For a human, the years are only precious to us to measure other people’s lives. There was a short time where I didn’t really believe Ingrish’s words, that the oldest of her species only reached their early fifties. It wasn’t that I ever thought she had lied to me, but we humans often like to play these games of pretend. We believe ourselves and those closest to us are the exception. And with every wrinkle added to Ingrish’s face, that illusion slowly crumbled until I spent my days avoiding her more often than not, afraid to count how much more time had been lost.

  She smiled at me again at the threshold, nothing but warmth on her weathered face.

  My eyes fell to the floor as I followed my mother into her quarters. While she prepared some tea, I couldn’t help but pace impatiently among the many-colored tapestries. I knew the questions I wanted to ask, but it then only occurred to me how little I really knew after all these years spent on the Aphelion. Some of it was the tight lips of the crew, but also that I never really cared to ask. I was not a person who was fond of the past. Amon was a man trapped by it. Meanwhile, I wanted nothing to do with what fate had already resolved.

  Every history lesson was learning about another something I had lost before I had been born. Every reminiscence brought forward the memories of the Death Games and the Xurak. Everywhere I walked was just memories of some ache that had come before. I just wanted to shove it all out of mind, throw it into darkness and forget. Yes, I asked Amon questions about the things I saw on the Xurak ship, the portum leading to the darkness below, and the dreams that continued after. He could only provide me half-hearted guesses, that the Xurak were simply insane. In which case, I suppose I too was insane now, after what had been done to me. And that was just one more reason why I did not want to know.

  But since I was losing the Aphelion—it didn’t matter how far in the future—I at least wanted to know that reason why. I paused over the tapestry depicting Amon Russ saving the Bakke girl from chains. I was smart enough to know Ingrid Daro’Meer was Ingrish. The only question was how she went from one to the other.

  “Have you thought about a last name yet?” Ingrish asked as she heated the kettle on a stovetop.

  “I don’t want to talk about that,” I said, though I remained quiet, examining more of the tapestries, looking for some hint that I had missed before. I saw the spaceship. I saw the faces and the names in the alien writing. I saw…

  I paused over one tapestry left in the corner. I did not know what drew my eye to it as it was partly hidden behind several others. It was a part of the room touched by dust, and pulling back the long lengths of cloth, I was suddenly struck by an alien wearing a mask of seven eyes and wreathed by the sun. Before I had a chance to contemplate this further, Ingrish appeared with a cup of tea.

  “I think you should,” she said, handing it to me. “It’s an important human tradition that most of the galaxy takes after. The first name is the personal one whereas the second generally belongs to the family.”

  “So it would be Vas Du’Russ,” I replied flatly, assigning its proper verbiage in the human tongue. After all, I was not a proper son in the technical sense.

  Ingrish hesitated, taking her own cup. “You’ll have to ask him for it. I don’t know if he wants that name passed down or not. It’s complicated for him. You know how it is.”

  “What about Vas Du’Meer then?” I asked and then I immediately regretted it.

  Ingrish flinched, accidentally spilling some of the tea on her webbed hand and scalding herself. She cried out in sudden pain, and I rushed over to try to help her.

  It was not that I had intended to hurt her, only struggling to find a way to ask the question delicately. But such as it was between us, I had a bad habit of saying the wrong thing even with gentlest reasons. Ingrish raised a hand, gesturing she was all right. And she wiped her hand with a nearby rag.

  “I remember what you said to Rykar.” I began. “How you left to kill Oberyn. I just don’t understand any of it. I can’t imagine you harming anyone. You’re not that person.”

  I didn’t say that to reassure her. I genuinely believed that she was incapable of any kind of violence. Aside from that one time, I had never seen it, not a trace. And there were so many examples to the contrary. I had seen her meekly argue with Oberyn, cower in fear in front of General Kairon, and so many other examples over the years. Ingrish was the gentle Bakke telepath, nothing else.

  “Ingrid Daro’Meer is not my name,” Ingrish said, sensing my thoughts.

