?” asked Xela.

  Dad didn’t answer. He bolted past them as they stumbled down the steps and led the way across the ruby-colored lawn.

  “But you didn’t lock the door!”

  “Mica, pick up!” Mom shouted uselessly at her phone. “He’s probably not even awake yet.”

  “Call your mother!” said Dad.

  “She never has her phone on.”

  Xela struggled to keep up, Mom’s grip on her wrist burning. Mica-3 was her younger brother. He was with Nia and Niho, their grandparents. They’d taken Mica to the Telphon version of a soccer game the night before and it had run late so they’d taken him to their house to sleep over, and were go
ing to take him to school this morning.

  “Will they be okay?” Xela asked.

  “Yes,” Mom answered breathlessly. “Just keep moving, honey!”

  Xela wanted to disagree. That firestorm on the TV, the things Dad was saying: none of it sounded okay. She wanted to stop, to freeze right there in the middle of the street and scream No! She would turn and go back to her house and finish her cereal and her cartoon and go to school and hate math just like every other day.

  But she did what she was told, just like she always did, and kept running, the pristine lavender morning sky a blur through her tears.

  Later, those who survived the events of that morning on Telos named the cosmic phenomenon that destroyed their planet the Tears of Ana.

  Their great sun goddess, weeping.

  Passing her Judgment.

  In those frantic early moments, though, newscasters simply called the fiery objects falling through the sky xanodites, as Xela’s mom had. This was the Telphon word for asteroids and comets and meteors. The term came from Telphon history; many millions of years earlier, their sister planet, Xanos, had been struck and destroyed by a comet. Three enormous pieces of the planet had remained in orbit, forming a broken sphere, and much of the debris had coalesced to form Telos’s lovely multicolored rings, which were only a distant shimmer by day, but then at sunset they glittered like jeweled necklaces and by night glowed like strings of pearls. However, a few of the larger chunks of Xanos had crashed into Telos’s surface, causing massive upheaval.

  It is interesting to note that at the time, Telos had been well on its way to being colonized by a particularly crafty and very toxic species of fungus. The fungus had been firmly in control, and just beginning to have the most basic of sentient thoughts—something about the universe, and blueberries—when the xanodites rained down and drove the fungus to extinction. This had been a great development for the invertebrate worms that had managed to survive inside a few crevices of the xanodites and that would, over millions of years, evolve into the Telphons—yes, technically, the Telphons were aliens to their own planet—and a terrible development for the fungus. But such a thing is not uncommon in a universe like this one.

  In other words: these things happen.

  Of course, that’s an easy thing for us to say about some fungus, but it didn’t feel that way to Xela as she and her family raced out of their house that morning. All across the planet, people were doing the same: running for their lives.

  There were six billion Telphons when the Tears of Ana arrived.

  Only two hundred and thirty-eight survived.

  Of these few survivors, some believed that the firestorm was indeed a message from their unhappy goddess, but those who were scientifically inclined understood within the first few hours of the tragedy that the Tears were not the work of a deity, nor were they a random cosmic event that had just happened. No, what certain survivors learned from their initial analysis was that the tears had been created, and had been aimed specifically at their planet.

  Someone, somewhere, had done this on purpose.

  As Xela sprinted across her yard, then up her street, she knew that they were all in grave danger, but she would have been shocked to know how bad her odds of survival that morning really were.

  Here is what had to go right for you to be one of the two hundred and thirty-eight Telphons who survived the Tears of Ana:

  First, you had to live on the opposite side of the world from where the Tears had landed. It ended up taking the firestorm only sixteen and a half minutes to engulf the planet. A full third of the population had been asleep; they literally never knew what hit them. Another third had only enough time to either turn on the television or start to consider what they should do before being vaporized. The final third was an ocean or two away and had enough time to get out of the house and head for shelter, only it turned out that almost no place was safe. At least most of these Telphons had time to say their good-byes.

  Second, if you happened to be one of the lucky ones on the far side of the planet, you or a member of your family had to not only be employed by the military of your country—there’s no reason to get into the political history or geography of Telos at this point, as every country and city and historical site and petty squabble was about to be obliterated—but you also had to be stationed at the one particular base where the International Advanced Cosmic Studies lab was located. That this base was located on the far side of the planet in the first place was an incredible stroke of luck.

  The Telphons had a space program somewhat similar to humanity’s. They’d sent a few astronauts up into the Xanos Rings, and built telescopes to study the stars and also to keep an eye out for objects that could destroy their planet. Unfortunately, this warning system was of little use when the Tears of Ana arrived. Each of the Tears measured barely a Telphon meter long. To the telescopes, they just looked like a harmless meteor shower, and like any other planet, especially one with such significant rings, Telos was being bombarded by thousands of small meteors each day, most of which burned up in the atmosphere.

