by Mary E. Lowd
An excerpt from Nexus Nine. If you’d prefer, you can start with Chapter 1, return to the previous chapter, or skip ahead.
The command deck was crowded — seemingly full of every Avioran officer onboard Nexus Nine Base, every Tri-Galactic Navy scientist, and of course, Omoleura — when Mazel launched the un-crewed probe toward Nexus Nine. The anticipation was palpable.
Aviorans whispered about the Apex and the Sky Nest — many of them seemed to believe they would soon be hearing the voice of their gods, the wisdom of the Unhatched, sent through the scientific scanners of the probe. The Tri-Galactic Navy scientists whispered less; their excitement was more straightforward and less fraught — they would learn something interesting today, regardless of what exactly the probe discovered, new knowledge is new knowledge. They had fewer hopes to be dashed and thus could wear their excitement on their sleeves, where the Aviorans had to cradle their sacred, delicate hopes like fledgling babes with untested wings, unsure yet of whether they’d ever fly.
Omoleura stood beside Mazel as they watched the explosion of colors on the central holo-viewscreen that happened as the probe entered Nexus Nine. Today, Omoleura looked — vaguely — like a bird again. As much as zhe ever did.
Complex wings folded behind zim, Omoleura strutted back and forth, impatiently. Mazel could understand the feeling. After the explosion of colors, Nexus Nine went dark again. They wouldn’t hear from the shuttle until after it had reached the other side, scanned the area, turned around, and returned through the nexus. Any signals the probe sent from the far side of the nexus would take — possibly — millions of years to return to Nexus Nine Base directly, depending on how far away the galaxy Ennea was.
Of course, if the probe didn’t survive the trip through the nexus or met an inhospitable environment on the other side, it might never return. Mazel forced herself to breath regularly, as much as she could. She kept catching herself holding her breath, but it would do no good to hold her breath waiting for the probe if it never returned.
After an interminable passage of time — twenty minutes that felt longer than some of Rheun’s entire lifetimes — the colorful lines of Nexus Nine exploded like fireworks on the central holo-screen again. And data began to pour into Mazel’s console, transmitted to the station by the probe.
The room erupted in cheers — whistling, tweeting, barking, meowing, even the doctor’s excited voice chittering, “I knew it would work! I just knew it!”
Omoleura leaned close to Mazel and said with zir cello-like voice, “What do the readings show? Can we go there?”
Mazel examined the data from every angle as quickly as she could, and it all came out the same: “Yes, the galaxy on the other side of Nexus Nine is a spiral galaxy, and not one we’ve encountered before. The nexus seems to open near the middle of one of the spiral arms — well within range of a variety of star systems with habitable planets.”
As Mazel spoke, the command deck fell silent, everyone listening closely to her quiet voice.
“Captain, I request permission to identify this newly discovered galaxy with the moniker Ennea, as it lies on the other side of the ninth nexus discovered by the Tri-Galactic Union.” The request was largely ceremonial, as the name had already been in informal use in scientific circles for some weeks now. However, Mazel thrilled at the chance to officially name an entire galaxy.
“Permission granted, Lieutenant.” The captain’s wolfish muzzle split in a huge grin; he looked happier than he had all week. There’s nothing quite like discovering an entirely new galaxy, ripe for exploration, to galvanize even the most weary of spirits.
“How soon can we send a crewed mission through the Sky Nest?” Omoleura asked, complex wings buzzing.
Mazel had been tempted to ask the same question, but she was glad it came from someone who could unflinchingly refer to Nexus Nine as the Sky Nest. The captain was more likely to authorize a crewed mission if he felt like it wouldn’t risk upsetting the Aviorans.
“Soon,” the captain said, tossing his tennis ball from one paw to the other. “Start making plans, Lieutenant Rheun. Assemble a team and be ready.”
Mazel’s team assembled themselves for her.
Omoleura was already beside her, vibrating with excitement at the idea of going back to the galaxy zhe believed zhe’d originally come from.
