“Bayen, honey…the Starchild is a myth. It always has been a myth. For countless generations.”
“Then explain what we were told back at the hospital: Tell me that I wasn’t just dreaming that…?”
Fran stared at her son in quiet disbelief.
“You told me that you were asleep.”
“A light one,” the sky dancer conceded a little. “But I still overheard most of the conversation–even as I was zoning in and out of consciousness.”
Fran shook her head. “It doesn’t matter if Isis doesn’t belong here. She’s still not the legend that you or your paintings hint at.”
“I call that a pretty big leap of faith, mother.” He said stubbornly. “How else can I have the same visions as she had before she went under? How? I tell you now–here: Everything is connected. The paintings, the tomes, Isis herself–there’s a connection there. I just know it.”
“But what if–for the sake of argument–that you’re right. And that Isis is indeed the legendary Starchild foretold. Then what? What do you propose we do?”
Bayen looked out over the guard railing–seeing into the levels below marked by street lamps and overhead light chains.
“If she awakens into her other self–as I saw in the kitchen firsthand…? We could have a serious problem.”
“But honey…the tomes I read said that the Starchild was one and the same. The perfect being. Indistinct. Not separate.”
“Maybe in the past…she was. But I don’t think that’s the case anymore. I have a feeling that whatever is going on with Isis–may breed something of a more sinister and dark purpose.”
Fran fell silent at that point–not liking where this discussion was going.
“There’s no way that could happen, honey. Isis is simply too pure a soul to be taken over by…that.”
“It may not be her call, mother. If she somehow taps into the Heart of Chaos at any point during her transition–the changes will be more than permanent. They will be baked in. Become a hellish part of her psychological makeup. Two beings fused as one.”
The shopkeeper didn’t like those apples. Not one bit.
“But the Heart of Chaos…it was a myth. A legend. Unlike the Starchild herself.” Fran continued to argue out into the open spaces between them. “The tomes never mentioned where it might have been. At last report, it was rumored to be lost in the known universe itself–forever lost in fact. It couldn’t have made the journey back to this planet under its own power.”
“Maybe not in this universe. But what if…what if it was–it came from another entirely?”
“What do you mean, Bayen?”
“I mean…you heard the doctor: They were waiting for her to show up. They were prepared in advance for her arrival.”
“But she’s a surface dweller, honey. A surface dweller.”
“Yes, but what if–for argument’s sake–she wasn’t this world’s surface dweller?”
Fran stared at her son warily. “Not from this…universe?”
Bayen nodded. “That’s right. From another world entirely. Apart from this one.”
“That’s one hell of a leap of logic, sweetie. One hell of a leap…”
“It fits–doesn’t it? All of it?” Bayen chattered on excitedly. “I mean, think about it. If Isis came from another universe, then that means her world’s counterpart is living in that other universe.”
“That’s a pretty tall order. And we have nothing to go on. At least…nothing solid anyways.”
“The tomes might have something to say about that.” Bayen pressed. “At least, they would help fill in some of the gaps in our current knowledge.”
“Well, I wish you all the luck, honey. But I can’t tell you anything more than I already know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean as soon as Isis started doing whatever it was that she did in the kitchen and then in the bathroom–the pages within the tomes went blank soon after.”
“Blank?”
“Magically erased. By some unknown force. I have no explanation or reason for that either.”
“So…they are useless?”
“To the average citizen in Stratos City? Yes. But I have a feeling that they might be useful to Isis–for when she wakes up.”
“Well, we can’t waste a whole lot of time arguing and debating. We only have a small window of opportunity before the Praetorial Guard make their move. And I’d prefer Isis to be awake and mobile before that happens.”
“A full scale confrontation?” Fran breathed in quiet astonishment. “Honey, even you can’t be that brain damaged or reckless.”
“I’m not saying I’m doing this alone, mom. Not by far. But if I were to find some help–people willing to join the cause…?”
“I doubt your ex is going to be that eager or willing–seeing how the two of you didn’t exactly split on amicable terms.”
“A lot has changed in two years. Leona’s been chafing at the bit for some action for the past couple of months now. Her new boyfriend even confirmed that they have something planned near the Zero 76 Club.”
“A rumble?” Fran queried with heavy disapproval. “You can’t be that stupid. I thought your days of running with a gang where long over? You even said so yourself after the two of you split.”
“I did. She didn’t. But in my last run-ins at the Arena is quickly becoming something of an old-fashioned powder keg of equal proportions. Level 90 is getting ready for something big.”
“And what about Isis? Where does she fit into this grand scheme of yours? Or…hers? Leona’s?”
“I’m not sure yet, mother. But she would be in better hands if she were down there. The Praetorial Guard would have a much harder time locating her in the murky depths of the space complex–especially towards the Core Areas.”
“–which we both know are strictly off limits…?” Fran persisted worriedly.
Bayen didn’t say much on his behalf. He just looked away in that moment.
