Vega outshone the brightest torch Shika had ever held on a dark night upon the African savannah. It sat in space outside the atmodome of 3rd Patrolship, its light glaring down on her black skin as she stood behind Krywith among those gathered to watch the trial against the Dragg’k. She sweated, listened, and sighed as the alien words washed over her hour upon hour.
She was glad Captain Will had been acquitted and knew that it was important to her new friends for these Dragg’k to be brought to justice for all their crimes on the surface of Jeropul below, and above, but still the long days of judgment and waiting, and more waiting, taxed her. She itched with the desire to hunt, or gather food, or mend clothes—any of the various chores a Mursi woman could properly do, tasks to make her feel useful.
At last, the trial broke up for the day, Dragg’k prisoners returning under guard to their cells below the meadow in the depths of the ship and the three judges turning to speak amongst themselves.
Shika was considering a stop for a meal on her way to her cabin when one of the three, Mr. Piff of the 32nd Patrol, caught her eye and tilted his head, a summoning look on his meerkat-like face. He nodded to his companions and left them, trotting over to speak to her.
“Your face has been sad each time I saw you today, Shika of the Mursi,” the alien male commented after greeting her with a short bow. “And it was so yesterday as well. What troubles you?”
Shika averted her eyes. She had been troubled these last few days, but not by the trial or the tedium of idleness.
“There are new ideas—strange ideas, in my head these days,” she admitted to him. Her bare foot brushed over a tuft in the grass as she tried to put her trouble into words.
“Lollipop placed the language of English into my head, but also many concepts—those of science and mathematics, astronomy, and chemistry …” She shook her head in confusion. “I never attended a university like my brother. I am female and stayed where I belonged among the people of our tribe. These new ideas—some of them are so strange. They go so very against everything I believed …” She trailed off, feeling helpless and lost.
“There is one in particular that troubles you?” Mr. Piff guessed. His voice hissed and squeaked below the translator bot’s clear mechanical words.
Shika ducked her head, feeling her cheeks warm. The one subject she had not heard spoken much of in space was religion. Her companions from Earth subscribed to the beliefs of their time—entirely materialistic ideas of how the world was formed, a philosophy very common to the first world on Earth. Shika had been raised to believe in the Old Ways in Ethiopia; she found it hard to explain these to an alien male who had probably never heard of her gods and would perhaps scorn her belief in the ancestral spirits.
She decided to mention the most innocent of her confusions. “Among the Mursi, we have heard long traditions of the celestial sphere. The OneWorld government sent us teachers who claimed that the sun and the stars are great burning balls of fire in the sky.” She gestured out toward the bright spot that was Vega. “My people heard this but did not believe it. I did not believe it. Sol is the god of war. The constellations in the sky are our ancient heroes and the remains of ancestral spirits. Or so I believed …”
She took a deep breath, her eyes downcast, avoiding his gaze. “But now I see one of those stars with my own eyes. I know it to be so—it is nothing but a giant ball of gasses, burning in the depth of space. I understand the science behind this now, but … if this is all our gods are, then what are we?” She glanced at last into his four dark eyes. “Who made me, if not the gods in the stars? I feel so … lost.”
Mr. Piff stepped closer and reached up to touch her shoulder. When she met his gaze again, he spoke quietly through his translator. “Among all peoples and races in the universe, from Andromeda to the Milky Way, there are beliefs in a greater power than that of atoms or space dust.”
The sympathy in his voice warmed her a little and she felt her lips tremble.
“There is hardly a single culture in the universe that does not have some kind of history of faith or the supernatural. And some of the things we can do are considered supernatural by others,” he added. “How often have I landed on a primitive planet and been mistaken for a god—or a wrathful demon!”
His laugh invited her own.
“The most important thing, no matter what you believe, is to believe what you believe,” Mr. Piff insisted. “Earthlings will encounter many new and strange ideas as they travel space, even scientific discoveries that make you question how your ancestors explained their existence. Do not reject these new scientific discoveries out of hand, for they can bring great technology to help your people. But never forget,” he shook an admonishing paw at her, “the fact that stars are giant balls of flaming gas in space does not mean there is no such thing as gods. That constellations are combinations of stars does not prove that no ancestral spirits exist. Who is to say that these great balls of burning gas we call stars are not great gods—that perhaps someday we may advance enough to speak even to the stars themselves?”
Shika blinked. She had not thought of that. “I suppose.”
“I do not believe it is so,” Mr. Piff shook his head, “but I have no proof that it is not so. Science is about evidence, about creating consistent models of working theories that accurately predict future results. I can prove there is a star there,” he pointed at Vega, “prove that its gravitational pull causes Jeropul to remain in orbit and that its emissions bring life to plants and aliens in the bazaar. I cannot prove that it is not also a war god.” He shrugged.
Shika smiled a little. It was true, Sol was not shaped like a human man with a spear, but perhaps that did not have to invalidate her religious beliefs. Somehow, that thought was very reassuring. She could believe whatever she chose, she realized. And so could her people.
“Actually,” and now Mr. Piff’s voice came across the translator with a hint of sly humor, “according to modern Andromedic astronomers, all matter in this universe came from an explosion much like that of a dying star.”
Shika looked at him. “Really?”
As he nodded, the translator bot interjected, “As a matter of fact, Ms. Shika, a very famous human astrophysicist on Earth once made that very point. Dr. Carl Sagan said, ‘We are all made of star stuff.’”
Shika stared at the bot.
“Rather than worrying about the religious significance of your new observations of the universe,” Mr. Piff suggested, “try to see them as a challenge—a chance to understand how and why the universe around you works, regardless of who created it. And remember to keep an open heart and open eyes to new ideas that may differ from your own. You know, Space Patrol has a strict policy of respecting the religious beliefs of others. Intolerance or bigotry is unacceptable. Perhaps my peoples’ belief in the great god Skri-iisat differs from your understanding of how the stars in the constellations created the Mursi tribe, but still I can converse with you about it and remain on friendly terms afterwards.” His smile was wry as though he could name other organizations who were not able to do so.
Shika nodded silently, overwhelmed by the immense relief she felt at the return of her certainty in how the universe worked. Mr. Piff clapped her on the shoulder once more, smiled, and then moved away, leaving her to stare at the stars and wonder how her ancient people had deduced so well the secrets of the celestial universe.