by T J Marquis
Either way, if something was generating an energy field, it had to be powered, which meant that Centrifuge was not dead. Something was still providing power somewhere, and he meant to find it.
His reasons for doing so were threefold. First, to contribute something to Rae and her scholarly pursuits. She had told him that many of the City’s older histories, and other resources, were frozen behind the apparent lack of electricity. If he could give her power, he could give her knowledge. Then she might be able to open her school.
Second, a field of energy powerful enough to have an effect on the entire planet could point him in just the right direction toward reversing the curse Camulen had laid upon Zhamann. Study of the mysterious Centrifuge machine might help him restore the natural state of his homeworld.
Finally, he’d continued to discuss his personal mission with Rae, and they’d further fleshed out that thought he had apparently been too dense to have on his own. Along with her school of magic, they could build an orphanage.
It was really a solution to both their problems. She desired not only a successor, but an education for the next generation of mages, and he needed to find an apprentice of his own who was predisposed to such abilities. They could work together to nourish and educate children who had no other place to go, and everyone involved would have the chance to flourish.
With these things in mind, Dahm spent hours upon hours delving deep into the spaces beneath the Keep, exploring by torchlight. He knew one day, he’d find something.
That day was not long in coming.
It was hard to keep track of his position relative to the surface while winding through the subterranean hallways, but the vertical shaft he discovered seemed to be somewhere beneath the Keep’s pavilion with its ornate fountain. The floor he was currently exploring seemed to be some kind of service level. Everything on this floor had an industrial look - it was all pipes and grates and insulated wiring. He’d never seen so much industrial paraphernalia in one place.
The vertical shaft was circular, perhaps twenty feet in diameter, with a solid-looking pillar of a copper color at its center. A platform encircled the pillar, just wide enough for a man to fit between it and the outer wall. Dahm put a hand to the slick, metal surface. Metal wasn’t as easy to peer into as stone or loose earth, but with deep focus, he followed the currents of its energy from this faint locus down to where it grew stronger.
There was a vast web of the metal reaching deep into the earth. He followed the trail further than he’d ever reached before, miles deep. Only the strength of the energy allowed him to reach so far. Long after the structure of the Keep faded from his senses, the web of metal continued. Dahm felt the heat of it, the pressure of steam and the rush of water. He didn’t know what it meant, but he knew this buried system was producing energy of some sort to send up to the surface. He thought back to the hidden switch that had allowed him to open up the Maw in Anek. Was that all he needed?
During the last sacking of Centrifuge, when the enemy had stolen its power, had no one known or been able to simply flip a switch to keep the City alive? Or perhaps the switch had become inaccessible somehow.
He rose up through the earth again, staying close to the power he felt, searching for the switch. There, on the bottom-most level of the Keep - it felt like a small room, at the end of a narrow hall. There was broken steel, piles of rock. Something had collapsed the tunnel. Dahm thought that surely this couldn’t have been the only switch. If he’d been designing such a system… Well it didn’t matter. If this was the switch, he had to flip it.
He did.
Jon and Bahabe had gone out to the Throne’s crash site to help clear the considerable amount of debris from the building that had fallen on it. The going was rough, since the building hadn’t entirely collapsed. Its remaining structure was resting precariously on the hull of the ship, meaning the building would either have to be dismantled, or the Throne would simply have to be flown out from under it if the ship were ever fully repaired. Jon had thought to try his hand at literally whittling down the skyscraper from the top down.
He would sever a manageable section of the building with his blades of light, then move it out over the mountains of scrap growing down below using telekinesis, and let it fall. It was a long job, but good practice with his powers.
He’d flown down for a hydration break with Bahabe when they heard the klaxon sound. It was a loud warning signal, but not particularly urgent, seeming to emanate from every point of the City at once.
Something spoke, its accent thick, but understandable.
“Attention citizens,” came the measured, feminine voice. “Emergency utility systems have been activated. Please remain calm. Follow the standard rationing procedures posted in your residence. Do not exceed daily water allotment. Mass transit services will be suspended and all power will be reserved for emergency vehicle byways. Lift privileges will be restricted to first responders, law enforcement, and essential maintenance personnel. Please begin utilizing the stairs, and relocate the sick and elderly to the lower levels of your arcology. Reduced environmental lighting will be activated between sundown and ten o’clock p.m. Normal operations expected to resume in… error… That is all. Listen closely for broadcast updates. Thank you for your cooperation.
Jon watched Bahabe. She looked shocked. She probably didn’t even realize what half of that meant, but she knew it was important. Rae came rushing over to them from where she’d been speaking with a foreman.
“Did you hear that?” Jon had not yet seen her this excited “You didn’t do it, I didn’t… Who…” Her eyes lit up, sparkling. “Dahm, that beautiful man.”
“He’s been poking around under the Keep,” Jon said.