“Good gracious…” the other woman breathed with mild disappointment in her voice. “If your father were still alive at this very moment–?”
“He wouldn’t say anything on your behalf. I think we both know what would be on his mind–as a guardsman and all.”
“A scolding,” Fran decided at that very moment. “A firm, solid scolding.”
Bayen nodded sheepishly. “That and more.” He admitted freely.
Fran just stood there for a few moments, shaking her head.
“Bayen…there are some days when I don’t know what I am going to do with you. Anything at all.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to put you on the spot, but I’m pretty sure this will work–providing that things play out the way we both hope.”
“Nothing is ever far from certain in life.” Fran told him. “Even you must know this.”
“Yeah, but I know my way around a few things in this space complex. It used to be dad’s personal playground not too long ago. Him and his long tours that took him all over and even down to the surface on occasion.”
“You remembered that?” Fran said with open surprise on her part. “But you were so…young.”
“I wasn’t that young, mom.”
“You were six, Bayen.” Fran countered knowingly. “You couldn’t have possibly remembered anything about your father–except during the times when he came home on leave or for the holidays.”
“I still have a few fond memories of him, mother. I’m never going to forget how much he meant to me all the way up to that one, fateful day.”
The shopkeeper went silent. “I remember. I didn’t want to forget, but I do remember. And you…you were so confused. You wanted to surprise your father with that fragile crystalline garden that we both worked on in our spare time. The one with the light diffuser crystals.”
“I still have a few of them left over from that project.” Bayen said in support of the moment. “In the top drawer. In my room. For safekeeping.”
Fran nodded
quietly–her heart filling with the sudden pain and long absence of her late husband.
“I know you didn’t want to do it, honey. I know how much work we put into that project, but it was a cold reminder of a time that should have turned out differently for the two of us.”
“That’s why I took the crystals and left the rest–for a proper disposal later on. I didn’t want to forget for one moment that this would be the time each of us would have to move on.”
Fran reached out and touched his shoulder lightly.
“And you were so brave about the whole thing. Tried so hard to be the man of the house in Marcus’s absence.” She offered supportively.
Bayen reached back and gripped his mother’s hand. “I tried so many things, mom. I really tried to measure up after it was allegedly reported that he was killed while on duty. Of course, you kept that information from me for awhile.”
“I’m sorry about that, Bayen. I didn’t want you to go chasing ghosts and shadows over something that may or may not have happened.”
“You weren’t sure?”
Fran pursed her lips in quiet concentration. “I honestly don’t know anymore. The Praetorial Senate was mum on the whole thing. So was your late father’s Guard Division commander. He wasn’t about to say anything either–even though Tyler and I went way back even before he entered the service.”
“I remember him. A good friend of the family’s. A good man. I was sorry to see him go after being relieved of his posting awhile back–four years after the incident.”
Fran nodded guiltily. “I don’t blame him, really, Bayen. It was such a messy affair. But at least he left with his full work pension intact and severance pay for services rendered.”
Bayen exhaled softly. “Yeah. I ran into him with his second wife, Marilyn a couple months ago. On Level 1357. With their two girls, Anna and Kayla. I almost didn’t recognize him at first. I mean, the years finally caught up to him after all.”
“Put on some weight?”
“A bit. But I could tell it was from healthy eating and having a good life finally.”
“Did you say anything to them?”
Bayen shook his head. “No. The opportunity never arose. They were preoccupied with window shopping in the fabrics and clothing district.”
“Well, if you ever want to drop by and say hello, you have my permission, honey. I’m not going to keep that away from you.” Fran volunteered then. “But in the meantime, we should really be getting back and start planning for the new day. I have a shop to open up in about an hour or two.”
The sky dancer nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll get ready to go in the meantime. It’s a quick trip down to the lower levels and I know a few shortcuts along the way–which will keep me off the Praetorial Guard’s radar.” He said.
“Just promise me that you’ll stay out of trouble.” His mother urged. “Promise me.”
Bayen chuckled. “I’ll try. But I’ll see what happens in the meantime.”
“Fair enough.” Fran responded finally–before moving on.
~33~
August 16th, 12,006.
Level 2812.
7:03 AM
Suite 917-A
Captain Rayna Hastings tried to chase away the nightmares that were presently following her in her sleep. But no matter what she did, or hard she tried, they would always be either one step ahead of her or one step behind her.
And they would always be taunting her mercilessly.
And this is the way things had been for a few months now. Always the same dreams or nightmares, or the same patterned formulas of a broken REM sleep cycle which had the poor woman on edge.
But just as she was about to close in on her quarry for real this time…? Her living room terminal chimed insistently for her undivided attention–waking her up in the process with a sudden start.
“Oh god…” she whispered with a passing groan, her hand going immediately to her forehead and feeling the sickly slickness of her hot skin against her wet auburn bangs.