  “I know,” I responded, remembering what Amon had told the emissary of the Golden Court.

  “No, you don’t understand. Ingrid Daro’Meer is my mother.”

  …

  An obvious question, I think overlooked by much of the galaxy, is what happens when a telepath turns their unique abilities upon their own minds. The reasons of our thoughts are often just as unknown to ourselves as those of another’s, and so when an individual blessed with a clairvoyant eye peers into those murky depths, what do they find?

  Just the same, even Ingrish did not naturally possess that eye, nor do most telepaths in the galaxy. It takes a mind of great power to look within the blood, to hear the thoughts that course through the veins.

  I did not understand as Ingrish produced a vial and a needle. But as she plunged the syringe in the clear liquid, I felt a strange sensation up my own arm. And it was only when Ingrish injected herself, I again shuddered with the memory of the Xurak Queen’s nails drawing my blood. At once, I wanted to call out to my mother to stop, but it was already too late.

  Her head fell back, and I feared the worst. I rushed to my feet, about to help her and raise the comm for Amon, but she steadied herself.

  The desperate cry in my mouth silenced as I again saw Ingrish as she had once been—younger even. The power of her mind had increased as such that it was effortless for her to be perceived as such. And if the memories of the Xurak Queen were not dragging me back to that black vessel, to the portum and the things below, I would’ve embraced Ingrish with joy.

  Instead, I watched silently. Ingrish undid the scarlet headband around her eyes. In their reflection, I saw the face of another Bakke woman, with similar features to Ingrish. And so too, I saw another shade, and another, and another, a long line fading in her black pupils. She spoke, but with a different voice. It wasn’t just her lower tone. Her accent had changed. Her cadence rose and fell as if joined subtly by many others within one.

  “I am an assassin of the Golden Court, but not in the way you think. We’re instructed in the blood and by the blood. Our lifespans are too short for the kind of training it takes otherwise. It doesn’t matter that Ingrid took me before I was initiated. It was written on me before I was born. And similarly, it doesn’t matter that Ingrid died a long time ago. She lives in me, and so the Golden Court wants to kill her through me.”

  “Why did you hide this from me?” I asked, feeling a sharp stab in my chest.

  Ingrish sighed. “I didn’t. The last time I awakened the blood was with Oberyn. It’s not something I enjoy doing. It’s not the person I want to be.”

  “Why not?”

  Ingrish looked patiently at me, and I realized that I had asked a rather silly question. I was the one person in the universe who ought to know why.

  “I never understood why Amon gave you that rule. It’s not like he was ever against killing.”

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  Ingrish shrugged her shoulders. “Amon didn’t give me a rule. He gave me my choice back, my freedom to choose. I was bred to weigh the value of ten thousand lives, decide who could not fit in the grand design, and then inflict upon them the horror of the mind poisons. Listen Vas, if the day ever comes when you find someone, that is why you protect people in your life. You give them the freedoms you couldn’t have.”

  “But this means you’re poisoned. Just like me,” I replied flatly, remembering Ingrish’s lesson all those years ago. Again, I said that with no malice. It was more to do of what I was.

  “There’s much more to the Bakke people than the Golden Court. I just had to find that part of my inheritance. You don’t need to be bound by the ugly parts of your history.”

  I looked at her with my crimson red eyes. “And what about the part of me that’s Xurak?”

  …

  It is, as I think, not in the acts of rebellion in which we find ourselves. It is not enough to be simply running away from something, but that we ought to be running towards something. Ingrish told me the story of Ingrid Daro’Meer, the Golden Court assassin sent to kill Amon Russ. But of all her mother’s targets, Amon was the one she couldn’t kill. She practiced her trade in mind poisons, implanted thoughts which drive the target to insanity and coma and death.

  But Amon already had the killing words spoken in his ear by Orotek. His mind had gone to a place beyond the reaches of insanity and death. And he returned. Not the same man, but he knew the way back from those dark places.

