by J M Hamm
The Fisher was proof that I shared some connection to those events, and Catyala had asked me about him several times. She seemed particularly concerned with how we communicated and if I shared its memories.
We also spent at least an hour going over my actions on the days leading up to Eldritch Night, but I couldn’t imagine how anyone I knew could be part of some intergalactic cult. Troy couldn’t be bothered to get up early for church, and my family? Way to conservative to get involved in anything that didn’t involve Jesus and flag waving.
The most interesting part of my conversation with Catayla was not anything she said, but something I discovered on my own. During the entire interrogation, the cell door had remained open, no doubt a tactic to make me feel more relaxed. Not only did this allow the sweet smell of fresh air into my room but it also brought with it small amounts of something else.
I could no longer see it, but I recognized the familiar texture. It was faint, almost non-existent, but it was there. I focused, finding small traces of the energy everywhere. It was in the air, and in the food I ate. It clung to Catayla in a thin sheen that was gradually thinning as she absorbed the energy.
I breathed it in and I could feel it invigorating me. It was a subtle change, but very real. I reached out and gathered as much of the energy as I could, being certain not to touch the small amount surrounding Catayla.
I had no reason to think she would detect the change, but I had no idea what skills or technology the Peacekeepers had. I kept this process up for the rest of the conversation, slowly gathering trickles of the black-red energy into my closed hand.
When Catayla had finally left, the door closing with the hiss of pneumatics and grinding steel, I held out my fist and slowly unfolded trembling fingers. Resting in the center of my palm was a small sphere no larger than a marble — a marble made of pure eldritch energy.
Chapter Thirty-seven: Past Liv(es)
I had it! In my hands, I held the power I needed to escape. With a little time, I could … what exactly could I do? I barely had enough energy to shape into a spoon let alone dig through walls made from steel and then fight my way through a detachment of seven-foot alien marines.
My exuberance slowly faded into a quiet melancholy, leaving a slight ache in my cheeks. I must have been grinning like an idiot. I’d need to be much subtler if I was going to experiment with the energy. If I was lucky, they’d just think I had gone mad.
I either had a mental twin or an alien parasite in my mind, hell maybe both, so maybe thinking me mad wasn’t an unreasonable conclusion.
I held the pebble in my closed fist. Waves of energy coming off the bead were visible to my senses, its energy like a black hole sucking out all the heat and life around it. This proved that my abilities were not entirely gone, but what should I do now? If I were discovered things would probably only get much worse.
I considered letting it go, allowing the eldritch energy to vanish into the ether. Sebbit was not unreasonable, if I could show him I was trustworthy … or maybe after enough time, he’d just let me go.
I was quickly disillusioned with such a plan, not because it wasn’t the best course of action but because I was constitutionally unable to simply sit and wait. I needed to do something. Anything.
The sphere of energy was dense enough to flatten into a dagger or a tool, like a wrench or a screwdriver — though I couldn’t think of any possible way those items would allow me to escape.
If I did escape, what then?
I was being held prisoner by what was, for all ostensible purposes, an alien occupation force that was hundreds or even thousands of years more technologically advanced than humans. I was pretty sure they had planned for ‘bad guy with a screwdriver.’ At least of the non-sonic variety.
Think! What would my father do? … What would the Fisher?
I sighed in frustration, sinking back into the hard wall as I pondered my open palm. If anyone had seen me, they would have thought I had finally snapped. Unless they realized the truth, that is.
You’re being watched …
This idea filled me with a sense of dread and I immediately clamped shut my hand, leaving the ball of energy within my closed fist. Catayla had given me no indication that I was being watched, and there were no visible cameras, but how much did that really tell me?
Anything was possible when dealing with the Peacekeepers. Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, plus … they had actual magic. Magic that had shown itself to be extremely variable and powerful. I doubted I was anywhere close to seeing the limits of it.
This didn’t stop me, it just convinced me to be more discrete.
I had hoped to practice with the energy by shaping it into tools and weapons. It was a minuscule amount of the energy, but it represented a chance to exercise and grow my shaping skills. Real skill, not the sterilized and easily quantifiable version granted by the system.
There was no way such actions wouldn’t draw attention. If I was going to practice it would have to be something less visible. Something more … internal.
With a thought, I released the energy. It quickly separated into innumerable threads that fled in every direction — or they would have had I not exerted my control once more. I guided them gently, allowing a small number of the threads to be absorbed back into my outstretched hand.
The process was slow and excruciating. Every thread felt like a cold needle slowly being pushed through my skin. And there were hundreds of them. I willed my face to stay still, wearing a stony mask as I screamed internally.
More …
I stopped holding back and allowed every speck of energy to flow into me.
Cold numbness replaced the pain. Energy cascaded down my arm and into my chest like a flood of frigid water. Feelings of anger and loneliness overwhelmed my senses, threatening to drag me down into the depths of depression and self-loathing. The sensation quickly passed, but I was left with the echoes of the emotions and unable to determine if they had originated from within.
