The Shadow of the Moon-Lydia's Tale

Chapter Thirteen

Lydia is asleep and our destination draws near. 

My splinter ship is fast. I calculated the trip to Alamut would take us just under three weeks in human time. Two jumps through the Extentivity would see us through on I route I believed would avoid any contact with any Swam ships that must surely be searching for the human Star Fleet. 

The ship has seats for two and a small living area just behind the cockpit, large enough, just, to accommodate a Merck machine. We Geron do not need such machines, we have other means to cope with the time spent traversing the vast distances though space. I spoke to Lydia about having one taken from the Revenge and fitted for her but she decided that she and I could put up with one another for that length of time, especially considering what might lie ahead. I'm pleased that is what she decided. 

There is a small bunk in the living area. Lydia seemed keen that I take it as it is mine while she would sleep on a bed roll on the floor. With the short length of the trip I would not need to sleep, I told her excessive sleep seemed to me very much a human luxury and the bed was hers. She looked at the worn webbing and remarked wryly that the ship seemed a little short of luxuries, sleep based or otherwise. 

The weeks have gone by quickly. We have lived off dry K vits, shared thin slices of spicy Malerroll and drunk copious amounts of invigorating Quloor. 

Lydia has been sometimes excitable and other times deeply reflective.  

She talks at length about her childhood on a remote farm on Earth. Running through the fields in the summer, trailing her hands through the long whispering grasses and catching small silver fish in the bubbling streams with nets made of seed cloth. In the winters she spent many hours inside reading books on history and archaeology whilst outside the ground lay thick with a deep contemplative layer of smothering snow. She had no siblings, her mother she speaks of often, with affection. Her father is not mentioned. He hovers like a shadow, a spectre on the edge of her recollections. When I press her on the subject she glares at me and I feel bound to change the subject. 

Her quieter moments she spends staring at her hands and reflecting upon what is to come. The fortress at Alamut and the encounter with the Old Man, if he still exists, brings with it uncertainty and worry at her own capabilities. 

I have watched her and reassured her that if that is her decision then her destiny is set. I will stand by her whatever. She seems to take comfort in this, I hope her confidence in me is well founded. We will see. 

Of her god the Nergalrhod, I hear little. She has chosen not to visit us. It seems her god has a way of inhabiting the bodies of those around her and speaking through them as if puppets. When I ask if she has visited and that I may well be unaware of the fact she smiles I says maybe I have frightened her off. I can tell from her tone that she does not believe that. I wonder if it is some form of a madness that grips her, voices in her head pushing her to the limit after the death of the Professor. Again it is a subject she does not wish to discuss other than letting me know the Nergalrhod was present at the old man's death. 

I know of this madness that can grip us all, it is not a vagary exclusive to humanity. The Geron live on the balance of the consciousness. Delving into the minds of others is not without its risks. Insanity is not uncommon on my planet -however there the insane are revered as soothsayers and prophets. This thought does not bode well when I think of Lydia, her god, and the warrior girl Waite-Kidd spoke of back on the ship. I hope Lydia is not succumbing to this.

When she grow tired and listless and her mind turns inward I explore what she sees. I sense she knows what I'm doing but does not care, for I can only see what she sees and that is hard to comprehend even for me. She stands in a boat in a languid lake crowded with flowering lilac lilies. The air is still. Above the clouds boil and churn like curdled bloodstones. Far away, on the horizon I can make out another shape, indistinct, wavering in the haze. Lydia's mind is bent on this and nothing else. Slowly the boat moves forward, driven by the force of her need to seek out whatever lies out there at the water's edge. What it is I cannot see. Only she knows and as of yet she is not prepared to reveal it to me. 

But I must go, the alarms are ringing, my ship is crystalizing out of the Extentivity, the jump is almost complete. In a moment Alamut will be visible. 

Soon Lydia and I must face our destiny together.