  Ingrid was swayed by Amon, and taking her hard-hearted daughter, she tried to run after what Amon saw. She died, fending off the Golden Court and winning her daughter’s freedom. The rest is their history, and so little of it was any comfort to the boy with Xurak eyes.

  As I recall, I was not possessed by self-loathing. That would imply whatever the Xurak had done to me was a part of myself. I never wanted to admit that. But it was true, however I might wish otherwise, that I was in some sense damaged. I always caught a sense of unease from Rykar, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Amon was far better, but few things hurt more than those occasions where a worried glance slipped his stoic expression. Perhaps I treated Ingrish too harshly, avoiding her so often, but I couldn’t bear to see it on her face too.

  She delved into my mind. She had seen what I had seen, knew how much of me was still me. I think that permitted her a comfort unavailable to the rest of the crew. But that didn’t change the fact that she had her own secrets, and despite her thousand assurances, I always persisted with the worry that there was some unseen corner of her that was secretly disgusted by me. Who knew. Today proved she was good at keeping secrets. That was the problem with telepaths. They were too good at acting like the people you wanted them to be.

  Over the years, I found myself turning to a strange shoulder to fall upon. As I opened the doors of the medical bay, I found Tut performing maintenance checks on his equipment. His milky eyes did not look up at me as I entered. The doctor wore what he always did, his white surgical robes. Combined with his bulbous head and ventilator, he looked every bit the part of the menacing, alien doctor. His elongated fingers twisted a dial, checking for some readings on a diagnostic computer.

  “Your medicine is in its usual place,” Tut answered me before I could ask the question.

  I didn’t go to the drawer, instead hoisting myself up one of the beds and sitting down, kicking my legs in the air bored. I had a newfound affinity for hanging out with Tut, much to the doctor’s displeasure. He was the only thing on this ship more monstrous than me. He sighed as he realized I was going to be staying a while.

  “Don’t you have your chores to get to?” the alien asked.

  “All done for the day.” I laid down on the medical bed, throwing up my arms and yawning.

  “Unfortunate,” the doctor replied.

  “I never understood you, Tut.” I cast an annoyed glance. “Most aliens are just like humans. They desire company. How come you always want to be alone?” I tried to banter with him.

  “Most ‘aliens’ are made by humans. It is natural that they take after you. I am no such creature. We come from different descents. Thus it is natural that we revile each other.”

  I swallowed, feeling some hurt, but then I cracked a smile. “Isn’t that a poor reflection on your abilities? Even you couldn’t fix my eyes, what they see.”

  “The Xurak modifications are not what I’m speaking about. They are small compared to the human part that causes my skin to crawl,” Tut answered.

  I glanced his way again. “Why are you afraid of humans, Tut? I used to be afraid of you. Now I’m not anymore.”

  Tut clenched his fingers. It was a bizarre sight, the long digits extending well past his palms. He straightened his back and moved onto another task. “You ought to be afraid of me, that you are not means something is defective. Every aspect of our existences stand in contrast to one another. Do you understand why you naturally feel so uncomfortable? Because our biologies are at war with another. Even with my ventilator, the air you breathe is poison. Poisoned by my cells. And similarly, you are poison to me. Our microscopic makeups are attempting to kill each other, exterminate the foreign element. It is only because of our advanced immune systems that we can survive each other’s presence. Otherwise we would fall ill and die.”

  “No reason that we can’t talk,” I joked.

  “The time for that passed ages ago in my species. There can only be disagreement between us now.” Tut had gone from work to pacing. He was so distracted that his precise mind was in all but a disorganized frenzy.

  I grinned. It was the easiest thing to get a rise out of Tut. I’m not sure he understood that it was a game, who could repel the other more. And I always won. For all the doctor’s efforts to remain composed, I think I had worn him down over the years. First, it was just silently staying in the same room as him, testing my limits. And then it was probing questions, all of which Tut deflected with non-answers. Now I had him practically at my mercy.