It was as if I had, for just a moment, been completely cut off from any sense of connection or belonging, as if I were alone in a hostile and unforgiving universe.
I shivered for a moment as I contemplated my situation. Depression did not seem unreasonable, and yet I had never felt such absolute despair before. I was pretty sure it would have shown up by now if I was predisposed towards it.
I knew that the energy could shape reality. Could it shape emotion as well? Perhaps it was the other way around — my own emotions warping and amplifying the effects of the energy. I was beginning to understand why the system filtered and sterilized the energy before allowing it to be used.
There were no easy answers to be had so I turned my attention back to the energy that was now flowing through my body. In the past, I had never been able to contain the energy within myself, instead always needing to draw it from the environment or from the Fisher.
The eldritch energy that I had tried to hold onto in the past would quickly be absorbed and either lost or converted into mana. Whatever the Peacekeepers had done to me seemed to arrest this effect, preventing me from absorbing the energy.
Perhaps someday I would thank Sebbit and his goons for giving me this opportunity.
I spread the threads of energy as evenly throughout my body as possible. I could only consciously control a small number of them at a time, but the rest seemed to respond to my intent. Within moments almost every inch of me was infused.
I could feel every speck of energy as it coursed through my veins. It suffused my flesh and sank into my bones. There was so little of it, and yet it seemed infinitely capable of transformation — easily stretching to fill the shape of my body.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the energy. What came next might have been the closest I had ever come to achieving a true meditative state, despite my previous attempts. All of my focus was on the energy within, canceling out any distracting thoughts or outside stimuli.
Not
only could I feel the energy, but I could also see how it interacted with my cells. I didn’t feel stronger, but I felt an awareness of my own body that surpassed anything I had experienced before.
Now that I had claimed it, the energy felt different, more responsive. Each particle was as much a part of me as were my own limbs. It was also … incomplete. I could feel more of it calling out to me, cut off from me but still resonating and connected to the energy coursing within me. I traced that bond and heard faint whispers as images filled my mind, but I quickly lost the thread and the images faded.
I’m not sure how long I stayed like that, perhaps hours. The thought occurred to me that it was a good thing that I had established meditation as part of my normal routine over that last few days. If I was going to avoid suspicion I needed to maintain that routine, slowly increasing the time I spent meditating.
Doing a few push-ups fit into my normal pattern and would allow me to test if my strength had improved. I had gained a fairly good idea of my own capabilities over that last few days, so any significant improvement should be easily noticed.
After about eighty push-ups, I could feel my arms beginning to weaken and every additional repetition became more difficult — I was collapsed on the floor by the time I reached ninety. It was an increase, but small enough that the rest and food could explain it.
The exercise had, however, increased my awareness of my own muscles. I could feel each muscle fiber as it contracted and expanded. The details were faint, but I could ‘see’ each of the strands and where they attached to ligament and bone.
This greater awareness of my own body also showed me that my form was sloppy as hell. I was allowing my back to arch, and my elbows to flare out way too far. It was easy to correct, and I experimented with a few more push-ups, immediately feeling the increased difficulty.
It had been a little disconcerting watching myself like that, it felt almost like an out of body experience.
I rested with my back against the wall, giving myself a short recovery time before trying again. This time I wanted to try focusing the energy that was spread throughout my body into the muscles being used. My new awareness would make them easy to identify. Hell, I could literally feel muscles I never knew I had.
I had a theory that I could use the energy to pull and push in time with my muscles, not actually making them stronger but augmenting them by mimicking their actions. I tried a few stretches and began doing more push-ups.
Just as I pushed my chest off the floor for the first time, the door to my cell began to open. These fuckers just can’t get enough of me, I thought. I was surprised by my own reaction. After nearly letting isolation drive me crazy, I now wanted nothing but to be left alone to figure out my newest puzzle.
My hesitation faded, and my mood improved as I noticed faint inflows of energy, faint eddies of black and red that slowly filtered into my cell. As if by reflex, I immediately began absorbing the energy, letting it flow into my pores rather than collecting it in a single point.
“Back already? I was just starting to enjoy the peace and quiet. This place could use turndown service, though. Tell your manager I really like those tiny chocolate mints.”
“I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else, Mr. Finn,” said the familiar sound of a mechanical translator.
I turned my head and found the red-skinned Peacekeeper captain staring down at me. Shit, my sarcasm might have at least gotten a smirk from Catayla. I wasn’t sure Sebbit even had emotions, and if he did ‘a sense of humor’ was probably something he only brought out on special occasions … like funerals.
“Sebbit, buddy,” I said with a mock smile. “Here to let me go? Let bygones be bygones?”
I saw an almost imperceptibly quick upturn at the corners of his mouth before the captain looked behind him and nodded once. Two large Peacekeepers charged into my cell and grabbed me by the arms. My feet didn’t even touch the floor as they dragged me into the hallway.