Neera hopped her way down from the highest level of the command deck to insist that the Avioran people be represented on the first mission through the Sky Nest, and then to offer herself as an appropriate representative with both diplomatic and battle training. Mazel had no doubts that Neera had battle training; she had a harder time believing that the bird had the necessary self-restraint and delicacy to ever function as a diplomat. Though it was possible that she had endured some sort of diplomatic training. Mazel did not envy the instructor who’d had to teach her.
Next Lt. Unari worked her way through the crowd on the lowest ring of the command deck from where she’d watched the probe’s return beside her husband, the wizard O’Neill. The black cat explained with gleams in her green eyes that her expertise in biology would be invaluable when encountering previously undiscovered species of both plant and animal life. “I requested this post for exactly these kinds of opportunities,” she said.
Lt. O’Neill had worked his way through the crowd behind her and affirmed, “She did. She requested this post without consulting or even telling me. That’s how excited she was about it. And now I’m here patching together broken Reptassan computer systems!”
“And we’re so glad that you are,” Neera said with an uncharacteristic warmth. The West Highland Terrier was so invaluable as an engineer that even a cranky bird like Neera had already come around and felt grateful to have him here.
O’Neill harrumphed and grumbled, “Well, I guess I do like the challenge.” He backed away, glancing around like he would be more comfortable if he had a broken piece of technology in his paws to be fixing. “Just don’t get lost in that faraway galaxy — I expect my beloved to return to me and not leave me wandering the over-heated halls of this wretched space station like a ghost on the Scottish moor.”
“You’d make a good imitation of a ghost with that white fur,” Mazel offered. She could say that, because she had mostly white fur too.
O’Neill scowled beneath his beard.
“Don’t worry so much,” Lt. Unari said. “Except, you know, about keeping the station running while we’re gone.”
The black cat touched her pink nose gently to the white dog’s larger black one. Nose to nose. Then Lt. O’Neil shuffled away, muttering about synthesizers that wouldn’t synthesize anything but marshmallow fluff.
The final member of the team to introduce herself was Grawf — the large, brown-furred Ursine security officer whom Omoleura didn’t want to share zir station with, who was apparently a certified expert on diplomacy.
“You must be kidding!” Omoleura squealed like a violin being tuned. “You want to work with me on securing this station, but you don’t want to do the ONE thing that would actually be useful to me? Standing in for me when I have to be away?” Omoleura’s complicated wings rearranged themselves, distorting zir bird-like appearance, and then zhe chuckled sourly like a violin being kicked across the floor. “From two security chiefs down to none. That sure makes sense.”
“Chief Omoleura,” the bear rumbled, adjusting the pewter-colored chainmail sash that lay over her uniform, “if you would actually coordinate with me on a day-to-day basis, you’d understand that the Tri-Galactic Navy chain of command means the station is more than sufficiently protected. I’ve arranged for multiple redundancies at every level. So Nexus Nine Base won’t suffer at all if both of us go on the mission through the nexus.”
“Your problem,” Omoleura sighed like a dying violin, “is that you don’t understand how I do things. I have a very particular way of doing things.”
“And your problem,” Grawf retorted amiably in her deep, rumbly voice, “is that you don’t delegate.”
Neera squawked in laughter. “The bear’s got you there,” she said, bumping Omoleura with a wing. The insect rearranged all of zir complicated limbs in response, visibly relaxing at the bird’s touch.
“Very well,” Omoleura conceded with a soft chirp like a newly restrung violin being gently plucked to test its tuning.
Each member of Mazel’s team — black cat, bird, unique insect, and bear — turned to look expectantly at the calico cat in charge of them. “Well,” she said, “we’re going to wipe out Captain Bataille’s array of senior officers… but I guess we have a team.”
“Not quite,” Captain Bataille interjected, approaching the group.