  Third, you or a member of your family had to not only be stationed at the IACS lab, you had to know about, and have clearance to enter, the top secret high-security subterranean laboratory beneath the base, where a small international team had spent many years studying a fascinating artifact: the first proof (before the Tears arrived, that is) that the Telphons were not alone in the universe.

  But even more than that had to go right: within moments of the Tears’ arrival, you had to begin running, heading directly for the elevators to that underground lab. You had to reach those elevators and use them before the power cut out, a mere nine minutes after the initial explosion that vaporized Ocelia.

  Because even if you made it to the staircase that switched back and forth down to the lab, even if you somehow navigated the crush of people trying to use that staircase, and even if you made it all the way down to the one spot from which anyone could hope to get off Telos in time . . . even then, you would have only another few minutes before the hurtling wave of atomic fire washed over everything and everyone.

  As Xela dashed across the paths of the base, a hot electric wind buffeted her back. She risked a glance over her shoulder. The rim of the sky had begun to glow white hot. Black thunderclouds reared their heads over the horizon, lightning shooting from their crowns in all directions.

  “Farther!” Dad shouted over the searing wind.

  They reached a triangular building. Just like almost every other structure on Telos, its exterior was tiled with infrared-absorbing panels that shimmered in the deep orange of the rising sun.

  They burst through metal access doors into a cool hallway. Dad wrestled to get his security badge out of his pocket, only to find that the guards at the checkpoint had abandoned their post. They sprinted down a long hallway and threw themselves into one of the three elevators.

  “I still can’t reach Mica or my parents!” said Mom.

  “Did you send them a message?” said Dad, stabbing the door-close button over and over. “We’re about to lose service.”

  “I did, I—I told them to come here as fast as they could. . . .” At the far end of the hallway, the light from outside began to darken.

  Another group crammed into the elevator and they were packed shoulder to shoulder. The doors began to hum closed. “Take the next one!” Dad called at the people rushing toward them. They shouted in protest, but the doors slid shut and the elevator whisked downward.

  Mom kept refreshing her phone until a message appeared: No signal. She started to cry.

  The elevator opened and they sprinted out into a massive cavern with glittering black walls and a high cathedral-like ceiling, a cavern that was believed to have formed when one of the giant chunks of Xanos struck Telos long ago. This turned out to be untrue. In fact, something else had made this cavern, something only a few on Telos knew about and even fewer understood, and when Xela saw it now for the first time, it mad
e her gasp:

  A huge, spherical orange crystal, as tall as a house, floating in the center of the cavern. The scientists of Telos had built a catwalk around its equator.

  Xela and her family raced toward it. Xela saw people standing on the catwalk and placing their hands against the humming surface of the crystal. As each person did, they briefly glowed and then completely vanished.

  She wanted to stop and blink and ask what exactly she had just seen, but Dad kept pulling her along, and in moments they were jostling their way toward the sphere, shoulder to shoulder with the other scientists and their families. They inched along the metal walkway that led to the circular catwalk, the huge crystal bathing them in orange light.

  “Eight minutes,” said Dad.

  Suddenly, the power went out. The elevators stopped working, and all the lights went out except for the orange glow of the crystal. There were screams and shouts, and Xela followed Mom’s gaze back over her shoulder to where people where stumbling and falling on the staircase that zigzagged down the side of the cavern, wild shadows lit only by the lights from their phones.

  “I’ve got to go back for them!” Mom shouted, trying to turn around against the crowd.

  “Marnia,” said Dad. She looked at him, and now her tears flowed freely. Xela felt a great, hulking shadow slip beneath her thoughts, like the Telphon version of a whale, but with black eyes and horrible teeth. She refused to hear it. Refused to think it: her brother, her grandparents . . .

  Dad kept pulling her toward the crystal. Pushing and nudging ahead. Telphons kept vanishing into it, two, now three at a time. Xela had no idea what was happening to them, but whatever it was must be preferable to staying here.

  What her father and mother and the other members of the team knew after decades of study and thousands of experiments was that this seemingly simple crystal was actually an incredibly complicated device that did a great many things, but its single most important function was its ability to create a wormhole through space, which beings or objects could then transit. Before today, it had never allowed a Telphon to do this, despite their many efforts, but thankfully, in this desperate moment, the crystal seemed to have changed its mind.