Well, at least I figured out what made him smile. Violence, specifically against me.
***
I found myself in a room that made my previous cell look luxurious. It was incredibly narrow, no more than two meters wide, and roughly twice as long. The only furniture was two backless stools on opposite sides of a plastic folding table with metal legs. They looked just like the kind used during bingo at my mother’s church.
One of the guards pushed me down onto one of the stools, before turning to leave me alone with the captain. No one had bothered to restrain me. In my present condition, I was probably considered no more dangerous than a particularly rambunctious toddler.
“Perhaps you are ready to have a conversation, Mr. Finn?”
The captains stood, with one hand resting on the table beside a small cylindrical machine. It was a solid tube of metal except for two black, triangular protrusions and a rectangular screen displaying symbols in an unknown language.
“If you wanted to talk, you’re always welcome to stop by,” I said. “No reason to drag me into some interrogation room and threaten me with …” I gestured at the device. “Whatever the hell that thing is.”
I crossed my arms and tried to stare down the captain, but the truth was that I was just putting on a show. I had lost any desire to rebel, and I knew my only way out of this situation was by cooperating.
Hell, if I’d let that smug SOB know that, though.
“This is no time for quips, Mr. Finn. We are dealing with a very serious situation, one that goes far beyond any misgivings I have about your lack of candor.”
The captain sat across from me before continuing. When sitting we were almost the same height, and he held eye contact with me for several seconds.
“In fact, I have not brought you here for an interrogation, despite what you may think.”
“And this is?” I said, pointing at the device held between us.
“This, Mr. Finn, is proof. Proof of a conspiracy that threatens to destroy not only your own world but countless others, as well. We will get to that in a moment, but first —”
As Sebbit spoke he pulled a small envelope out of a pouch on his belt and placed it in front of him. It was faded yellow and the adhesive had been sealed and opened previously.
“What’s this?” I said.
Sebbit didn’t answer, instead reaching out with a clawed hand and gently opening the envelope. He took out a picture, one of the small ones meant for a wallet. As he placed it in front of me, I immediately recognized it. In fact, I had been there when it was taken.
“Do you know this person, Mr. Finn?”
“That’s, why are you showing me this? There’s no fucking way …”
I stood up and began pacing the length of the room. Sebbit did nothing to stop me. He just remained sitting, not even turning his head as my pacing brought me behind him.
I finally gave up and sat down once more, staring at the picture that still sat on the plastic, coffee-stained table.
“She has nothing to do with this. Do you understand me? I told you … you don’t need torture, and you’re still using threats against my friends?”
My eyes were dry and red as they looked up at Sebbit, but his expression was unreadable. I picked up the picture, trying to suppress the memories as I looked at Liv’s green eyes and flowing yellow hair. I couldn’t remember why she was smiling in the picture, but it was a true one born from laughter, not one of the cheesy grins she usually plastered on for photos.
If only I could go back to those days.
“Hel is not your friend, Mr. Finn.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Fuel on the Fire
“The hell did you say?”
“I said, Mr. Finn, She is not your friend.”
“Oh, that’s not what … look, Liv has been my friend since we were children. What could she have to do with any of this?”
I turned the photo over and pushed it across the table. My finger lingered on the photograph for several seconds, unable to let it go. I’d done
so once before; I’d let her go, and I’d always regretted my decision.
“I know this is difficult, but we have reason to suspect her involvement.”
“That is bullshit. Liv has never even left South Carolina. How could she have anything to do with anything? She’s a girl, not some space terrorist or eldritch cultist. I’m not going to let you turn me against my friends.”
“Your loyalty is commendable, Mr. Finn,” Sebbit shook his head. “My own daughter speaks highly of you — a courtesy that even I rarely receive.”
He picked up the metal canister, looking at it before setting it at the center of the table. I had no idea what it was. It was about the size of my forearm and seemingly made of a single piece of seamless metal. If anything, the display and the odd protrusions made it look like a cliché sci-fi bomb from a Hollywood prop department.
The captain pressed down on the three protrusions the previously grooveless metal split open down the center. A cold mist rose up from the canister obscuring whatever was inside. Sebbit remained silent as I waited for the mist to thin.
“What’s this?”
I saw the first outlines of the object and it … it twitched. A ball of black, leathery material riddled with veins and tumorous growths slowly revealed itself. Every few seconds it would pump, breathing in the mist and releasing a thick stream of familiar energy.
Is it alive? I thought. Whatever it was, it was creating eldritch energy.
“This object,” Sebbit said, “was retrieved from one of the cultists that ambushed my soldiers. What is most concerning, to me, is that its existence on this planet predates the eldritch event that predicated Hegemonic intervention.”
I simply sat there watching the beating heart. I could feel the thick streams of energy that poured out of it with each spasm. The energy was heavier; it was somehow both more virile and less chaotic than the energy I was used to working with. I had to force myself to stifle an instinctive urge to reach out and examine it, manipulate it. What could I do with such energy?