The crowd of onlookers on the station had mostly dispersed, leaving only the usual officers at their usual posts. However, the captain had Quincy, the frog-like Phiboon, standing beside him.
“I would also like to join you on the inaugural visit to Galaxy Ennea,” Quincy gallumphed, neck swelling and shrinking as he spoke. “Beautiful name, by the way! Ennea. I love it. Love it.”
Mazel blinked at the froggy alien. Since she’d arrived on the station, all she’d heard about him was shade, and all of his dealings had seemed shady enough to warrant it. He ran a black market and gambled in Scharm’s Bar all day long.
“Why do you want to come?” Mazel asked, aghast. What she really wanted to know was why the captain was standing beside the Phiboon; why he had brought the Phiboon to her. Was the captain supporting this black market dealer’s request to join her on a scientific — and possibly diplomatic — mission?
Mazel couldn’t imagine what use Quincy could be in analyzing data gathered from uninhabited worlds. And the froggy alien seemed more likely to be a liability than an asset if they did encounter any sentient lifeforms. Mazel would hardly like this frog to be another civilization’s first impression of life in the triple galaxies.
Quincy didn’t answer Mazel’s question, instead turning his wide, bulging eyes up toward the captain. The German Shepherd cleared his throat and said, “Apparently, Quincy applied for and received special envoy status from his people on Phibious, and the Tri-Galactic Union would like us to accommodate his special status by including him on any missions to the newly discovered galaxy that he wants to join.”
Mazel skewed one ear, effectively asking her captain — and old friend who would understand her without the need for actual words — “WHY?”
Quincy gallumphed proudly, “Phibious has the largest and fastest replenishing network of power crystal mines that’s been discovered anywhere in the three galaxies.” His neck swelled like a balloon before shrinking back to size. “The Tri-Galactic Navy wants to keep us happy so that they can keep their ships flying through space at faster than light speeds. That’s what you actually wanted to know, isn’t it?”
The frog was savvy. Mazel had to give him that. “Okay then,” she said. “I guess you’re in. That makes a team of six, a perfect complement for a long range shuttle craft. We’ll plan on a two-day mission but bring supplies for a week, in case we get caught up in anything particularly interesting.”
“You can use Star-Skipper 1 for the mission,” Captain Bataille said. “It should suit your needs.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Mazel said. Star-Skipper 1 would feel tight if they stayed in Galaxy Ennea for more than a few days, but its scanners were particularly powerful. Not a lot of crew accommodations — simple bunks in a barracks-style room — but packed to the gills with scientific scanners.
Mazel quickly decided on assignments for her team — checking the shuttle craft, loading it with backup supplies, and uploading the proper programs for scanning, analyzing, categorizing, and mapping newly discovered star systems. Once her team members had dispersed, she said to the captain, “We should be ready to leave by tomorrow morning.”
Mazel wanted to get the mission underway as soon as possible. Fortunately, Captain Bataille looked sympathetic to her desire. He nodded at her absently. “Yes, yes, that sounds reasonable. I suppose, I’ll get out of your way, Big Dog, and let you prepare.”
Mazel worried about how Bataille would fare while she was off gallivanting through a new galaxy, but at least she was bringing Commander Neera with her. He’d still have a planet full of deeply religious Aviorans to contend with — but Mazel was taking the most directly contentious one off of his paws.
Mazel spent the rest of the day going through her lab, packing every portable piece of equipment, everything that she could possibly need. As she packed the bag of equipment that would probably never get opened during the trip — Star-Skipper 1 was plenty well enough equipped without any of the ramshackle equipment from her lab — she kept remembering how the antique scanner in her pocket had saved her from missing out on scanning the Broken Twig of Foresight.
Mazel wanted to be prepared for every possibility. Every scenario. Or perhaps, she was just scared about what she’d find on the other side of Nexus Nine, because the most likely option was that they’d find nothing, nothing at all on their first mission. Yet she couldn’t help getting her hopes up anyway. She wondered if Omoleura felt the same.
