The Chapel

Lightyears away from any solar system, and even further from any inhabited planet or moon, Nirranfar Station lies on the interstellar crossroads of a dozen influential systems and destinations. Both far from civilization and near where you want to be, Nirranfar is the galaxy’s premiere fuel station and hotel that everyone passes through at one time or another. Unlike most people passing through, insomniac Howell Wakefield lives and works on Nirranfar as a barista by day and bartender by night. These are his stories…

“The Chapel”

The station’s northeast tower included a large, domed room and a floor speckled with dozens of blue pillows for the knees of religious travelers. Aside from the cushions, the room had a couple small lecterns, empty but ready to host the latest traveler’s sacred text.

But Howell Wakefield paid no mind to any of these details, though he did absently notice scuffs in the carpet at the spot in the center of the room where he normally stood. Most of his attention was trained on the glass dome, which revealed one side of the sprawling galaxy.

Hundreds of stars greeted him, many with their own civilizations, their own religions their own customs. Most of them uninhabited, boasting violent stars, scarred rocky planets, icy far planets, all even more interesting in Howell’s mind than the livable systems.

When he couldn’t sleep, which these days were more often than not, Howell made his way to the chapel.

Other people would use the chapel to pray and bow and study laws and customs, but Howell simply stared into the stars, always considering the vast wonder of the universe.

To his knowledge, the God he believed in didn’t have a name. Of all the travelers who passed through Nirranfar Station, none had made a compelling case to Howell that their God was anything more than a cultural tradition centered around planet’s primitive history. Or an explanation to the nonscientist as to how a solar system’s artificial intelligence program (when attached to that solar system’s internet) seemed to act as a living being.

In truth, he didn’t know if any of these planets’ scribes and clergymen were on to something, but he figured if God truly was real, he or she would be more likely to smile on his form of worship than theirs.

As he thought that, one of the stars blinked, and Howell had to wonder if God was winking at him. Probably not…

Howell heard the tower tunnel’s door slide open behind him at the end of the small lobby leading directly into the doorless chapel. A women entered wearing a gray robe and a midnight blue shawl. She carried an aged, cumbersome tome.

“Hello,” Howell said over the hum of the artificial gravity drives, breaking the chapel’s sacred near-silence.

“Oh, hi there,” the woman said, not making eye contact.

Though her face looked as if she might be close in age to Howell, keeping in mind her dress and demeanor, he could never quite be sure of his inferences. Even so, he liked to wonder how two people of such different life paths could come to meet in one spot in the middle of nowhere within a vast galaxy.

“Welcome to Nirranfar Station,” he said.

“Oh, uh thanks,” she said. She cleared her throat. “I was told nobody goes to the chapel and I’d find it secluded.”

“I imagine the person who told you that hasn’t been up here himself. I don’t think he meant to lie to you, not about a place like this, anyway.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry, where are my manners. You startled me, you see, I’m not usually like this. I’m Sister Mary.”

She extended her hand, and Howell shook it. “Nice to meet you, Sister Mary. My name’s Howell. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s in the book?”

“Oh, it’s The Narrative of Nebulas, my planet’s book of prophecies and sacred history.”

“I haven’t heard of this text,” Howell said. “What system are you from?”

“Jannishu Alpha.”

“Woah, that’s like five sectors away. What led you here?”

“I’m on a pilgrimage. When I go and return, I can be a Full Priestess—you wouldn’t know what that means on my planet, but it’s a very high honor.”

“I can imagine. What kind of pilgrimage sends you all the way across the galaxy, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“One to Lumineaux Eta, if you must know.”

Howell whistled. “That’s a long way. Edge of the galaxy, if I’m not mistaken?”

She nodded. “I’ve been told the journey is worth it. Our ships bend space-time with the galaxy’s best, but even so it’ll take a couple years to get there safely.”

“Do you have a lot traveling with you?”

“No, there’s just a few of us. Outside of the my order, most Alphites have little interest in leaving Jannishu Alpha just to visit other parts of the solar system. Few care to see the beautiful galaxy our Weaver wove.”

“Weaver?” Howell asked. “Sister, if I may, is that how your planet sees God?”

She held up The Narrative of Nebulas. Howell’s eyes surveyed its worn leather cover.

“May I?” Howell picked up the book and took it to the nearest glass lectern. He carefully opened the cover and just examined the title page’s calligraphy. “So…Miss, er, Sister, what led you up to the chapel at this time of the night?”

She shrugged. “When you’re traveling between stars, isn’t it always night?”

“Sure is, but most ships are synched to the galactic standard twenty-four hour clock. I know this station is.”

“I’d say I’m here the same reason you are.”

“Couldn’t sleep?” Howell asked.

He turned the page to see a full-page illustration. The image showed a wrinkled old woman knitting, or sewing, or crocheting (Howell didn’t know the difference). The thing she was knitting could’ve been a scarf or a quilt, but further down the twisting threads gave way to color which further down tangled into a vast array of stars and planets.

“I’m here because the Weaver saw fit for our threads to meet. She’s just beyond the universe’s horizon, even now, knitting the fabric of spacetime…every star, every nebula, every meteorite, a thread of her mysterious tapestry.”

“Sister Mary,” Howell said. “I knew you were a priestess, but now you sound more like a mystic or prophetess.”

“You could call me either, Mr. Wakefield. All I know is she pulled my thread and led me here to answer your question.”

He laughed. “Okay, I’ll bite. I do have a question. I was thinking earlier, before the stars distracted me…How does this station exist in the eyes of God? Don’t get me wrong, Nirranfar is a technological marvel, just as is every other ship and station in the galaxy.

“But I was thinking…this station is man made. All the materials that make up this giant ship are synthetic, produced by men on various factories from several solar systems. But this station isn’t attached to any particular government or planet. We’re in the middle of the void of space. I was wondering if God saw us here at all when we’re not living on a planet he created or eating naturally grown food he provided. Does he see us? When I’m looking at his vast universe, I realized I don’t feel like I’m part of it. But when I look at him, is he looking back?”

Sister Mary pointed to the picture of the Weaver. Between the colors and the shadowing, Howell could see the picture almost come to life. Weaver’s fingers diligently sewing each thread, Weaver’s ocean-like eyes staring and examining her handiwork. Sister Mary tapped her finger by Weaver’s face, and Howell saw it.

Weaver was smiling the whole time.

“Do you have your answer?” Sister Mary asked.

“I think I do,” Howell said, looking back at the cosmos through the chapel’s domed ceiling.

And just as he did, the star he’d been looking at before blinked.