by Maura Milan
The shadow pulled away, and Brinn let out a sigh of relief.
But too soon. The shadow returned, this time to the point where it blacked out the whole ring. It shattered through the mesh of space-time in one blow, a dark mass swirling and growing toward them.
Its dangerous tentacles invaded their space, reaching for wires, equipment, and anything else that was inside the enclosed glass room. Once it had fully burned through whatever it had latched onto, the mass grew larger, and with that, stronger. This thing completely covered everything it touched, as if it were absorbing it, eating it. Before long, the destructive mass would reach the heavy glass paneling separating it from the rest of the laboratory, including everyone in the observation deck. Brinn’s hands flew to the control screens, trying to find a way to deactivate the bridge between the two universes.
Suddenly, the lights around her shuddered, dimming once before finally cutting completely to black. The emergency sconces activated.
“The power is out,” she said. Her eyes were on the gate. The blue veil was gone, and the black mass had vanished, leaving acid burn marks in its place.
Thankfully, the ring itself didn’t seem to have incurred any damage.
She turned to Einn, who was still staring at the now empty space.
“Incredible,” he said.
As for Brinn, she had nothing to say.
Outside in the hallway, a crowd of Sino Corp employees surrounded her.
“Why did it stop in the middle like that?” Kilio Sinoblancas asked.
Einn looked to Brinn for the answer.
“We don’t have enough power to keep the bridge open. That’s why the whole thing collapsed,” she said.
Kilio rubbed his chin. “What kind of power requirements are we talking about?”
“Enough to power a hundred interstellar gates,” she said.
His eyebrows rose.
“Per use,” she specified.
And his eyebrows rose even higher.
All the while, Einn watched the Sino Corp executives, analyzing every move and expression they made. “Will you be able to secure something for us?”
Kilio shook his head. “The Civil War has token a toll on our power sectors.”
Einn adjusted the ring on his finger. “Well, it will all fall into place eventually.” He extended his arm to the CEO, then went down the line, congratulating them, gripping everyone’s hands. “I think you can still count this day as a success.”
When he was done, Einn waved down the hallway to usher them back to the flight deck. But the CEO raised a hand, stopping everyone in their place.
“You mentioned privately before that you were able to turn the previous model on with a neural network,” Kilio Sinoblancas said.
Immediately, Brinn felt her spine lock, vertebrae by vertebrae. They were talking about what Einn had done on GodsEye.
“Would it be possible to use that same concept here?”
“It is,” Einn said easily. “But only for a short amount of time. A person’s brain only generates so much electricity.”
“But what if there were populations at your disposal?” Sinoblancas postulated.
Brinn felt her heart sink, because he could only mean one thing. The refugee camps, the ones created by the Olympus Commonwealth after the repeal of the Sanctuary Act.
Einn pursed his lips. “Then, perhaps…”
“Can I speak to you in private?” Brinn insisted, tugging at his sleeve.
Einn turned back toward the Sino Corp investors. “Would you excuse me?”
When they were out of sight in a different room, Brinn glanced over at him. “You can’t be serious about all this.”
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For Penance to be up and running?”
“The people you use will die,” she said. “It won’t be quick, and it will be painful.”
Einn’s storm-gray eyes studied her, analyzing her as if she were a game of Goma. “You know, I’m a little disappointed. I thought you and I understood each other.”
“It’s xenocide.” They would be murdering whole populations of refugees, some perhaps the last of their civilizations.
But Einn only shrugged. “You killed Lind. What’s a few more?”
She stared at him in frozen silence. The truth was in his eyes. She was a murderer. But she still had loyalty to her people, all the refugees who clambered to survive like she did.
“Theoretically, this would work. Don’t you agree?” he asked, his voice as calm as the lightest breeze.
“Yes,” she said, “but…”
Einn’s words sliced through hers. “Then that’s all I need to know.”
He turned to leave.
She had to stop him before he could set this all in motion. Makolians, Dvvinn, Tawnies—Brinn didn’t want their blood on her hands.
“Wait!” she called out desperately. “What if I can figure out another power source?”
Einn stopped in the doorway. He didn’t turn around, but she knew he was listening.
Her thoughts raced for something to grab onto. They could rig together smaller, scavenged power grids. Or they could steal…Her eyes focused as the answer became clear. Of course, it was there all along. “The uranium core on Aphelion,” she said.
Einn turned with a smile, as if he hadn’t just threatened to kill thousands of people, or maybe even more. “See,” he said. “I knew you’d figure something out.”
Einn might have represented the beauty of the unknown, but Brinn realized there was also an ugliness to it, something that was hard to face. Like a colorful snake that hid its venom. For the first time since she arrived on Nirvana, she followed him carefully, their footsteps bringing them back to the hallway.
Brinn stopped at the corner and stilled at the sight before her. The men from Sino Corp were on the floor, their bodies limp, some twitching, trying to hold on to the life that was quickly slipping away from them.
Einn shook his head. “And I thought they’d be on their ship when this happened.”
She glanced at the ring on his finger, the one he had adjusted before he shook everyone’s hand. “You poisoned them.”
“You heard what they said. They don’t have the power source we need, so I had no more use for them,” he said. “Besides, I felt sick looking at them. The filth of corporations and government. I don’t believe in any of it.”
“Then what do you believe in?” Brinn asked.
His eyes were an endless abyss. “Chaos.”
He turned, leaving the bodies where they were, but before he was out of earshot, she called after him. She could keep this to herself, but she wanted to see him falter, just a little bit. He’d done the same to her, hadn’t he?