Once the preparations were done, the rest of Mazel’s team decided to get dinner at the Ursine restaurant. She declined to join them, choosing instead to spend a fitful night trying to sleep. She wanted to be well rested for this mission, but too many voices — all of her old selves — spent the night yammering in her head, wondering what she’d find, wondering how she’d feel, wondering, wondering, wondering.
Mostly, Mazel thought she’d feel tired, but she got up earlier than she had to anyway. She checked the news feeds on her computer before leaving her quarters. All of the Avioran news focused entirely on the captain’s impending debriefing by the council of Vees. All of the Tri-Galactic Union news was about the galaxy Ennea. All of the eyes of her scientific community were on her, and Mazel felt their weight.
Mazel expected to arrive at the shuttle before any of the rest of her team, but she was surprised to discover Lt. Unari pacing the corridor beside the shuttle’s airlock, long black tail twitching beside her.
“Lt. Rheun!” Unari exclaimed. “I came early. I’m just so excited about what we might find today.”
“So am I,” Mazel said, smiling warmly at the other cat. She felt the smile reach all the way to the tips of her whiskers. It was good to know that she wasn’t the only one who was restless with excitement — the prospect of exploring a new galaxy was truly exciting to anyone of a scientific mindset, not just because she had hopes of finding her society of origin. That made her feel better, easier. It reminded her that there were wonders to be found in Ennea, regardless of whether she found exactly what she was looking for.
“Let’s get onboard,” Mazel said. “Warm the shuttle up for when the others arrive.”
The two cats passed through the airlock — it didn’t need to be cycled, since the shuttle was pressurized to match the station’s atmosphere. Once inside, Mazel was surprised again.
Quincy was draped in an awkward sprawl over the shuttle’s main pilot’s seat, bulbously-fingered hand covering his head.
“Do you… have a hangover?” Lt. Unari meowed at the Phiboon. She whispered to Mazel, “He was drinking an awful lot of some bubbly green stuff last night.”
“Fortunately,” Mazel said, “his skills aren’t critical to the mission.” She raised her voice and said in a commanding tone, “Quincy, get yourself into the barracks and stay out of the way.”
“I don’t have a hangover,” the frog gallumphed, but he wobbled as he hopped down the shuttle’s one hall toward the small barracks.
Perhaps he didn’t have a hangover, Mazel thought, because he was still drunk. Maybe it was for the best. If he spent the whole mission in the barracks, sleeping off his alcoholic stupor, at least it would keep him out of the rest of their paws.
A blood-curdling scream came from the barracks, moments after Quincy hopped into them. The two cats came running and found the frog pointing and jumping and swelling his neck out like a balloon, only to let the air out in more blood-curdling screams. His bulbous fingers were pointing at a green and gold lump, affixed to the ceiling in the corner of the barracks. The lump pulsed softly, like it was breathing, and filaments of it clung to the ceiling like roots or clinging vines. It looked something like a cross between a dirt-covered flower bulb and a blob of mucus.
“What are you shrieking about, water-breather?” squawked a voice from one of the bunks.
Quincy blinked his large eyes and shut his wide mouth in surprise. But he kept pointing urgently at the pulsing glob in the upper corner.
“Haven’t you ever seen a chrysalis before?” the voice squawked from the bunk. “Now, hush, we’re sleeping in here.”
“Neera?” Mazel asked, surprised. “It’s morning, actually… Almost time for our departure. Did you sleep here all night?”
“Of course,” Neera whistled cheerfully, sounding more like a songbird than Mazel had ever heard her sound before. The bird had built a nest for herself by coiling up the regulation blanket and she was wearing a robe that looked a little like flannel pajamas. She seemed quite cozy. “I came early,” she said, almost singing. “I didn’t want to be late for…” She didn’t have to say anything about the Unhatched for it to be clear that they were on her mind. Instead, she smiled, eyes twinkling. “It’s a big day. I wanted to be ready for it.”
