Awakening

by Ell Leigh Clarke

  “What happened to you?” she asked, sitting up and swiveling her legs over the side of the chair. “Let me help you.” She reached out to him, but quickly pulled her hands back when he jerked away from her.

  “Careful. Don’t touch me,” he said, his hands patting the air between them.

  He teetered on the stool and struggled to steady himself. “The sword is all that matters now. You must… protect the sword.”

  She shook her head and reached for him again despite his warning. She gasped when her hands passed through his body, as if he were an apparition of cold mist rather than an old man made of flesh and bone. Her mind whirred trying to conceive of the technology that would allow this, but then became overwhelmed with emotion as she realized that this stranger was about to leave her alone without answers.

  “What sword are you talking about?” she asked desperately, her hands cutting the air in a vain attempt to grab onto him to force him to talk. “Please, I don’t understand. What sword are you talking about?”

  “The Sword of the Cross-Roads,” he told her, coughing into his fist again. The fist came away from his lips covered in fresh blood. “If the sword falls into his hands… all is lost.”

  “Whose hands? What sword?”

  “I pray you are alive the next time I see you,” he said with a sad smile.

  He pressed his right hand to the wound and closed his eyes. The last of his blood flowed between his fingers until he let the hand drop into his lap. His bearded chin dropped to his chest and he slid sideways off the stool and onto the floor.

  Bumbling, she scooted off the chair to kneel beside him. She hovered over him, struggling to see him in the blue light. He didn’t appear to be breathing.

  “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck… no, no, no, no you don’t!” she called, clutching his robe to shake him awake. “Don’t you die on me! You can’t leave me like this! Who the hell are you? Where are we? Who… am I?”

  The sudden realization that she had no memory prior to opening her eyes a few moments before made her head throb anew. She put her hands to her forehead to push back her long, blonde hair from her sweaty face.

  There was a lump above her right eye the size of an egg. It hurt like hell to touch. She blinked the tears from her eyes and pressed her palms to her temples.

  “Think… think… think…” she said. “What’s my name? What the hell is my name?”

  Try as she might, she had no idea who she was, where she was, or how she had arrived where she was. And the identity of the old man on the floor was lost with his last breath.

  She collapsed on the floor beside him and started to cry. She couldn’t help it. It was all she could think of to do at that moment. Then, the old man moved.

  “Holy fuck balls, are you still alive?” She hovered over him again, staring deeply into his glassy eyes. Without warning, he grabbed the front of her tunic, surprising her especially after his warning not to touch him. He jerked her face close to his. She struggled to pull away, but his grip was like a vice. She could smell the blood on is breath.

  “Protect the sword with your life,” he whispered. “You and the sword… you are now one…”

  Her heart was beating in her mouth as she pulled away, terrified. His grip loosened, and the life drifted from his eyes. The old man fell still with his eyes and mouth wide open. This time, there was no doubt. He was dead.

  She fell back on the seat of her pants and pushed herself away with her heels, stopping only when her back hit a wall. It was then that she realized that the blue glow was coming from something beneath the chair where she had been.

  “What the hell…” She struggled stiffly to her feet and moved cautiously toward the chair. She had missed it before but lying under the chair was a sword nearly as long as she was tall. Coupled to it were nodes and electrodes: wires of a bizarre variety, which in turn were hooked up to a bunch of equipment she couldn’t begin to guess at.

  The strange techno-sword was partially wrapped in a sheath of crimson cloth that was loosely bound with strips of tanned leather.

  With two fingers, she pulled back the cloth to expose the full length of the sword. It was long and beautiful, with a highly-polished, double-edged blade that came to a lethal point, and a black leather hilt.

  The blade was etched with a series of symbols she didn’t recognize. And it was glowing, emitting a brilliant blue light that grew stronger the closer she came to it.

  The dead man’s words echoed in her ears.

  Protect the sword with your life. You and the sword are now one.

  “What the hell have I got myself into?” she muttered, cautiously reaching out her right hand to touch the sword.

  She had no memory of ever having seen or held this or any other sword before. She wondered if she would even know how to use such a massive sword as this. It was too heavy for someone of her size to wield with any semblance of finesse and expertise.

  Yet this sword felt somehow… familiar.

  The desire to touch it pulled her closer like a magnet to steel. She wasn’t sure how or why, but the old man was right: she was somehow bound to this beautiful object.

  The hairs on her arm stood on end as her fingertips neared the black leather hilt. A spark of static electricity bit the tip of her finger, but she did not jerk her hand away. The desire to touch the sword was overwhelming. She could literally feel herself being pulled toward it. She reached out with both hands, fingers fully extended, breath held in anticipation.

  The moment her fingers closed around the sword’s grip she was overcome by what felt like the heat of an invisible fire. Every muscle in her body twisted into knots. The sharp pain in her head returned in full force. She fell to her knees, clutching the sword in front of her with both hands.

  The pain was sudden and intense, blinding, paralyzing, like shoving a hand into a power grid. The blue glow grew stronger as the pain intensified.