“I don’t know what he found, but this has to be the result!” Rae exclaimed. “Come on! Let’s go back to the Keep and celebrate!”
Chapter 23
Lights
Jon and Bahabe sat together on a balcony a hundred stories above the ground. Of course, Jon could have flown them up to it, but they’d taken one of the eight emergency lifts that had been activated at the Keep. These lifts rode the tracks Jon had previously seen running up the outside of the tower’s central stalk and provided an excellent view on the way up.
“The lights are almost as nice as the stars,” Bahabe said, gazing out over the City. As the disembodied voice had announced, utility lights had come on all across Centrifuge at dusk, much to the amazement of its citizens. “Is this what it’s like in your world, Jon?”
“Some places,” he said. “Though not so tall, for the most part. Some cities are so bright you can see them from space.”
“Space?” Bahabe asked. “Oh, right. That place past the sky. Still sounds weird to me.”
“Not like I’ve ever been,” Jon admitted. “But I’ve seen pictures.”
“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” she asked.
Jon found he still had to think about this question. Having the power of the White Light inside of him was amazing, intoxicating even, but it came with such responsibility. The people wanted to make him a king now. A king! Jon - an ex-addict, former drug dealer, murdering fugitive. Who was he to lead anyone else? To tell them what to do or how? If he went back to his homeworld, he might have to face the consequences of his old life, or he might be able to just start over. For all he knew, his case was already forgotten. He could finish his earthly life as he’d always imagined - with a decent job, a little family. He looked at Bahabe as he thought this.
There was a surge of something in him then, something strong that tangled in the swirl of his other thoughts. It surfaced as a protectiveness and affection he’d never felt for anyone else before. Had she become family to him? He breathed deep as he realized it was much more than that. She might just be the best reason for him to stay. A smile crept onto his face as his eyes took in her innocence and wonder at the City lights. The dark curls of her hair glimmered with reflections as she noticed his attention and turned her head.
Her eyelids sparkled, universes of their own. She smiled uncertainly.
“What is it?” she asked. “You look like you remembered something funny. Come on, share!” She poked him in the arm.
He looked away, still grinning. “It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s just good to be with you again, without anything around trying to kill us.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, disbelieving. “That’s not all. Come on, share it or I’ll throw you off the balcony.”
Jon laughed. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” she said, eyes flashing.
“I’d just fly back up,” he said.
“Which is what makes it okay,” she laughed. “So?”
“I was just thinking… I don’t think I could leave now. As crazy as things got, there’s just so much good here. And you.”
He couldn’t tell if she blushed in the dark, but she looked back out at the City.
“And Dahm, and Naphte, and this place and Rae. It’s new, but it’s an old new. Does that make sense?”
Bahabe nodded slowly. “I know what you mean. Of course, I feel the same about you, you guys. Plus there’s my real family. I mean, original family?”
“Biological,” Jon suggested.
“Sure. Anyway, I could never go back to Sem-ba-do, except to visit Dad. Would you come with me, if I went?”
“You got it,” Jon said.
“So what’s next then?” she asked.
“For me?” he asked.
“For us, I guess. What do you think comes next?”
Jon watched her face, profile limned in golden light, lips clearly defined and calling to him. They’d been calling for weeks, hadn’t they? He’d been too wrapped up in himself and the mission to really feel it. He didn’t even know if she felt the way he did.
She turned to face him slowly, smirking suspiciously. “You’re doing it again,” she said.
Her smirk fell away as she read his eyes and he saw her mouth part slightly.
“All this time,” Jon said, “I haven’t been able to just sit and look at you.”
Bahabe brought a hand to her hair as if there was anything to fix. “Why would you want to do that?” she chuckled.
He reached across the short gap between them and took her hand.
“Oh,” she said, and her fingers twined with his.
Epilogue
The Assassin knelt before his master’s scrying waters, dejected, frustrated, beaten. Ethereal chains held him in place. Punished for failure, he would not be able to leave this place for quite some time.
From here he could just see the horizon of the Cracked Lands through the Doom’s viewport. Things were as they always were out there - barren, lifeless, safe from the intrusions of the enemy. In the scrying room, however, the winds were shifting.
“That foul spirit brings me back here like a wayward dog,” the Assassin spat quietly, practically mumbling. “Denies me the death of our traitor, the duel I deserve with that abominable human. And it’s me the master punishes. Am I the only one with a sense of justice?”
“Would you please give it a rest?” the Creator said in annoyance. He was tending to his garden as always, kneeling in the little patch of dirt the master had allowed him, tilling it with his fingers, feeding his herbs with raw power. “Unless you intend to do something about it,” he added.
“Don’t be a fool,” the Assassin retorted. “We are in him, he in us. What could I possibly do besides complain?”
The Creator shrugged. “I have often wondered if we could be compelled to fuse against our will. Have you ever thought to resist?”