While they talked, Lt. Unari climbed up on the top bunk closest to the chrysalis. “This is fascinating,” she said. “I’ve never seen a chrysalis quite like this.” She reached toward it with a black-furred paw.
“Do you mind?” Neera squawked. “That’s Omoleura in there, not some specimen for you to poke at.”
“I’m sorry,” Lt. Unari said, backing down from the bunk. Once her paws hit the floor, she added, “I wonder if we’ll meet more insects like him–”
“Zir,” Neera interrupted. “Z pronouns, please.”
“Right, sorry again. Like zir in the Ennea galaxy.”
“Well, that is why zhe’s coming along,” Neera squawked. “Now if you’d all get out of here…”
Omoleura’s chrysalis began splitting down the middle, and zir fuzzy blue wings showed inside, wet and gleaming. The sight felt far too personal, and Mazel didn’t think the security chief had expected an audience for zir emergence.
“Come on,” Mazel said, directing Lt. Unari and Quincy back toward the door. “Maybe we can synthesize something for you to eat,” she said to the frog, “something to take off the edge of your hangover.” Or something to sober him up.
Mazel and Unari prepared the shuttle for take-off while Quincy gobbled up a plate of synthesized scrambled eggs. Eventually, Neera emerged from the barracks, dressed in her usual uniform, and Omoleura followed behind her like a reflection. The insect looked even more like Neera today than zhe had before — zhe was not only mimicking the overall Avioran shape, but also Neera’s purple-blue coloring, right down to the ruby tips of her pinion feathers and the splash of red feathers under her throat. Although, the red fuzz under Omoleura’s imitation throat was narrower, squeezed between zir multi-faceted eyes.
“Are we all here, then?” Omoleura droned, wryly. “I wasn’t expecting a tour through the barracks more than half an hour before the stated departure time.”
“I wasn’t either,” Mazel said. She had expected to be the first one here. “I guess, we’re just waiting on Grawf now.”
“Ahem,” a deep voice rumbled. “I am precisely on time. I do not keep people waiting.” The bear loomed in the open airlock hatch. She filled most of it.
“Please, come inside,” Mazel said. “Let’s get settled, cycle the hatch, and ask for permission to depart.”
The team checked over the equipment on the shuttle one last time. Each of the Tri-Galactic Union officers — Mazel, Unari, and Grawf — had come with nothing but the uniforms on their backs when it came to personal items, trusting the shuttle to be properly equipped to keep them comfortable. But the other three — Neera, Omoleura, and Quincy — had each brought a small overnight bag, which they stashed under their bunks.
Once they were all strapped into their seats, the airlock cycled, and the shuttle was ready to fly. Grawf took the pilot’s seat, and Mazel took the command chair beside her. The others were stationed behind them. Mazel opened a communication channel to the command deck and said, “Star-Skipper 1 is ready to depart. Permission to undock?”
Captain Bataille’s face appeared on the shuttle’s viewscreen. The German Shepherd was standing on the highest tier of the command deck, and he said, “Permission granted. We will all eagerly await your return.”
The view of the command deck disappeared, returning the viewscreen to displaying the dark expanse of star field where Nexus Nine lay waiting like an unlit firework. Or an unhatched egg.
Mazel’s fur prickled all over her body, trying to fluff out but restrained by her uniform. Her tail twitched, but she managed to restrain it from full-on swishing. Working to hold her voice steady, she said, “Lieutenant Grawf, please take us out, and set a course through Nexus Nine.”
“Aye, Lieutenant,” the bear rumbled, sounding very formal.
Mazel appreciated Grawf’s professionalism, but she wondered if she should have made a point of joining the team for dinner last night. She’d spent at least a little time with each of the other members of her team, and she felt that she could be easy with them. There was a comfortable give and take in their familiarity. With Grawf, however, there was a stiffness, and Mazel hoped she’d get a chance to fix that.
