Sky Rays

By Emily Barnett

The sky ray dipped, and I held on as vertigo kicked in. I loved flying when I was the pilot, but being at the mercy of a giant manta ray thousands of feet in the air was a different story. And after two years, I still wasn’t a fan.

I placed a palm on the small glass cabin that encased me and my flight partner, gripping my seatbelt with the other until my knuckles turned white.

Jim glanced at me. “All right, Cass?”

Swallowing down my nausea and some of my honor, I nodded. “See anything yet?” I squinted past the sky ray’s gleaming white head, then across her fins that splayed as wide as a house on either side of our cabin. But I saw no shimmering.

Jim was always better at spying portal plankton than I was.

“Not yet. But Manta smells something.” He hesitated, then locked eyes with me, his voice growing as soft as our ray’s underside. “I don’t want you getting your hopes up again. This next world might not be—”

“You say this every time, Jim.” I leaned back in my seat with a huff. “We’re explorers. Our entire mission is to wander these worlds and look for cures, technology, wonders, better ways of life. It’s our assignment.”

“Our assignment is to explore parallel universes,” Jim said slowly. “Not to find a perfect one.”

Folding my arms, I glared at him. Him and his stupid brown eyes that reminded me of chocolate spazzle from Earth 3. And his stupid cologne with spices we purchased from a silver-eyed man on Earth 7. Both worlds that turned out to be major busts, I might add. One had laser guns and the other destroyed their moon “accidentally.”

And don’t get me started on Earth 1. The place where my mom died too early and my dad’s apology for abandoning me came too late. What a lovely place to call home.

“Alright, Mr. Pessimist,” I said. “Just because we haven’t found somewhere without disease or war or sharks, doesn’t mean it isn’t out there.”

“Maybe not on this side of the sky,” he said with a knowing smile. But the only thing I knew was that I wanted to wipe his smirk clean off.

Manta gave a low moan and the heavens seemed to ripple in response.

We weren’t quite in space, just skimming the upper atmosphere so we wouldn’t be detected by any of the worlds we passed through. Though parking a sky ray out of sight was easier said than done.

“There!” Jim pointed.

I leaned forward, finally spotting the shimmer in the air, like desert sun on sand. My pulse quickened. It was time to leave Earth 22 and explore the next.

Maybe this time would be different.

It didn’t matter what Jim said. I’d know my true home when I saw it.

Manta’s fins pumped harder, and the world below blurred.

Sky rays weren’t the smartest of creatures, but they were the only ones that could detect the plankton that fed off portals. It’s what led a school of rays to our skies in the first place. After that, my lonely life was never the same.

“Masks on,” Jim said.

I attached my breathing apparatus in preparation for the lack of oxygen during our funneling.

Manta was nearly to the portal when the shimmer thickened. Millions of tiny creatures swarmed, trying to filter back through before they were consumed.

“Hold on!” Jim yelled.

I gritted my teeth.

Maybe this time would be different.

Open-mouthed Manta dove into the whirlpool of light and color, miniscule plankton dancing about us like sparklers. I trembled and Jim reached over, lacing his fingers over mine. His reassuring face was a kaleidoscope of pinks and blues and yellows as we soared to another world.

Maybe this time would be—

Jim’s hand ripped away. His fingers flew over his apparatus. Sweat pooled down his brow. What in the world?

Then I realized—he couldn’t breathe.

Unclipping my harness, I fell to my knees in front of him, trying to find the issue with his mask. I heard no hissing of oxygen. There were no knots in the tubes.

Jim tore off his mask, gripping his chest. His eyelids fluttered tiredly.

Panic upended me. I was going to lose him. This man who’d listened to me complain about the flora mafia on Earth 13, and the dog-sized bees on 6. Who protected me against a pick-pocket on 4 and held my hair on 12 when I ate something I thought was candy but was actually a vomit vitamin.

Who let me dream and didn’t rub it in when those dreams were shattered 22 times over.

My partner. My friend. My—

Nope. Not today, Mr. Pessimist.

I pulled off my mask and shoved the mouthpiece past his lips. Startled, he sucked in a breath, his eyes focusing. His brow wrinkled, and his eyes widened, but then they softened into something that made me ache a little. I might have pulled away had he not been using my oxygen tank—literally taking my breath away.

Reaching out, he thumbed something off my cheek. Something wet.

Had I been crying?

He pulled in another breath then took out the mouthpiece, wiped it on his sleeve, and handed it back. But I didn’t need it anymore.

The colors and lights were lessening. We were through. Earth 23.

Manta deposited us into a sky dressed in vibrant stars and two moons.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Jim was still looking at me with an oddly intense expression. His hand was on my arm, warm and familiar. “Cass.”

Manta let out a high-pitched note, but I kept my attention on Jim. This was likely a world I’d find imperfect like all the others.

I touched Jim’s face, reminding me of right here, right now. I smiled. All this time I’d been looking for home in all the wrong places.

Maybe this time really would be different.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Barnett resides in Colorado with her husband and two sons dreaming up magical worlds that feel a bit like home. Every Friday she hosts a flash fiction challenge on Instagram to build up other writers. She is querying a YA fantasy novel to agents, and will have two short stories in the upcoming anthology What Darkness Fears (October 2021). She writes poetry and loves The Office, both of which influence her writing quite a bit.

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