“Quiet, moron! Have you ever known him not to be aware of our thoughts and words?”
The Creator shrugged again. “And what will he do? Keep us confined?” He scoffed, gesturing at the room around them. “Amputate?” He laughed, a joyless sound. “None of us can live without the others, surely you must know that.”
“Ah, but pain,” the Assassin said. “He can cause pain. Pain is loss, and I hate losing.”
“Your problem, not mine,” said the Creator.
“I’ll make it yours,” said the other. The Creator laughed again.
“Come on then! I’d do almost anything to stop your incessant mewling over there.”
But the Assassin did not move. It was fruitless. This was his existence, to wait at the beck and call of the master, to be punished when he failed, to flog his own consciousness with stripes of excruciating inadequacy while he knelt out his penance. So it had been for over an age, and so it would continue to be.
The scrying waters rippled, giving out a faint tinkle. He could just see the surface of the black waters, but couldn’t make out any image, and he wasn’t allowed to stand.
“Brother,” he called to the Creator, who didn’t bother to mask his annoyance.
“What?”
“The waters. What do they say? I don’t fancy his ire if we miss something of import.”
“You think I care about the world out there?” the Creator asked. The Assassin stared back at him. The Creator sighed. “Alright.”
He stood and came near to the waters, peering into them, waiting for their message to appear.
“It’s that City,” he said at last.
“Yes?”
“It’s waking up.”
Acknowledgement
Coming to Power was my twenty-year novel. It’s completion was bittersweet but much needed so that I could move on to other things and finally get myself together.
It took a lot of inspiration, reevaluation, and study, and thus there are many people who must receive my thanks.
First, Dad, for providing me access to his vast stacks of sci-fi and fantasy novels as I grew up, and both my parents for supporting my reading habit and even forcing me to complete The Hobbit when I was ready to learn to commit to longer books. Mom, for buying me books often and always telling me I could achieve anything.
Jeremy, for joining me in countless adventures as we learned to tell our own stories.
My old high school friends Adam, Michelle, and Rachel, who all make appearances in the novel and I clearly remember humoring me with reads of my horrible hand-written pages. Thank you all.
Mr. Flick, for encouraging my writing way back then.
Professor Raizen, for wonderful instruction in Biblical Hebrew. You’ll find her unknowing influence in all the naming conventions.
Sadaf, for reads, encouragement, friendship, and probably saving my life along with Kendall.
Charles Calvin III for being my biggest non-Mom fan for a very long time and believing in my skills. You’re gonna kill it bro.
Sage, Emmett, and Elliott for being amazing and beautiful reasons.
Sarah K. for truly loving me, helping heal me, reading the whole darn thing and telling me it was special. I love you.
And God, for being before, behind, in, through, around, and after everything. Thank you for the mysteries in the universe(s) that bring all these things to my imagination.
Whoever reads or has read, I pray you feel the same way I did when this seed began to grow.
Afterword
This book was born of a desire that is very basic to me, and I’m sure a lot of creatives. I want to make at least one of everything that I enjoy. One video game, one movie, one CCG, one comic, one metal album, one dubstep album, and obviously more than one novel. I even want to make one of many things that I am not equipped to construct without severe and probably doomed realignment of my entire life, for example a trampoline house.
Because it was my first novicular undertaking (hey I can make up words if I want, okay?) it is very much a synthesis of many, many ideas I’ve come across in the interim. Religion, Metaphysics, Astronomy, Urban Geography, Apocrypha, Philosophy, and more.
What’s really interesting to me is that these things gradually grew like bark around the trunk of fantastic heroism that found its way into my heart through such humble things as video games and cartoons. That’s right, the most bas
ic motives and methods that Jon and his friends are driven by and employ came from the games my childhood friend Jeremy and I would play. Games based on Mario, Link, Metroid, Castlevania, Masters of the Universe, and later by jRPGs and anime. If you ever thought the child in you couldn’t grow up into something worth keeping around, think again. Go back to dreaming and imagining for a while and see what you come up with.
I very much hope that my love of ideas, ideals, and heroic fiction come through and help to inspire someone from the next generation of readers and writers the same way I was inspired in my youth.
Tolkien, Brooks, Donaldson, Alexander, King, Howard, and the wonderful creators of everything I mentioned above and more - they’ve all contributed nutrients to the roots of this world tree, and I thank them here, inasmuch as it’s possible to do so.
Thank you for reading.
About The Author
T. J. Marquis
T.J. Marquis is an author of science fiction and fantasy and things that fall in the spaces between.
He’s not as crazy as he looks. Probably.
T.J.’s works derive superficial inspiration from all of the expected fantastical IPs you can imagine, but the soul substance comes from such wonderful things as Progressive
Heavy Metal and Ambient music, from nature itself, from very good people, and of course from Jesus.