The room felt interminably stuffy and hotter than she could readily recall and she wondered if the environmental controls to her apartment suite were on the fritz again.
The terminal kept impatiently chiming for her undivided attention–but the woman knew that the system’s electronic messenger would pick up any incoming calls to her apartment and forward them to a waiting inbox for review later on.
But right now, she had to get out of bed. However the twisted sheets and blankets around her body had sufficiently immobilized her from the get go–which caused her to go beet red from embarrassment.
“Not again,” she breathed miserably–before digging around with her fingers to find a classic opening somewhere in her makeshift prison. It didn’t take long for her to figure out how to get out of this particular mouse trap, but the moment she did–?
She found another problem.
Her cotton pajamas were soaked to the bone with more added sweat.
Rayna rubbed her face in mutual frustration–just as the living room terminal dinged one final time before going silent; telling the woman that the system had a new message waiting for her.
“And on my day off too…” she whispered mostly to herself. “I hope it’s nothing too serious.”
With her luck, it’s another call in from her division commander–wanting her to spend yet another glorious weekend knocking some heads together with a fresh batch of rooks straight out of boot camp or the military academy.
Rayna really needed to talk to her aide, Lieutenant Brian Stiller, about having her schedule cleared so every once in awhile she could enjoy some personal time off without everything going off at once.
But the aggravated woman knew it wasn’t his fault. The poor man was simply doing the best he could–given what material and human resources he presently had his disposal.
Things that wouldn’t require going over his head or hers for added confirmation from the top brass.
Especially on this given weekend. A weekend where Rayna was planning to spend at a friend’s place–enjoy a couple of drinks with her and the kids and not spend so much time worrying about the things that she couldn’t control.
Like her persistent dreams and nightmares for example. Those she could do easily without.
But the woman couldn’t accomplish much lying in bed like this–in her current state–so she proceeded to roll over onto her side and found herself literally swimming in her own level of sweat and griminess.
“Oh god…was it that bad?” She grimaced with absolute disgust–trying to not touch anything wet, but not having a whole lot of luck.
This side of her bed was absolutely drenched and it left her feeling absolutely drained of any real energy to boot.
“Great. More unnecessary laundry. Maybe I can have Rachel and the kids come over here for a change?” Rayna pondered mostly to herself as she managed to evade more of the wet spots, but her two pillows were another matter entirely once she finished getting up and off the bed and having a good look at last night’s evidence.
Night sweats. Terror sweats. Rampant nightmares. Unsettled dream imagery…?
None of it was a good thing in her book. The woman needed to finally figure out what was more important to life and her demanding job. And she needed to find out fast–before she came completely unraveled.
Off went the blankets–into a small pile–then the sheets, then finally two of the three lightweight pillows she was used to sleeping with.
The pillow cases were a quick and easy thing to peel off in a hurry and only added to growing pile off to the side. Then the woman stripped out of her pajamas and dumped them into that pile–including the soaked pair of panties which came with it.
Wasting no time, Rayna jumped into the shower to rid herself of the sticky feelings that pervaded her body and sense of personal aesthetics. The shower didn’t last more than twenty-five minutes before she came out with a yellow body towel wrapped around her middle and a stylish turban for the hea
d.
Before ducking out of her bedroom, she turned on the AC unit and fed a steady supply of fresh air from the overhead and side vents in her room. In moments, it helped chase away the stuffiness and heat that had been a part of her sleep cycle for awhile now.
Once things were in hand, the woman paused at the open doorway and saw her living room terminal still on with last night’s schedules and work details still visible from here.
“That would explain the message,” Rayna quipped unhappily–hoping against hope it wasn’t anything too serious. She definitely didn’t need anymore headaches this day. Certainly not on this day.
But she couldn’t ignore her years of training and conditioning any longer and so she walked across the plush carpeting of her apartment suite and headed down a small flight of stairs which opened up into an entertainment den–complete with a surround sound home theater system and an embedded 60” wall screen set flush into the wall itself.
Tapping in her personal security code into the living room terminal, Rayna stated: “Rayna Kieran Hastings. Operations code number Alpha-Alpha-227. Enable.”
“Good morning, Captain. Today is Saturday, August 16, 12,006. Weather forecast for this part of Level 2812 calls for clear skies and a little bit of sun. Is there anything else you would like to see this morning?”
The woman nodded with a slight air of impatience.
“Bring up last night’s call logs and any messages for me personally–connecting to Guard Division 607 dash 9. Level 5819.” She ordered crisply.
The request took only a few seconds more of her personal time.
“Call logs are empty from that Division. No new messages have been sent to your personal inbox from Division Head Commander Jacob Rawlings or anyone else connected to his administrator‘s office.”
“Okay, so any personal messages for me sent to this terminal?”
“One message. Rachel Gibson.”
“Play the message.”
A new screen popped up. It was her long time friend and former academy classmate who had washed out in the preliminary training program so many years ago.
The Starchild Page 26