“How is the colony on Ursa Minuet’s second moon coming?” Mazel asked, hoping to thaw the chill between them. “The last time I visited the system, they’d just finished construction on the atmo-bubble, and they were about to begin planting trees. I saw cargo-haulers with whole bays filled with seedlings!”
Grawf glanced sidewise at the little calico cat, looking quite surprised. “Those seedlings are trees taller than the Gragoria Tower now,” she rumbled, turning her eyes back to the viewscreen. “You do not look old enough to have seen them as seedlings.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” Mazel said. She’d have followed up, but instead, her breath was taken away by the sight of the viewscreen exploding with light. Bright lines of red, blue, chartreuse, lemon yellow, candy floss pink, and royal purple flashed, slicing through the darkness and layering over each other in a cacophony of colors.
Then the ship warped around them. Mazel’s stomach lurched as her eyes told her that space itself was bulging and bleeding away to the sides, like it had in the tiny, grainy vision she’d watched in her laboratory. On a screen, the effect had looked like a fish-eye lens. In person… it felt like falling off of the edge of the universe. She wished now that the Rheun chip hadn’t buffered the vision as it happened, since experiencing the space-time distortion of entering the nexus in a vision might have better prepared her for this feeling like the world was turning inside out around her.
“We’ve entered the hyperspatial folds of the nexus,” Grawf rumbled, her usually deep voice distorted and drawn out until it sounded even deeper.
The bright colors of the entrance to the nexus smoothed and melted into flowing swirls, more like the cartoony river Mazel had seen on the video of her buffered vision. Blues, purples, and touches of yellow danced and twisted on the viewscreen like a painting by the ancient human artist Vincent van Gogh. Starry, starry night, indeed. For an instant that felt like an eternity, Mazel became convinced that Van Gogh must have also carried a neural chip, whispering memories of nexus travels into his brain; he had been a fellow traveler across the centuries, also originating in the galaxy Ennea.
Then Mazel wondered if she, herself, had once been Van Gogh. Vincent van Rheun. She would remember that, wouldn’t she? Cutting off her own ear? But then, she remembered the first time that she — as an octopus — chose to pass her neural chip on to a human, and it had been more than a century after the famous painter had died.
Mazel could not have been Van Gogh. And Van Gogh was unlikely to have been a fellow octopus.
Suddenly, Mazel felt a strange, shadowy sensation like she wasn’t alone inside her own mind. Arguably, she’d felt that way all year, ever since having the Rheun chip implanted, but this was different. She felt like she wasn’t alone, and like she couldn’t hear the thoughts of whoever else was with her. She felt separated from… some aspect of herself.
And suddenly, she knew with absolute certainty that she’d felt this sensation before, but the first time she hadn’t recognized it: the Rheun chip was buffering another experience. Somehow, the nexus was speaking to her, calling to her, affecting her like the Broken Twig of Foresight had. She was experiencing — but being stopped from experiencing — a vision.
Mazel wanted desperately to know what vision her neural chip self was experiencing, but she didn’t think she’d have a chance to find out for some time. She did not want to share her vision — whatever it was — with the rest of her team. For goodness sake, apparently, she didn’t even want to share it with herself. And the space aboard the shuttle was small. Everyone in everyone else’s space. She would have to wait until they returned to Nexus Nine Base before accessing this new vision.
And that would be a while.
Colors exploded on the viewscreen again, and space blorped back into its proper shape like gelatin plopping out of a complex mold after stretching to cling to the sides as long as possible.
A fresh new galaxy full of different stars in different configurations stretched before Star-Skipper 1 like a licorice jello dessert shaped like a beautiful castle. Mazel couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into it.
“We’ve emerged in the galaxy Ennea!” Grawf announced. The bear looked genuinely excited. It was about time.
“Alright,” Mazel said, “Let’s get all of these scanners running, and learn everything we can!”
Continue on to Chapter 7…