THE DEMON'S PERCH
For twenty rhapsodies She searched,
cloaked in the most unbearable night,
darker than dark; cold like burning ice.
But none were fit. All barren and dead.
So for twenty more She searched,
and twenty more after that.
Then, faster and higher than any mortal can count,
her song increased in length,
fraying into countless little strands,
threading needle after needle after needle:
each an eager candidate, each waiting its turn.
But to none she cast more than but a passing glance,
her discerning eye seeing in each all that was and would be,
in an instant.
Now, the time and place are just right;
her verse, encompassing the tale of all everything.
With a languid finger She points,
past those that fell short,
selecting our home,
availing us its bounty,
its beauty and its grace—
nothing more, nothing less.
Nothing but a stage upon which we burn and rave,
inking just a single line of Her choosing,
seeing not what lies above or below,
but only what must follow.
- Exogenesis 1:1-2 (Exaltation of the New Century Version)
EVIE
I gasped, my head spinning, blood slowly returning to my retinas. The ship regained its sooty grey and the displays their cold, clinical blue. What lay past the glass, however, was pure black.
As the ship slowed and stabilised I jumped out of my seat and rushed to press my face against the glass, my hands splayed and glued to it. The glass burned with an inhospitable coldness. The cold I knew from snow and ice was that which remained after summer’s warmth left, its fingers retracting from Concord and returning to our star. The cold of space was different. Instead of a single, concentrated ball of heat, a diffused black cloud bathed the ship in frigid ice that threatened to still every particle in my body. It was cold without limit.
I pulled back slightly. The warm air of the cockpit condensed on my fingers and cheeks. I looked around, and from the black night appeared stars like gems weaved in a quilt. They were faint, but I could count each one. In space, there were no clouds to hide them.
The ship lurched as you banked. I stumbled, but as I looked back up, I saw our star—Myrmidon. It burned cold and bright and was a hundred times larger than the faint, distant specks around it. “The sun,” I mumble. “Even though it’s night.”
“Night?” you asked.
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“When we took off, it was night, was it not?”
“Oh.” You laughed. “That doesn’t matter in space. The sun is always there.”
“Why does it grow dark at night, then?”
The ship banked once more, rotating to face Concord—a vast blue sphere, hung still in the void. “This… is Concord?”
“Yes. It rotates, though you probably can’t tell from here. The sun remains where it is, so you can only see it when the planet rotates to face it.”
“Who spins it?”
“What?”
I turned towards you. “I mean, why would it rotate by itself? Someone has to be turning it.”
“No, uh… it just does that by itself. I’m not sure why, either.”
I was too blinded by space to mull over the idea. I turned back towards the glass and soaked in the sight. So, this is our home. I did not think we were so alone. Beyond the blue I noticed other coloured specks larger and rounder than the stars. “What is that? That red, distant sphere.”
“Another planet, I suppose.”
“There are others? Who lives there?” I asked, my eyebrows peaking.
“Nobody. It’s uninhabitable. I’ve checked this entire solar system—Concord is the only planet capable of supporting life.”
Nobody? The loneliness that wrapped around my heart crushed it tighter. “What about… beyond this, what did you call it, solar system?”
“You wouldn’t find a habitable planet within a thousand light years from here. Maybe more,” you said. I stared into space for a while. Every second that passed made me feel smaller and more trivial. Suddenly, the countless years I had spent on Concord seemed but an instant—the pain and trauma, a farce when faced with space’s cold apathy.
“We should land soon,” you said, breaking my trance. “Fuel isn’t free. Besides, you said you wanted to look for your sword?”
I nodded and strapped back into my seat, preparing for the descent. “It’s… it’s not here, of course,” I said sheepishly. “I can guide you to my old cottage. It’s a fair walk from the city outskirts. It might be best if we went there on foot, though.”
“Alright. I’d rather not let any squatters see my ship.” You swivelled in your chair, turning towards the controls.
“Nobody’s living there! I think.”
“Oracle. Set course for the cave clearing,” you said, ignoring me.
“Not going to land yourself?”
“It’s risky!” you huffed, your cheeks red.
“It’s difficult, you mean, for a human pilot to maintain geostationary orbit. After rolling the ship around like that I’d be shocked if you could maintain a landing trajectory that avoids the city,” Oracle drawled.
“Do your job.”