Voices of the Lost

by C. S. Harte

  “We must unite with the rest of our allies.”

  He nodded. “Lead the way.”

  “Thrib will show us where they are.” Samara climbed onto Thrib’s back and wrapped herself around his neck. “Are you not coming with us, Dren Arvol?”

  “On the back of that thing?”

  “Yes, it is quite a capable steed.”

  Dren shrugged and joined Samara on Thrib’s back. An image of Jann popped into his head. I bet the kid would beg to switch places with me right now.

  “Hang on tight. You will fall otherwise.”

  As instructed, his arms curled around her stomach. She was surprisingly muscular for someone who fought mostly with her mind.

  Samara patted Thrib twice. The kuetsal sprung into the air on the strength of its powerful hind legs. In two flaps of his wings, the creature rose 500-meters into the air and immediately transitioned into a glide.

  Using his ocular implants, Dren monitored their speed — 248 kilometers per hour. At that rate, they should make it to the Anchor before nightfall. With creatures like Thrib roaming across Earth, he shuddered at the prospect of other predators coming through the Anchor and onto Earth.

  The jungle canopy looked like a carpet of moss from high above, one that seemed to stretch on indefinitely. It would have taken them hours, possibly even days to reach the Anchor if they had tried to move on foot and slice through the dense netting of vines.

  After 15 minutes, Thrib slowed and descended toward an opening in the tree line.

  “Is that the Anchor?” Dren’s voice fought against the sound of rushing wind. He was expecting to find an ancient temple or a stone structure.

  “No. We are meeting an old friend first.”

  Thrib touched down softly, landing without so much as a sound. He was as graceful as he was massive. As Samara said, these creatures were perfect riding companions.

  Another lavender-skinned Chorda wearing a blue and white flight suit greeted them. On the left side of his chest was a black insignia, one smaller diamond inside a larger one with two parallel lines above it. A brown, leather satchel bag slung across his other shoulder.

  “My Voice.” He bowed, his head and arms dropping below his waistline. “I am honored to be in your presence again. We heard news of your capture by the backstabbing Voidi and feared the worst. Seeing your Greatness here, I am ashamed to have doubted your ingenuity to escape.”

  “Anjali, it is pleasant to once again have your company.” She panned her head. “Where are the others? Where are the House Taumate warriors?”

  “My Voice, much has happened since they took you…”

  Dren dismounted Thrib which startled Anjali.

  “Who is this?” He reached for his weapon, a crescent-shaped dagger.

  “A useful asset,” Samara said.

  “A human!” His eyes brightened. “It is a spectacular occasion to see one on the wild. Does it have a name?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “His human designation is Dren Arvol.”

  “Greetings, Dren Arvol. I am Anjali, Apprentice Questioner of House Taumate.” He interlocked his fingers over the insignia on his chest and bowed slightly, but not as low as he did for Samara. “We should all be so honored to be a useful asset to Mistress.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too.” Dren approached Anjali and copied his hand and bow mannerisms. “I’m sorry, what’s a Questioner?” The 2-meter tall Dren had to look up to speak with Anjali; the top of Dren’s head only reached Anjali’s stomach.

  “I am like your human scientist. Our sacred responsibility is to question the way of things in the universe and offer objective truths to our Archon and our people. Please,” Anjali stepped aside, “We cannot stay in the open. We must cover ourselves from unseen eyes.”

  Thrib opened his mouth, Alyana slid down his tongue and onto the leaf-covered ground.

  Dren moved to pick his captain up in his arms. When he looked up, intending to gesture a thanks to the beast, it had disappeared. “What happened to Thrib?”

  “Thrib chooses when he is seen,” Samara said.

  Telepathic beast that can inject fear straight into the mind of its enemies while hiding its presence. Humans had no chance against Chordans… Dren followed Anjali a short distance until he stopped in front of a wall of tangled vines. The barrier extended high and far like someone had groomed it to grow in such density.

  “After you, my Voice.” Anjali waved for Samara to enter first.

