In the year 2334, the humans of Earth developed spacecraft that they thought would carry them out of Sol System, but they were surprised at what they found. When they reached the orbital plane of Neptune, a vast armada appeared, blocking their exit. A fleet of starliners too numerous to count, each waving a white flag of peace.

  The Earth ships received transmissions in English, Hindi, and Arabic: “This is a diplomatic retinue. May we meet for trade negotiations?”

  And so the Earthens learned that beyond Sol was a collaboration of spheres, unified by a desire for peace. Nine Galaxies populated by humans.

  There was no war. There were no governments; there were Trade Guilds—Manufacturing, Prison, Hospitality, Medica, Education, and so on.

  The 9 Galaxies operated on a corporate structure. If your business succeeded, you had prosperity. If your business fell out of favor with the Guilds, you had no Trade partners and floundered.

  Weapons manufacturing did not exist, for no one would purchase weapons, and no one would trade with anyone who made them. Murder was unheard of.

  Earthens had to choose. They could adapt, form their own Trade Guild structure, and join the 9 Galaxies.

  They would be welcomed. They could trade for sophisticated technology, allowing for faster cross-galactic travel.

  There was a Universal language, with many cognates in the Earthen languages. For whilst Earthens had thought themselves alone in the Cosmos, humans from the 9 Galaxies had been in their midst all along.

  Earthens had a choice: leave behind their warring ways and change their sphere into Trade Guilds or remain isolated in Sol. For murderers were not allowed freedom of movement in the 9 Galaxies.

  In 2337, Earth joined the Known Cosmos. This is a story of what followed.

  - Sibsil Creed, Stories of Shurwinn, (2764)

  No, there were no voices in my head. No, the walls were not closing in on me. This starliner was completely normal.

  It was not normal.

  My breath stuttered as I exhaled, and I focused on trying to still it with a long inhale. A calm therapist’s voice came from the video in the pad in front of me, coaching: “Inhale slowly. Press your fingertips just below your eyes gently. The stress response is calming. Exhale slowly. . .”

  I followed her instructions.

  I wasn’t claustrophobic, but the walls felt too close, and it was like everything in the starliner was pressing in on me. I'd searched the stream for “How do I handle starliner claustrophobia?” and had found this video. Lightly pressing beneath my eyes was supposed to calm the panic response.

  I took slow breaths. Yes, the room was small. Yes, I could feel the minds of everyone on the starliner. Yes, it felt too loud and crowded. Yes, I felt like everything was closing in on me, but I was breathing.

  Right, keep yourself focused, girl. No need for panic. You’ll make it through this like a rock star.

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  A trembly exhale escaped, and I could sense all the people on the starliner. I could feel everyone. They were nervous, bored, excited, anxious. Anxiety was everywhere. The world was made of it.

  No, I was Ryst. I wasn’t all those other people. I was breathing and could feel my fingertips on my cheeks, lightly tapping.

  I was a strong person. I could do this. I wanted to travel, didn’t I? Didn’t I need a holiday?

  Yes, I wanted this trip. I could do it. I was here in this little cabin, and I could keep tapping my cheeks and breathing. I just needed to separate myself from everyone else. Like pulling a curtain closed to block out the daylight. I could do that. Couldn’t I?

  Yes, yes, I pulled an imaginary curtain around myself.

  I didn’t need everyone else right now, and I could relax just being Ryst. Finally, I was safe in my own space.

  I was successful and intelligent, perfectly capable of rocking a vacation by myself.

  When I was fourteen, I’d left home on my own and was top of the class in boarding school. Then I reached Level 9 in Jendo martial arts at age 17 like a pro.

  I completed medica training at age 22, and now I was 23 and a lead obgyneca researcher at one of the top university hospitals on Skylend. Schlep, I was not.

  I was tenacious when I wanted something, and I wanted this trip, so I could pull up the bootstraps and figure myself out.

  Great. I was within a mental curtain and feeling better already.

  I was more than just a hard-working obgyneca; I genuinely cared about my patients. I listened to them and talked to them about what was going on in their lives.

  People had naturally felt like they could talk to me, and some of that was because I truly cared. Also, because I didn’t take myself seriously all the time, so I think that helped patients relax.

  I’d figured out that even though I hadn’t had a nurturing parent in my life as a kid, I had a mothering side that calmed people, so I drew on that strength to get myself through the starliner weirdness.

  I was wounded, just like a patient. I had been hurt, and it was more than a skull fracture. Something in me was injured, and it needed tending, and it was time I faced that fact.

  “Move your fingertips to just below your collarbone, and keep tapping,” the therapist continued.

  I obeyed. My breathing calmed, and the panic receded.

  This trip felt right. And I could do what felt right to me, even if I felt crazy half the time.

  I mean, it wasn’t normal. People didn't sense the anxiety of other people on starliners. Hearing thoughts just didn't happen. What was happening?

  My educated mind demanded an explanation. Was it mini-strokes? No. Brain scans normal.

  Delusions? No. Mentally ill people don’t know they're having delusions. If it were a real mental break, I wouldn’t be questioning it. And I was questioning it. So, I wasn’t losing my mind.

  Was it all just a trauma reaction? Panic about being around people after my husband nearly killed me? No, that wasn't logical either.

  Because I wasn’t making this up. I really did sense other people in a way that I hadn’t before the coma.

  Wait, was that true? My brain started spitting out information that I seemed to have forgotten.

  A nonverbal, elderly patient in pain and an internal voice nudging me: “Ryst, check for a bladder infection.”

  A baby who just couldn’t come out of the birth canal: “Ryst, look for the umbilical cord around the baby’s neck.”

  “Ryst, watch out, Darwin is out of his mind.”

  I had some inner sense that knew things that my educated brain couldn’t explain. It was like a tiny whisper in the back of my mind, and it had never been wrong.

  Was I just going to ignore what was going on? Pretend those sensations weren’t there because I didn’t have an academic explanation for them?

  Obviously, that strategy wasn't working. I had to do better.

  Why? Why did it matter? What was I doing all of this for?

  Me. It mattered to ME. I mattered.

  That was my decision, to accept this unpredictable, unknowable side of me that I couldn’t explain.

  I was glad I wasn’t dead on the kitchen floor; that I was here, and this was really happening, and there was something more for me.

  I’d come back after my skull was cracked open, but I came back different.

  I wasn’t the same old Ryst. So, I had to decide who I was going to be now.

  Not the old me, the now me.

  I was on the edge of something I didn’t understand. I was scared, but I'd never let obstacles stop me before, had I?

  No, I was determined when I wanted to be, and I would let that unstoppable part of Ryst Nova propel me into whatever was coming next.

  Because something was coming. I knew it in my belly. I had some inner sense that knew things that my educated mind couldn’t explain, and it was telling me right now that Shurwinn was where I needed to be.

  I was finally listening.

  Hopper: