Syn smiled, “Thank you, Arquella. Can you tell the Barlgharel that I’m going to be here another night, but I want to leave early in the morning?”
Arquella bobbed in agreement. “I can and will.” She floated outside.
Syn sighed. “Sorry, Blip.” She picked up an apple, enjoying the crisp taste, and returned to working on the slender bot ahead of her with the broken leg. An easy fix.
The day turned into evening, and the number of bots diminished. Huck never left her side, and Arquella twice returned with more food and water—the second time with Bear’s lumbering form close behind.
The work was wonderful, Syn finally admitted. She had lost track of time working on these bots and so wasn’t surprised when, after patting the final bot on its head and sending it away, she let out a great yawn. Except for Huck’s zipping and Arquella and Bear’s silent presence, the workshop was now empty.
Syn stood and went to the door. “Arquella, can I stay in your room again? Would you mind?”
Arquella let out a brief squeal of joy and said, “That would be delightful,” as they exited the shop.
23
A DREAM OF STARS
“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”
Syn slept. Syn dreamt.
She floated through space alone. No Olorun. No Disc. And no Blip. Just herself alone amongst the sea of stars. She stretched out her arms and swam, pushing against the dark waters between those pinpoint lights.
“Syn.”
A voice echoed from below her feet, but as she looked down, she discovered nothing there. Again the voice said her name. “Syn.” But this time, it was behind her. Turning toward the sound, she saw the great globe of Sol itself, its yellow light pulsing in rhythm.
With a single step, she crossed the gap to the constant star. Around her rotated tiny marbles and balls. The Earth. Mars. Jupiter. The million pebbles of the asteroid belt. In a moment, she had become Sol. She was the center of the solar system.
Clip-clop. Clip-clop. The planets were planets, and yet, in between, as if flickering from one reality to the next, they were stallions, racing in their lanes. Clip-clop, clip-clop. There was a great race, and they were competing. The earth, a motley-speckled stallion with a dark chestnut mane and midnight tail, flew toward its goal, its nostrils flaring, spittle dripping from its wavering upper lip. The beast was manic. Beside it limped a slow and tired umber horse, Mars. Its one eye was shut, wounded and scarred, a tiny bubble of puss still present in the corner. But the two, despite their differences, kept pace. The debilitation of Mars and the fervor of Earth were equalized in their revolution around her. Syn held out her arms wide, nervous to bring them to her sides, nervous that she’d break the course of the raging planets.
The beasts shifted back to globes, and as they did, a flash of light shot out from Earth toward the outer planets. Then she was swimming again, chasing the light. Behind her, Sol stood steady, a giant looming over everything. Ahead, the light sped, and Syn was a tiny insect in pursuit.
She wasn’t just chasing; she was being pulled by it. Tiny ropes, unseen, but she felt them as they wrapped around her arms, pulled her along as if she was the tail of some great comet, always following in the wake of something far larger—more powerful.
In that moment, the star was Olorun. Its shining light resolved into the familiar speared-circle shape of the needle and Disc.
But she was still pulled behind. Still forgotten.
She held out her hand, opening it up, fingers spreading as wide as possible, hoping to grip onto something. She was then standing still, standing far from the now dim pinpoint of light that was Sol, her hands still outstretched. Before her, almost invisible in its minuscule size, was the Olorun. Syn stood like some giant waiting to receive the ship.
The weight of time felt heavy on her limbs. She had been waiting for centuries. The worlds revolving around her were young, and Syn knew she was a star again, a star of a new solar system with unknown worlds in rotation. There was no race. There was only a playful chase as Syn stood overlooking her young children—the worlds were green and blue marbles, and there were so many of them. Her arms were not held up in fear. Instead one arm still reached out, calling to the Olorun. The other hovered, palm down, in protection of the child worlds at play.
Syn sighed as a sense of calm satisfaction, a wash of completeness moved through her, and everything slowed to a full pause. The universe stopped. The worlds in chase stopped. Only Olorun moved, refusing to acknowledge her beckon.
Olorun was streaking toward her, like a stallion itself. Where the sleek metal of the ship was, now there was simply the streamlined coat of a charging, ember-colored horse, its teeth bared and its eyes narrow in fury. With each step, it gained speed, until it was a bullet shot at her.
It flew past the circling planets and hit Syn, slamming into her heart, and blood erupted as she shrieked in pain.
24
WAKING UP
“We live, as we dream—alone.”
Syn woke with the scream still on her lips. Sweat poured down her face.
She gasped, trying to choke back the now-escaping sobs. The tears came anyway. She didn’t understand why, but something from the dream still clung to her, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She gasped again.
Nearby, in the corner of the room, Arquella floated, unmoved and undisturbed by Syn’s startled waking.
“It was just a nightmare,” Syn said to herself.
In the dark of the room, she felt more alone than ever. She wanted Blip to be there. She ached for him to be at her side. Blip had been calming her out of nightmares since Syn had known him. Nightmares interrupted her sleep most every night. She felt safe in the tree, and so she slept there. Yet, as the world went dark and silent around her, the memories of panic would float to the surface. She would erupt in a panic, heart racing, unsure as to where she was. Images of the white room and the crèche would flash in her memory, and she would project them onto the scene around her. Gasping, frightened, she would race into the cold night air. Then Blip would be next to her, counting down from twenty. Each number uttered a bit quieter than the last. She wasn’t sure why the countdown brought her peace, but it did. She had been having nightmares since she first woke in the crèche. Sleep constantly evaded her. Yet, Syn knew the routine after a nightmare. They would return to the treehouse. He would position himself next to her. His cold porcelain body somehow reassuring, and he could manage to exude a steady warmth. She would fall back asleep, her arm draped over him. Then Syn would sleep again through the rest of the night, uninterrupted. Sometimes he would drift away after he knew she was deep in sleep, always cautious to return by the time she woke. Over and over they danced this same dance.
No. Not this time.
Syn laid back down and stared at Arquella’s floating form. I’m not alone, she thought. There were friends about. In the dark, strange, and twisted landscape of this second Disc, she had found a safe place. A thought came to her that both warmed her and created a pang of guilt: If I can’t find Blip, I still have these as friends. I won’t be alone even if I can’t find him.