  The wall of vines rippled as she crossed through like stepping into a still pool of water.

  “Please, Dren Arvol,” Anjali gestured for Dren to follow. He hesitated, prompting Anjali to add, “Do not be afraid. You will be safe here.”

  “After the things I’ve seen and been through in the past 24 hours, I’m not afraid of walking through a holographic projection.”

  Anjali grinned. “It is not accurate to call this illusion a holographic projection.”

  “What do you…” Anjali shoved Dren from behind before he could complete his thought. He immediately felt a sensation of moving through water, like there was both resistance and support across his limbs. A current tugged at his body, pulling him forward toward something. His vision blurred while inside the barrier. The experience left him feeling both relaxed and unnerved simultaneously.

  Once he made it through to the other side, he expected a small hideout; some carved-out, underground cave or a small, cozy cabin barely large enough to fit four people. What he found was a grand laboratory with a transparent dome ceiling 100-meters tall. Lab equipment and research stations filled most of the room. Holographic screens hovered in mid-air, some of which displayed the same alien concentric circle symbols from the unidentified ship. Thoughts of RAI-17 floated to the forefront of his consciousness. She was the only thing missing from this setting to recreate the experiences on the mystery vessel.

  “Dren…” Alyana meekly whispered. Her eyes opened for a brief moment before straying close again. Blood and vomit spewed from her mouth. Her body went limp after she finished.

  22

  Dren transferred Alyana to the Chordan Questioner with care. The demure captain looked like a child cradled in his chest.

  “This one is unwell, Anjali,” Samara said. “Tend to her injuries.”

  “Yes, my Mistress.” He bowed his head and carried her away to a table in the corner of the facility.

  A splatter of crimson marked Dren’s Tempest suit. His eyes fixated on the stain; his arms remained outstretched as if Alyana was still there. In his mind, the red-headed girl lay where Alyana wheezed her last breath. His heart sank as the mystery girl closed her eyes, knowing it could be the very last time they would ever open.

  Dren had seen many of his Phoenix Company brethren die in gruesome, horrific ways. But he never held someone during their final breath. He had never watched the light leave from their eyes and the glow fade from their skin. He did not want Alyana to be his first. It confused Dren why he felt this way about someone he just met a couple days ago. Alyana was naturally birthed and someone who probably sent thousands of his brothers to their deaths. That made her an enemy, yet he never saw her as one.

  “Dren Arvol,” Samara rested her hand on his shoulder. “Anjali is a capable mender. Alyana Harrows has more time in her. Today is not her closing day.”

  The blanket of malaise lifted as Samara squeezed his shoulder. “It’s not?” His chin rose to meet her stare. “You have to save her… She’s important to your cause…” … And to me.

  “Follow me.” Samara led him to Anjali who was prepping his patient; wiping the regurgitated food from her mouth and throat; brushing her hair away from her face.

  Dren zoomed in on Alyana’s chest with his ocular implant. She wasn’t breathing.

  A rectangular box floated to Anjali’s side from a compartment in the floor. Inside were several vials, each containing a different vibrant-colored liquid. His nimble fingers worked quickly, mixing the substances in an empty glass tube.
The vials jingled as he grabbed and tossed them back.

  “Will she be OK?” Dren asked, rushing his words. “What are you going to do with her? What are the chemicals he’s using?”

  The Chordan kept his concentration on his work and ignored the peppering of questions. When he finished stirring his amalgamate, the liquid flashed a brilliant blue before settling on a semi-transparent color like the waters of an island paradise.

  Anjali lowered Alyana’s jaw and poured the compound directly into her throat. He massaged her mouth and chest to move the substance through her body.

  This isn’t medicine… At least, not modern human medicine.

  The radiance of the liquid diffused through her skin, giving Alyana a soft blue aura around her.

  “Dren Arvol,” Samara called from the other side of the research lab. “Come here. We have our own matters to attend to.”