  But even as I toyed with trading more barbs, I lost the interest. It wasn’t that kind of day, and I wasn’t in the mood. I suddenly became more serious

  “What’s The Negentropic Principle?” I asked, thinking back to what that emissary of The Golden Court said.

  “Ask your mother or Amon.” Tut rudely responded.

  I pushed myself up and stared at Tut. “I want to hear it from you. You’re the only one on this ship who doesn’t have to hide what they feel about me.”

  Tut stopped in his tracks, and I thought I saw the vaguest look of understanding in his eyes. It was gone a second later. He was quiet for a long moment, contemplating his answer.

  “It’s the only thing of worth your species ever achieved,” he finally said. “In vulgar terms, it’s a mathematical proof, though that this is only one component of the data. In truth, it is a great database of evidence, connecting all realms of knowledge.”

  “Evidence for what?” I asked, examining my fingernails.

  “That is the question the galaxy argues over. No one knows.”

  I lifted my eyes, confused.

  Tut put his arms behind his back. “In the ancient days, humanity sent an expedition to the other end of the universe. Do not ask me how or why we do not possess such FTL capability now. Supposedly, it was lost or perhaps something was dangerous about the technology. But the vessel they sent was in search of the meaning of all things.”

  I picked up a scalpel and ran its blade gently along my finger, feeling its familiar sharpness on my skin.

  Tut continued. “What they came back with was a proof. Some rejected it because even evidence rooted in the foundation of reality is not enough to convince a skeptic. And indeed, the galaxy argued endlessly over what it meant.”

  “Can you tell me what it is already?” I sighed, just seeing flashes of bad memories in my mind.

  “What the humans of that vessel recovered was proof that the universe once existed in a state of perfect order. Instead of being governed by the laws of entropy, it was in a state of harmonious negentropy, energy and complex systems spontaneously arising out of nothing. And indeed, it makes sense. One has to jump through endless loops of improbabilities to justify complexity in a naturally entropic universe and why we do not experience further emergent systems now.”

  “And what does that mean?” I asked, throwing up my hands.

  Tut hesitated. “Some call it as proof of paradise. Some think the universe can be restored to a place without death. Some reject it entirely. Some think it is proof of God or Gods. Some take it as an argument that there never was any intelligence at all. But for my species, it was a step in the Great Work, one that we must now finish by our own hands. We must restore the universe to its original state or face the death of everything.”

  I mulled over this for a moment before I pointed the scalpel at Tut. “You know, Ingrish tried to teach me of that word called ‘God’. The Xurak taught it to me first. Their definition was the voices which scrape under all things. They called the universe ‘Kadoor-ha-dam, the wide sphere drenched in the blood of the living. They thought the voices were of the Gods dreaming our suffering. They try to wake up, and we must not let them.”

  Tut tilted his head. I brought up my dreams many times before, but this time it seemed the doctor was piqued by their content. “I know you see many dreams despite my medication. But now I am interested. Precisely, what do you see so often at night?”

  …

  I walked down the dark corridors of the Aphelion to my room. I had left the medical bay, having given Tut my answer. I described what I experienced as dreams for I do not have a better explanation for them. Phantasms might be a better word, for I often find myself wide awake afterwards, far outside my bed. But I knew what I experienced could only be dreams—or perhaps hallucinations. They could be nothing else because nothing in reality could explain them.

  Taking a deep breath, I realized that the labyrinthine corridors of the Aphelion were wrong to me. I wondered if I was asleep, having already gone to bed, or whether this was one of my waking phantasms. Tut’s medication was never perfect, and it could only prevent the dreams for so long. I watched as the metal halls were unwoven like threads of cloth, and I saw before me an alien world under a distant sky. My familiar world faded before me, and I stepped annoyed into the new one. Clutching my arms against my chest, I shivered as I felt the cold air of an indifferent night. I felt strange, blue soil gristle under my feet, and I began to climb a dark mountain because there was nowhere else to go.