  She tried to release the sword, but her fingers tightened around the grip in defiance to her brain. Her hands and arms began to shake as the blue glow ebbed upwards toward her shoulders. It burned across her chest like acid, seizing her heart and forcing the air from her lungs.

  She tried to scream, but the sound caught in her throat. It felt as if the flesh was burning away from her body, the pain searing into every inch of muscle, bone and tissue.

  All she could do was squeeze her eyes shut and grit her teeth as the blue glow fully engulfed her. Her grip on the sword tightened, as if it was becoming an extension of her body, molding to flesh and bone.

  The muscles in her arms and shoulders tightened and ached. There was a searing pain in her palms, as if she were clutching a red-hot branding iron.

  She finally managed to scream and let go of the sword.

  “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”

  As the word shot from her lips, her fingers released the sword and she fell backward, her entire body racked with pain. The sword clattered to the floor as she struggled to catch her breath.

  She was drenched in sweat. Shaking. Crying.

  She clutched her hands to her chest and curled into a ball as she tried to stop the flow of tears.

  “Crying never helped solve anything,” a voice from somewhere in her past whispered in her ear. The voice was male; older, soothing and familiar, yet she couldn’t put a face to it.

  Finally, the pain began to subside. She rolled to her back and took several deep breaths, fighting a wave of nausea that rumbled through her. She flexed her arms and legs to make sure everything still worked. She flexed her fingers, which were still drawn and tight. She opened her hands and frowned at what she saw.

  Burned into her palms, as if branded there, was the outline of a cross with two horizontal bars. The burns were raw and tender but didn’t hurt nearly as much as she thought they should have. She would have to dress them before infection set in. Good thing she was in a med bay.

  “That was a lousy fucking trick…” she said, blowing out a long breath. She stared at th
e sword for a moment, lying on the floor next to the dead man. The blue glow was growing fainter by the moment, leaving the room engulfed in darkness.

  She glanced at the old man as if she expected him to wake up and explain what had just happened. He didn’t move. Whatever connection he had to the sword—and to her—was gone.

  The sound of a woman’s voice in her head startled her. It took her a moment to realize that the voice was that of an AI sounding an alarm on all channels. The audio implant inside her right ear was picking it up.

  “Intruder alert! Intruder alert! All personnel to battle stations. All personnel to battle stations. Move your asses, boys! Trouble’s a’coming!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dracon Space Station, Dracon System, Klaunox Sector

  Malleghan sat at the head of his Command Centre: the extravagant hall where he received subjects and subordinates. Wealthy corporate heads, System Commanders, LaPlacian Lords… All of them were the same when they reported to him: prostrate, humble, and, with so few exceptions that he could count them on one hand, so drenched in terror he could practically smell it.

  The one kneeling before him was not one of the exceptions. He was well-dressed in full military dress garb, complete with a mosaic of medals and accolades that spanned both shoulders. At times he likely thought himself one of the truly powerful in a large system. Today, however, he could barely suppress the shudder of terror when he had finished reporting his failure. “I’m sorry, your eminence,” he pleaded. “I truly am. But such a loss was inevitable with the resources we were allocated.”

  Malleghan bared gleaming teeth in what was almost a snarl, showing that his canines that were just a bit longer and sharper than one might expect hidden beneath those delicate lips. “Among the litany of excuses I’ve heard today, Rear Admiral, this is among the most pathetic. Resource allocation, like all things, was your responsibility. If the responsibility was beyond you, then what use are you to me?”

  The Rear Admiral let his gaze move up for a moment, as though ready to protest. Then, as if he quickly changed his mind, his gaze dropped again. “I understand, Your Eminence,” he replied. “This is my responsibility, and I will accept it.”

  Malleghan’s lips twisted into a sadistic grin. So many of them said things like this, expecting clemency in the face of bold acceptance of responsibility. But even after the words had escaped him, the Rear Admiral’s look of terror and resignation showed he knew the truth: Malleghan only accepted one kind of penance in the face of failure.

  “Yes,” Malleghan said, gesturing with his left hand towards his inferior. “I know you will.”

  At Malleghan’s single motion and mental command, the floor came to life beneath the Rear Admiral, giving way to a pool of shimmering carbon fluid into which he sank up to his waist, trapping the kneeling man within the shifting surface. The nanomachinery crept into him, bleeding into his flesh and sending chrome-colored veins underneath that made his head swell while their tendrils crept into his brain. He had no time to scream, only to open his mouth and eyes as wide as he could before falling completely into the liquid metal tomb prepared for him. Once the floor had swallowed him whole, it retook its previous form of an elegant, polished marble. No sign of the Rear Admiral remained.

  “See that he doesn’t stay there,” Malleghan ordered off-hand while a flick of his finger summoned exotic fruit from the crystal bowl that sat out of his arm’s reach.

  The many guards and attendants that lined the hall couldn’t see what he did; that would be impossible. To them, he was a being of opulence and high stature, seated at his high throne while casually enjoying a saccharine Clonall Dragonfruit, a glass of century-old wine floating off at the ready in gravitic stasis. For hours and hours, he would sit like this, indulging in food and drink and occasionally shouting down or ordering the deaths of those unlucky enough to disappoint him. Though none of them would dare to say it to his face, some might have even made the grave mistake of thinking him lazy, and isolated, content to bask in his unassailable seat of power and level harsh judgment upon those who could do nothing to prevent it.

