The Songs of Polaris

6. The Foretold Shepherd (Part I)

The Rhaetians were sailing in hyperspace. Failing to find vector orientation, they came to a late and harsh realization.

That they were lost. The fleet — all four thousand vessels carrying a total of eighty million people — had veered awfully off course. In the slipstream region beneath the observable universe, they were edging towards uncharted oblivion.

Aboard the flagship Servitude and Yoke, the Helmswoman upraised her hands in prayer. As their spiritual leader, she alone carried a heavy burden. Navigate the expanse, using an outdated and grossly inaccurate starmap. Find their forgotten homeworld, and leave no one behind.

People knelt around her, chanting the ancient Mok'sha. The 113-line scripture had been passed down for generations, and it foretold this darkest moment. When the stars have diminished and hope has dwindled, a savior shall arise and lead our nation.

The ship trembled and the lights flickered, caused by another bump in the space-time turbulence. Children started crying, only to be comforted by their equally frightened mothers. Food and water were running low, and morale in the fleet had plummeted. Waiting for the prophecy to happen was not an acceptable solution.

So she turned to the ship's bridge. Bright, orange panels emerged and produced a hexagonal flower. She pressed various buttons to activate the ship's long-range sensors.

Outside, the hyperspace was a vortex of colored light. As the Rhaetians cut across large swathes of spaces without traversing the distance in between, there were strange cosmological phenomena that lengthened into strands of passing rays.

Tachyon particles: launched. The antiquated system, backed by an even more primitive science, soon detected a response. There was a black hole opening not far from the fleet, possibly an exit. But whether it led to their homeworld remained an open question.

The Helmswoman assessed the situation and saw no better option. The risk was better than inaction.

She issued an order on the fleetwide channel. "All captains, change course bearing and increase hyperdrive output! Target: regional phenomenon K61. Full speed ahead!"

Within moments, the fleet turned around to follow Servitude and Yoke. Under the landscape of swirling colors, ships of all sizes ventured towards the event horizon.

"Do not whimper into the night!" she added. "We shall find the light!"

The Helmswoman hung up her microphone, feeling unsure. Although she meant every word, they may not have quelled the fear from her people. Still, it was her obligation. In the long search for the Rhaetian homeworld, she must support her conviction with passion.

Such was her role. Before becoming the Helmswoman, Tizaa was just a servant in the Hadrian court. She swept floors, folded clothes, and prepped bathwater for the royals. A Navy admiral subsequently took interest in her. With blessings from the High Priestess, he purchased her to be his mistress.

It was the most demeaning type of work, even for the slaves. Tizaa became untouchable; she was a whore. But the admiral clothed her, cherished her, and even sent her to the military school. By the time she completed her final examinations, Tizaa had shown great prowess in tactical space fleet maneuver.

Then came the end of the world. When the Rhaetians were freed by manumission, they began prepping for the exodus. The elders came to her door, all seventeen of them. They knelt together and asked her to be their leader.

Tizaa burst into tears, reliving the days when she was looked down upon by her brothers and sisters. She could have said no, could have chased the elders away with a broom. But Tizaa was a Rhaetian, and the Mok'sha had shown her the higher road. So with the fate of her people riding on her shoulders, Tizaa traded her name for the title and put on her Navy uniform.

The Helmswoman studied the starmap. Between constellations and grid lines, she charted and twice-checked their bearing. She touched her Navy insignia badge — bestowed upon her by the admiral — and felt an emotion surging inside.

"Duty comes before feelings," the Naval War College had once taught her. But the only person who cared for her had perished beneath an ocean, and the road beneath her ankles was too long to finish. This journey, this ragtag undertaking to restore her people's glory, was perhaps just a lucid dream.