Down the Stream of Stars by Jeffrey A. Carver

Author:Jeffrey A. Carver [Carver, Jeffrey A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Carver; Science Fiction; novels
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2014-07-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

IT WASN’T SO much that Sheki was tired of looking at the animals as that he was tired of crowding around with all of the other kids while the zoobot explained this or that, and having the wise guys in the class always jumping in with some smart remark. Hey, look at that airshark—looks like that thing wants to bite ol’ Jenny’s butt off! Hohoho! Real clever, Jeremy.

That was the main reason why Sheki ended up wandering away from the group. He was just going to explore for a minute, but he got sidetracked and found himself in a strange little gallery that was darkened like a tunnel. It was full of tanks of luminous fish and all sorts of glow-in-the-dark animals. Sheki peered around in wonder, both fascinated and terrified. There was an air-breathing creature that puffed and billowed and floated in its enclosure, and glowed with a strange purplish light. There were fish with lanterns and sparkly things hanging off their bodies. There were saucerfish gliding around, their bodies ringed with bright intelligent eyes. He turned his head, taking them all in. It was wonderfully quiet in here; he could no longer hear his classmates.

Still, he was a little disoriented in the dark. He kept glancing toward the exit, afraid of losing his way out. But his mind kept working, scared or not. He peered at each animal in turn—wondering where it was from, what its home looked like, what it ate. Wondering if any of them could see him—especially that shimmering green sea snake with all the teeth.

He turned away from the snake and—“Uh!”—drew a sharp breath. A large human face, a man’s face, floated in the darkness at the end of the gallery. “Wh-who . . . wh-who . . . are you?” His voice sounded like a squeak toy.

The face didn’t answer.

Though startled, he wasn’t really frightened of it. It was the same face he had seen before, with Claudi. He was pretty sure of that. He wished Claudi were here now. He couldn’t move; he was entranced by the sight. The face seemed to float without a body. But it was alive; its eyes blinked slowly as it gazed back at him.

“Wh-who, who, wh-who—” he stammered, futilely, until he finally quit trying to say it.

“Who are you, pilgrim?” The voice was so soft, like a whisper of air over Sheki’s forehead, that he was hardly even sure he’d heard it.

“Who am—I—I—?” he asked, struggling mightily.

“Your name,” whispered the face. And it gave just a barest hint of an infinitely sad smile.

“Sh-Sh—” He paused and took a breath. “Sh-Sheki,” he said at last, with a great gasp. He closed his eyes and opened them again.

“Sheki Hendu,” he heard. It was the whisper again.

“What?” he croaked.

“You are Sheki Hendu, are you not?” asked the ghostly face, its voice just a little louder now.

His heart was pounding so hard, he could barely stand upright. “I—I’m—yes,” he gulped. And before anything else could interrupt him, he blurted, “Who are you?”

“I?” asked the ghost.

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