  Nothing could have been further from the truth. Except for that last one, of course.

  With a flick of his well-manicured index finger, he guided the floating wine glass into his left hand and took a sip, closing his eyes while taking in the complex flavors. What others could not imagine was the depth of vision he had to the galaxy even in such a state. He had Eyes everywhere in the vast space he commanded, and seldom was the day he did not spend peering through thousands of them. At this time, though, he looked through only one, and spoke to only one.

  “Your Eminence,” his Eye reported silently into his mind, amidst the constant data stream being sent from its scanners. “The Geburah’s pursuit is continuing as planned. The target remains aboard the Chesed, and Lord Amroth is at the ready to send the team in.”

  Malleghan’s exhaled, allowing himself smile. From his throne, it would appear to those watching that he had merely enjoyed that vint of century wine a great deal. “Excellent,” he responded solely through the neural uplink. “I’ve been noticing strange wave-patterns in your area. Explain.”

  “Affirmative,” the Eye replied. “We have detected anomalous spatio-temporal fluctuations emanating from the Chesed.”

  Malleghan took another bite from his fruit, slowly chewing as he wordlessly replied: “And the cause?”

  “Unclear,” the Eye’s monotone voice answered. “Its immediate purpose defies identification and is inconsistent with any technology recorded in LaPlacian databases. This Eye would surmise it is likely experimental and related to manipulation of the space-time continuum.”

  “Likely,” Malleghan answered, swallowing the bite of fruit. His eyes opened to the chamber and he whispered aloud: “Just what do you think you’re doing, Legba?”

  Two of his attendants on either side, always on their toes in seeing to his needs, turned quickly when they heard even that little speech.

  “Your eminence?” one asked. “How may we assist you?”

  Malleghan scowled at the interruption. “By keeping quiet!” he snapped aggressively. “If I require something of you, you will be intimately aware of it.”

  The white-coated attendant meekly bowed and stepped away, clearly fearing any true wrath from his master. Malleghan closed his eyes again to commune with his Eye.

  “Keep your scanners ready to sense another disturbance of that sort,” he commanded. “Legba is one of the few in this pitiful expanse who should not be underestimated. Even when we have him cornered like this. Especially so.”

  “Understood, your eminence,” the Eye answered. “The Geburah’s interception is imminent.”

  “Good,” Malleghan said. “Inform me immediately once Amroth has ordered them aboard.”

  +++

  Aboard the Chesed, Klaunox Sector

  Inside the Chesed, the rooms Frostbite One moved through seemed to get bigger and bigger. Emptier and emptier. Their scanners registered nothing. The huge energy reading they had picked up a little while back had disappeared without a trace.

  The unit leader reported in. “Emerton to Geburah. Signal has disappeared, since we boarded, sir.”

  Alber slid out of the shadows right in front of the team, giving them a start. "You mean since someone won this year’s national screaming championship?"

  The troops raised their blasters ready to fire on him.

  “It’s me, you dickless wonders!” Alber scowled. “And I already had a look at this deck. It’s empty.”

  “That’s not a part of your job description,” Emerton, growled. He was a good fifteen years older than Alber, but Alber clearly considered himself superior.

  “I don’t recall getting an employment contract with job responsibilities and employment benefits when we were hired," said Kodyn, slithering out behind the team, startling them again. “Do we get a medical package too? I think I need to-”

  Emerton lowered his gun and tu
rned past his men to glare at her. “You need to shut the hell up. How does a windbag like you end up on a stealth team anyway?”

  “Well, for starters, by not having a big ass ugly scar, right smack in the middle of my face” she retorted.

  Emerton’s hand automatically reached out to touch his scar. A force of habit. Something he had lived with for the last decade or so. “Well, I might not win any beauty contests,” he replied, “but let’s be honest. Neither will you.”

  Whatever little joy had been on Kodyn’s face washed away. It was true. Appearance-wise, neither Kodyn nor Alber were much to look at. It was what made them great for blending in. Looking like your average nobody, they had faces you wouldn’t remember with a gun to your head. Plain. Uninteresting. Their skin was unmarked, but not perfect. You would remember someone with perfect skin, or scarred skin. Their skin was just… average. Nothing about their bodies or faces gave your memory anything to hold on to.

  Of course, this didn’t give Kodyn any lesser reason not to be bitter about it. She opened her mouth, ready to go all out on Emerton when Amroth cut in over their comm.

  “Will you idiots get your acts together?” His voice spoke through their ear implants, giving them all a chill. Alber noticed Emerton visibly flinch. “Alber and Kodyn, return to the ship immediately. Frostbite One, search the final level. Someone screamed, so someone is in there. Find who it is. Bring him to me. And don’t make me repeat myself.” The line disconnected.

  They all knew what was possible if he did have to repeat himself, and no one was willing to risk that fate.