The darkness was thick, and she reached out instinctively. Ardin’s hand grabbed hers and she was glad of the darkness, which hid her blushing face.
“Stay here for now,” he said, showing her where Josmere’s sleeping form lay. Layela crouched by Josmere, listening to Ardin as he disappeared into the darkness.
CLANG!
Layela’s breath caught in her throat at the noise and she leaned protectively over Josmere. The sound resonated throughout the ship.
She rose quickly when she felt, then saw, that the wall beside her was shifting sideways. The strange, unexpected movement made her dizzy for a few moments, but soon she was looking around, and realized that it wasn’t even a wall. She was standing beside huge shutters.
She could see stars before her, some far away and some closer, all slowly moving as they continued their universal dance. The window was huge, the entire wall folding in on itself.
Layela gently placed her hand on the sheet separating them from the void, her heart beating wildly as she looked around. Though Layela had not travelled extensively through space, she knew there were few sights such as this one in the universe. Before her, away from the shimmering tachyonic tunnel, a galaxy spiralled clearly, dots of light forming its core and tentacles. Some stars shone brightly, others were content to flicker.
But what made the galaxy so beautiful was the red dust that clung to its edges, blurring its outline and giving the whole system the appearance of being on fire. Around the fire was a large patch of dark space, with no twinkling stars, no clouds of nebulae, no promise of life. It made the galaxy that much crisper, its sides like flames, cleansing the space around itself. And the heart of it was deep purple, richer than any purple she had seen grace the most beautiful of blooms.
She felt Ardin coming to stand beside her.
“I’ve never seen such a sight.” Layela whispered, as though afraid of breaking the spell. “The whole galaxy looks like its own fire.”
“Some say it is,” Ardin replied. “There used to be two galaxies here, the nearest in the known universe, their gravitational pulls playing off of each other and making a bloody mess of the middle star systems. This tunnel was originally built to reach two major worlds of the second galaxy, the one that isn’t there anymore.”
Layela waited a heartbeat, certain she could see the red dust move, even this far away in the vastness of space.
“Then,” Ardin continued, “less than twenty years ago, something happened beyond the edges of the known worlds. It destroyed one of the galaxies, rocked the other one until it was practically dead, its stars covered by the dust of its neighbouring worlds.”
Layela swallowed hard. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so beautiful.
Ardin continued. “Lockor’s one of the few planets that survived, though it’s hardly the political powerhouse it used to be.” He chanced a sideward glance at Layela. “It’s on the edge. It’s safe.”
Layela’s eyes were trained on the darkness surrounding the galaxy and the deep purple heart, and she swore she could see it pulsate. Mists were beginning to gather at the faintest edges of her vision when Ardin spoke again and frightened them away.
“Now, after that cheerful tale, I invite you to look behind you.”
She did, and was greeted by a sight both too beautiful and too horrible to behold. The room, now softly illuminated by the light of the stars, was about a hundred times the size of the flower shop. On the far side, another starscape greeted her. It seemed that the room covered the entire width of the ship.
Between the two windows was a garden. A dead garden. The paths were made of stone and wove between patches she guessed had been meant for flowers. There were no pillars in the expansive room, which amazed Layela. It was a big room to require no internal support, especially when surrounded by viewing ports — a testament to the ship’s architecture.
Ardin picked up Josmere and gently placed her on some earth. Layela knelt beside her friend and freed her arms and legs from the blankets, placing them directly against the ground. She pushed the strands of hair up so her neck made direct contact as well and, in the pale light of a thousand stars, she saw her friend smile slightly. Enough for Layela to know this earth was strong and would heal her.
“I won’t be far,” she whispered in Josmere’s ear before standing again, intent on enjoying this place, even if it resembled a cemetery more than a garden.
She walked slowly down the stone pathways, imagining its beauty when it was in its prime. The air itself smelled of old earth and the promises of beautiful blooms. Small circular fountains were generously scattered throughout the garden and she imagined the pumped water that had once burst from the lilies at the top. Pumping water...she kept her pace steady as her mind raced, knowing full well Ardin was watching her. She had no intention of betraying her thoughts.
Vines cascaded from the ceiling, the lifeless plants falling apart at the slightest touch.
“How beautiful you must have been,” she whispered to one as she passed by it.
She felt sorrow grip her again — not the strong, vivid sorrow of seeing her beloved blooms scattered and destroyed, but the gentle grief of older wounds, not even her own. It now seemed too silent. Too silent for a place that held such hope of beauty.
“You haven’t seen everything yet,” Ardin called out, and in seconds another shutter began opening on the side of the room opposite from where they had entered.
The garden was located at the front of the ship, probably where it was narrowest, viewing ports covering its entire length. But the ship didn’t buckle, the viewing
