In the weak light emanating from the door’s outline, Noah could make out the prostate form of Kebe. He was not dead; the rhythm of his breathing encompassed glacial eons. Growth seemed to be bursting from each orifice in tangles of vines sprouting sheaves of leaves.

Noah peered closer and his stomach convulsed. It was not plant life, but the cold steel of organic metal. In the very short time he’d known Kebe, he’d liked the man.

He took a step towards the door. Time slowed like syrup. The door seemed to recede from his outstretched hands. He trapped in the event horizon of the moment. He saw himself stride ahead, like frames of animation, then he was there, pushing open the door.

Engulfed by illumination unfolding dreamlike in loops and arcs, planes of light inscribing intricate mathematical formulae, Noah was shrouded by shards of refraction that gently drew him in on a feathery tide of glittering amplitude.

A cliche fell from his lips. “My God, it’s full of stars…”