Page 27 of Until the Stars Fall

“It blows my mind that we haven’t encountered another civilization by now. Especially when we were looking for Gaia. No way we’re all alone out here.”

Eyelids heavy, I gazed out, looking for the beauties he described. Listening to his warm voice ebb and flow, the music of him sharing what he loved the most, with me.

He pointed suddenly. “Ooh, look at that emission nebula! Did you know there’s a nebula close to the middle of our galaxy that tastes like raspberries and smells like rum?”

“Huh. So that’s where Raspberry Nebula Soda gets its name.”

“That’s exactly where. It’s an ethyl formate gas cloud, mostly. You know, everyone always thinks about the stars and how their alignments affect you, but so few people ever work with the influence of nebulas. That’s my mom’s special interest. She’s been working with the Witches’ Interstellar Astrological Association, WISTAA, to chart the stars, work out what new influences we’ll have because all the zodiac constellations will be different. What will our children be born into? Will our old alignments still affect those of us born on Earth?

“And you have to think about the movement of the other six planets in the new system. See the Helix Nebula was in Aquarius. That’s me. They call it the Eye of God, or the Eye of Sauron if you’re into the Lord of the Rings.”

“I always wanted to be an elf, but I’ve come to accept I’m a hobbit at heart.”

He laughed. “I’m totally the same. They say that nebula’s what makes some Aquarians adept at divination. And do you know what’s in the middle of Sagittarius? Sagittarius A, a massive black hole at the center of our galaxy.”

I spoke through a yawn. “I’d hate to know what that’s supposed to mean about me.”

“Nah, there’s nothing more magnetic than a black hole. Nothing can escape it, although it does spit things out from time to time. You know what else is in Sagittarius?” He barely paused to take a breath, his voice dripping with awe. “The Lagoon Nebula. Right on the archer’s bow. At least, it was on Earth.”

“I’m very impressed with your knowledge of space...stuff. Were you interested in it all your life?”

“When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut.”

“You seem like the kind of man who could’ve been an astronaut if you wanted to. What changed your mind?”

He still smiled, but his eyes grew guarded. He looked into the depths of space above our heads. “Nah, you’re gonna laugh at me.”

“What? No, I won’t. I promise.”

He bit his lip and studied my face. “I hate being in space. It’s fucking terrifying.”

I shifted my whole torso to fully look at him, but I didn’t laugh. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He winced, looking back at the stars. “I found out when I went to Summer in Space camp. It was everything I thought I wanted. But when I got up there, out here”—he waved his hand across the windows, gesturing at the universe beyond our ship—“surrounded by the vast nothingness, I couldn’t handle it. I was terrified. When the panic attacks got too bad, I almost left early, but the counselors were awesome. They helped me get through the summer. I had so many opportunities to teach other people that summer, and I realized that’s what I was meant to do. The anthropology degree’s for fun, but I plan to teach astronomy.”

I studied him, still surprised at his revelation. So that’s why he wasn’t sleeping.

He turned to me, eyes guarded. “You want to laugh, don’t you?”

I laid flat on my back. “Not at all. I’m just thinking that this must be hard for you, this journey.” And that I’d never known a man who’d have admitted something like that to anybody.

He rubbed his eyes. “I’ve barely been sleeping, and I have to meditate a lot so I’m not screaming in fear all of the time. Spending time in the gym helps. And I don’t think I could make it if I didn’t have the forest.”

It was a proven fact that humans went a little crazy in space without something green and growing to be around, hence the potted trees in the lobby and the little devil’s ivy in my room. Maybe I should go visit the forest on B1. I hadn’t spent more than thirty minutes in there harvesting tomatoes with Hannah one day last week.

He spoke after a while, still gazing at the stars. “You’re helping a lot too, you know.”

“Me?” My cheeks heated, and a buzz of anticipation fluttered in my belly.

“Yeah.” He raised his hand from his stomach, holding it open with his elbow resting on the rug.

I considered for a few heartbeats. His face was hopeful, on the verge of a smile, and lit with an honest vulnerability. He was, frankly, irresistible.

I lifted my hand from my belly toward him, and he scooped it into his larger one, intertwining his fingers with mine and dropping it to his side with a satisfied sigh.

He didn’t rub my fingers or take any other actions. He just seemed to need the comfort of human touch, and that was something I was happy to provide and even take in return. A small grace I hadn’t expected to find on this ship, or in him when we first met.

“We’ll all get through it together,” he said, as if reassuring himself. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

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