  Dren resisted joining her. A child-like curiosity to Anjali’s methods in addition to the strong desire to see Alyana recover urged him to stay and watch. For all the Chordan technological advancements, they seemed to employ witchcraft and alchemy for their curative needs — first with Thrib’s saliva and now a concoction of brightly colored chemicals.

  Seconds passed since Anjali delivered his remedy, each one amplified into a minute inside Dren’s mind.

  Then, in between the time a blink started and finished, he thought he saw a twitch in Alyana’s face. He leaned in closer, hoping his senses weren’t betraying him again.

  Alyana coughed. The first one was timid, barely moving her chest. The aura around her body pulsed. Her fingers collapsed into a fist, her arms lifted slightly off the table. Then her entire body convulsed. Anjali held her down with his long arms.

  “She’s back… Alive…” Dren muttered, his head shaking.

  “She was never dead,” Anjali said. “Her body was simply broken. Like any piece of machinery, once repaired, Alyana Harrows will function normally. You must go to the Mistress when she calls you. This one will make a full recovery.”

  Dren nodded. “Thank you.” He joined Samara who was standing next to the floating holographic projection of an Aztec ziggurat. “Why are you showing me this?”

  “It is natural for you to have questions. Humans have always, in our experience, been a naturally curious species. This is why we followed your evolution.”

  “Experience?” Dren scrunched his eyebrows together. “Following our evolution? How long have you known about us?”

  “Your questions can wait, there is information I seek from your mind.”

  “NO!” He flared his nostrils. “If you want my help, you can’t keep me in the dark all the time.”

  Samara glared at Dren. “Very well, ask your most pressing questions.”

  “What is this place?”

  “We are inside an observation outpost. We use it to study primitive societies like yourself without concern of discovery.”

  “You’ve been here since before the invasion?” He stepped closer to her.

  “Not me. But others, yes.” Her hand waved at the holographic projection. The image changed to a rendering of Earth. “We have visited humans numerous times in the past 100,000 of your years.”

  “Is that how I’m able to communicate with you and Anjali? You learned our languages from studying us?”

  “Any Chorda child can learn your human languages. They are all so archaic, so limited, so inefficient. Since you are incapable of learning ours, we had no option but to learn yours.”

  The dots connected in Dren’s head. The Aztecs built a flourishing civilization in Southern Mexico. They were an advanced society, ahead of their peers in science, math, and engineering. Their religious beliefs made numerous mentions of gods and monsters. Quetzalcoatl, one of their more famous gods, was a giant emerald serpent that could fly. Something like Thrib could easily be seen as a god for those not used to seeing such creatures. “You’ve been influencing human society and development for a long time now, haven’t you been?”

  Samara flicked her finger. The holographic globe spun. “Most Chordans had little thought for your species, just as most of your kind do not concern yourselves with the insects that live in your soil. Within the Questioner’s Guild, there was much doubt whether humans could advance to a space age.” Rockets launched from different continents on the hologram. “To our great surprise, you did. Our primary concern shifted. You became a threat. Not to Chorda specifically, but your development could have triggered a culling.”

  “A culling?” Dren furrowed his brow.

  “Should a species become sufficiently advanced, they attract the attention of Mimics, whose sole purpose, in this universe and others, is to destroy higher life forms.”

  “Why do Chordans care if humans were wiped out?”

  “Most Chordans do not as they are unaware of the world beyond their own.” Samara paused as her eyes became glossy. “We have settled into our new home universe for several generations now. Most are unaware of the sacrifice and cost involved in surviving the last culling. Anjali and I are part of a group that exists to ensure such a price will never again be exacted.”

  “But the Mimics are gone, right? All of them? During the Blessing of the Guardians?”

  “You are mistaken, Dren Arvol. As long as Atua Leaga exists, they will not stop their hunt. Chordans will never be safe unless we dispatch this evil once and for all.”

  “What do you want with me? With Alyana?” Dren shook his head. “Every chance you get, you speak down on humans. How could we possibly be of use to you and your fight with Atua Leaga?”

  “Alyana Harrows…” Her eyes lowered. “It pains me to say I needed her help to escape from your station. She was the only among your kind with the knowledge and experience of use to me.”

