Bastion Science Fiction Magazine - Issue 7, October 2014 Read Online Free
Author: Manfred Gabriel Alvaro Zinos-Amaro Jeff Stehman Matthew Lyons Salena Casha William R.D. Wood Meryl Stenhouse Eric Del Carlo R. Leigh Hennig
of the walls as I turn my head.
He smiles at me. "Tea? Or are you brave enough for coffee today?"
Coffee I normally avoid, because it opens the channel to the stars and fills my world with them. But I think today that will be a good thing. For when I explain it all to Luca.
My heart pounds. The bursts are getting stronger, even inside, even before the coffee. I have lain in bed so many nights thinking about this moment. Explaining to him what it all means, his South Atlantic Anomaly. About how all his measurements and numbers are just readings of what I see all the time, every day.
At night in the dark, he always understands. Is excited, awed. Offers me the one thing I want most in the world. We'll go back to England, he says. I can learn so much from you. In my mind I am standing under the oak trees that I have only ever seen in his pictures.
And sometimes in my room late at night he is kissing me.
But I know it won't be that easy. That I will have to convince him that I truly see them. And if that doesn't work, try another way.
The threat of failure sets my palms sweating and the starbursts increase until the room is filled with flowers blooming over the top of each other. I close my eyes to shut out the world. Now they are clearer with nothing behind them to obscure the patterns. I study them. Lights, patterns, shapes. Is that someone's face? A sharp-edged triangle. A ship? Waves roll across my vision, an ocean stirred to movement on a windy day.
"Gemma?"
His footsteps are raindrops in the pool of my vision. I open my eyes. He is standing before me, a mug in each hand, tin tucked under his arm.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes." I smile. The waves crash around him, through him. A starburst blooms on his temple, spreads out to touch me. I raise my hand, let the light sift through my fingers. "I have—I want to tell you something." My mouth is so dry.
He hands me a mug with the blue university coat of arms and clears some papers off a bench, awkward with one hand, but I cannot help him. My hands are glued to the thick ceramic, heat stinging my palm. The wind rattles the shutters on the windows, stirring the helices to jump and dance around them. It is a warning. The helices always come from sharp movement, loud noises. Danger.
The wind and the sea will trap us in here for the night. Luca does not know this, but I do. I know what happens when the wind blows on Tristan da Cunha. My imagination darts ahead to what might happen in the dark.
Luca smiles up at me. "Sit down, Gemma." He pats the wood. The tin is a barrier between us, an unscaleable mountain of biscuit and icing. "What did you want to tell me?"
Where do I start with the telling? My imaginings desert me, my plans, my carefully rehearsed words. "It's about your anomaly." I stumble over the word.
"Well, not my anomaly, but go on."
"You said that it was close here, closer to the earth than anywhere else. The cosmic rays."
"The Van Allen belts, yes. Two hundred kilometres up, full of energetic particles and anti-protons."
I didn't know what those were. I was so far from understanding this, but he could help me. I just had to explain it. "You said that sometimes when astronauts go through the belts they—they see things."
"That's right. The radiation stimulates their brains and they see images that aren't there."
"Yes." I breathe out, slowly, searching for the right words. "Those. I—I see them all the time."
There. Done. I raise my eyes, which have been focused on my cup, to meet his. "I've always seen them. I'm trying to figure out their meaning, but it's hard. You know about space. You could help me. I could help you. Back at your university. We could study them together." My words tumble out, because he is not looking delighted, or astounded, or interested, or any of the expressions I pictured in the dark at night.
His head is tilted slightly to one side, his expression thoughtful. "Do you mean phosphenes?"
I shake my head, unfamiliar with the word.
He smiles at me. "Tea? Or are you brave enough for coffee today?"
Coffee I normally avoid, because it opens the channel to the stars and fills my world with them. But I think today that will be a good thing. For when I explain it all to Luca.
My heart pounds. The bursts are getting stronger, even inside, even before the coffee. I have lain in bed so many nights thinking about this moment. Explaining to him what it all means, his South Atlantic Anomaly. About how all his measurements and numbers are just readings of what I see all the time, every day.
At night in the dark, he always understands. Is excited, awed. Offers me the one thing I want most in the world. We'll go back to England, he says. I can learn so much from you. In my mind I am standing under the oak trees that I have only ever seen in his pictures.
And sometimes in my room late at night he is kissing me.
But I know it won't be that easy. That I will have to convince him that I truly see them. And if that doesn't work, try another way.
The threat of failure sets my palms sweating and the starbursts increase until the room is filled with flowers blooming over the top of each other. I close my eyes to shut out the world. Now they are clearer with nothing behind them to obscure the patterns. I study them. Lights, patterns, shapes. Is that someone's face? A sharp-edged triangle. A ship? Waves roll across my vision, an ocean stirred to movement on a windy day.
"Gemma?"
His footsteps are raindrops in the pool of my vision. I open my eyes. He is standing before me, a mug in each hand, tin tucked under his arm.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes." I smile. The waves crash around him, through him. A starburst blooms on his temple, spreads out to touch me. I raise my hand, let the light sift through my fingers. "I have—I want to tell you something." My mouth is so dry.
He hands me a mug with the blue university coat of arms and clears some papers off a bench, awkward with one hand, but I cannot help him. My hands are glued to the thick ceramic, heat stinging my palm. The wind rattles the shutters on the windows, stirring the helices to jump and dance around them. It is a warning. The helices always come from sharp movement, loud noises. Danger.
The wind and the sea will trap us in here for the night. Luca does not know this, but I do. I know what happens when the wind blows on Tristan da Cunha. My imagination darts ahead to what might happen in the dark.
Luca smiles up at me. "Sit down, Gemma." He pats the wood. The tin is a barrier between us, an unscaleable mountain of biscuit and icing. "What did you want to tell me?"
Where do I start with the telling? My imaginings desert me, my plans, my carefully rehearsed words. "It's about your anomaly." I stumble over the word.
"Well, not my anomaly, but go on."
"You said that it was close here, closer to the earth than anywhere else. The cosmic rays."
"The Van Allen belts, yes. Two hundred kilometres up, full of energetic particles and anti-protons."
I didn't know what those were. I was so far from understanding this, but he could help me. I just had to explain it. "You said that sometimes when astronauts go through the belts they—they see things."
"That's right. The radiation stimulates their brains and they see images that aren't there."
"Yes." I breathe out, slowly, searching for the right words. "Those. I—I see them all the time."
There. Done. I raise my eyes, which have been focused on my cup, to meet his. "I've always seen them. I'm trying to figure out their meaning, but it's hard. You know about space. You could help me. I could help you. Back at your university. We could study them together." My words tumble out, because he is not looking delighted, or astounded, or interested, or any of the expressions I pictured in the dark at night.
His head is tilted slightly to one side, his expression thoughtful. "Do you mean phosphenes?"
I shake my head, unfamiliar with the word.
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