  “And me? Why am I here?”

  “You, Dren Arvol, are the first person, of any species, with a unique memory. You have visited the Uluai Vaa, somewhere many Chordan scholars have considered a myth.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Dren tilted his head. “Is that a planet or a ship?” As the word ‘ship’ left his mouth, he gasped. She’s referring to UNID-203… The vessel where he met RAI-17, the one with the projection of Fleet Marshal Jonas Barick.

  “Correct.” Samara nodded. “Before your memories, Uluai Vaa existed only in Chordan lore.”

  “Why is that ship so important?”

  “You have set foot on the Uluai Vaa more than once.”

  “Have I?” Dren looked up in thought. “That’s not true…”

  “In your mind, I see two sets of memories.”

  “That’s impossible,” Dren said while vehemently shaking his head. “It was a first contact mission…” He stared up as he searched his memories. “First contact mission and I died. The whole team died, and we reshelled…”

  “Dren Arvol, in your mind, you may very well have vital information — an indispensable treasure. Some Chordans, including I, postulate Uluai Vaa was the original ship to come in contact with Atua Leaga. It may contain insight into the evil. If we find Uluai Vaa, we might defeat Atua Leaga. Therefore, in your mind, you may hold the key to defeating the most destructive force in the history of histories.”

  He turned away from Samara. She’s crazy. I’m crazy for listening to her. What am I doing here?

  “Once we return to Rheno Rhenasa, House Taumate’s capital city, we can safely extract your memories.”

  “Listen.” Dren backed away. “You helped me escaped Salvation Station, so I’ll help you here on Earth. But I am not going with you through the Anchor. I have no intention of visiting another universe. My experience as a combat marine tells me the more alien a place is, the more likely I will die.”

  “You must, Dren Arvol.” Samara sighed. “You still do not recognize the significance of the knowledge you have. Chordan scholars have sought Uluai Vaa ever since we became aware of its existence, nearly 100,000 years ago.”

  Without a tether, resurrection via reshelling was impossi
ble. Dren’s next death would be his final. “The deal I made with you and Captain Harrows was to get you off Salvation Station for helping me escape. I’ve done my part.” He walked away from her. “This is where we go our separate ways.” There was a certain folly in angering a telepath. But it was less foolish than choosing sides in an alien war in a different universe. “Are you going to use your telepathic powers to force me to stay?”

  “No.” Samara scoffed. “That is not my way. You must understand, this is an irrational behavior, Dren Arvol. Every living, intelligent creature should unite against Atua Leaga. Its desire to destroy all life is only matched by its unbridled power to do so. To not assist us in the fight against them is to not only doom yourself but everything and everyone in existence.”

  Everyone in existence? How could any one species — any one being — be so powerful? Dren doubted the veracity of Samara’s claim. Even if it were true, such a force would be unstoppable. It wasn’t a fight he was willing to take up. “I’m sorry. But I’m leaving. Good luck with… Atua Leaga.”

  “Don’t go, Dren,” Alyana called out to him as Anjali helped her up.

  Dren rushed to her side. “Captain Harrows. I’m relieved to see you pull through.” Guilt crawled up his chest. More than once he intended to leave her behind so he could survive. But his remorse did not change his mind about going to another universe. “As I was saying to Samara, I already did my part. I wish you well, Captain.”

  “Dren!” Alyana forced herself to stand. Her legs wobbled underneath her.

  Anjali had to hold her steady.

  “Please, Captain…” The visage of the red-headed girl replaced Alyana’s face. “Save your breath and your energy. My entire life, I have fought and died in other people’s wars. This cycle cannot define me.”

  “Are you going to give up on Fleet, your brothers-in-arms? You told me how important it was to free them too. Was that a lie?”

  “Today, I’ve learned many things. All my fighting, all my dying, has been for a corrupt organization, for an imposter as a leader, and for things I now know to be false. My tether as a clone is broken. What I fight next will be my own battles, on my own terms. And should I die, it will be for something I believe in.”