“Ia is still alive, Einn.”
Brinn felt a hint of pleasure at the slight rise in his shoulders.
And now she knew—you can make even a snake squirm with the right kind of poison.
CHAPTER 47
IA
SHE LANDED ORCA in the dusty parking lot. Pushing open the hatch to the cockpit, Ia leaned out into the sunlight, where she was hit with a blast of dry, tepid air. The planet was called Armpit, which, based on the name, was her type of joint. She wondered why she had never heard of it before. Then she stepped out and knew why.
The place was deserted for miles on end, high cracked mesas and natural rock pillars reaching for the skies like the prisoners in old movie streams.
The ramen shack itself was built on one of these pillars, just large enough for the restaurant and a line of parked jets along its edge. Currently, there were no vehicles present, except for a sky schooner anchored nearby. Probably the owner’s, and that meant no customers. Unless someone climbed or used a wind pack to get there, which Ia seriously doubted.
Well, mif. She’d hoped there would be more people there that she’d be able to question. Surely someone inside would know something about this Half-Man. Or maybe they’d laugh at her, like everyone else did.
If this
whole thing was a bust, then at least she’d get a bowl of ramen out of it. She hoped to Deus it was good.
The outside wood on the restaurant was stripped of its ordinary luster, a dead-looking gray where it had been completely parched by the sun. She walked toward the entrance, an open doorway covered with two square pieces of fabric hanging from the top edge of the doorframe. Stitched into the fabric were two words, one on each flap. No. Where.
She pulled one of the flaps to the side. Ducking in, she blinked, allowing her eyes to adapt to the darkness. It took a while for her vision to adjust, especially now that her eye mod was gone. Normally she would have been able to switch onto thermal or IR view, but now she had to just rely on plain old sight.
The interiors were as sparse as the outside. One wall, she noticed, was painted red up to the middle. The owner must have given up or ran out of paint.
There was counter space in the center of the tiny room. Behind it, a small opening was left for the cooking preparations, where a tall older woman stood. Her back was toward Ia as she scrubbed at the white bowls soaking in the sink.
Ia sat down at the counter, and the woman glanced over her shoulder. Ia stared for a moment too long at the woman’s tanned face, her gray hair pulled back into a loose braid. It was as if she had seen her somewhere in the past, but Ia couldn’t place where. Strange, since her memory was usually impeccable.
“The shop’s closed today,” the woman said.
“That’s a shame,” Ia said. “A friend highly recommended this place.”
“Which friend?”
“Blond hair. Taller than me, but not as tall as you. Kinda broody.”
The woman turned, her back straightened to almost full height. Her head craned to the side to keep from bumping into the dried reeds thatched across the ceiling. She stared off slightly as if she were trying to remember. “The kid with the Kaiken?”
Ia nodded. “That’s him.”
The woman wiped her hands on a nearby rag. “Well, I guess it’s always good to get new patrons.” She nodded to a steel pot that was on the burner, steam curling upward from its silver mouth. “There’s broth, but I still have to prepare the noodles.”
“Don’t let me get in the way,” Ia said.
The woman leaned an elbow on the counter. “You are. The noodles are my specialty, and I don’t make them in front of my customers.”
“Oh,” Ia said.
The chef jutted her chin back toward the entrance, and Ia got the hint.
She stood up. “I’ll come back in half an hour.”
Before Ia could head back out in the blazing heat, the chef called out to her. Ia turned to see a bottle being hurled toward her. She caught it before it could knock her in the face. The bottle was an emerald green, condensation already slicking the glass. She knew what it was. Good old archnol.
Ia gave the chef a smile.
“It’s not free,” the woman said gruffly. “I’m putting it on your tab.”
Ia walked out into the parking lot, all the while struggling to twist open the bottle cap. After the long journey, she couldn’t wait to guzzle it down. She was so focused on opening her drink that she almost didn’t feel the rapid movement heading for her from behind.
An attack.
Ia dodged out of the way, feeling the air around her displace, like an invisible knife slicing down toward her. She spun to face her attacker. The ramen chef stood out in the open, now rising to full height. She was taller than any person Ia had ever encountered. The woman’s fingers moved like a spider weaving a web. She plucked a long index finger in the air and tugged.
Then, somehow, Ia was on the ground, unable to move.
What on Ancient Earth was this?
Ia struggled to get up, but she was pinned down by some invisible force. The woman walked toward her.
“You’re not here for the ramen,” the chef said. “Are you?”
The woman’s gray hair had come loose from her braids, whipping back and forth like a banner of war. As she looked at the woman’s features, Ia realized why she looked so familiar in the first place. It was so hard to tell in the shadows of the ramen shack.
She didn’t want to believe it. Hell, not many people would.
But it was her. Older, though. And a scar that wasn’t there before was slashed across her once immaculate face. But there was no mistaking those eyes, bold and compassionate, the same eyes Ia saw every day when she was training in the chapel on Myth.
She was a woman that came from holy legends.
But here she was now. Flesh. Real. And here.
“Deus,” Ia whispered, her voice laced with pure reverence.
And then her vision fell to black.
Ia woke up to the sound of sharp, relentless banging. Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw the same woman, her fists kneading at a pile of fresh dough. The loose tunic was now gone, exposing her bare back, tan and knotted with strong muscle. Sharp shoulder blades moved like engine parts as the woman cycled through her motions.
Ia’s memory of what had happened shoved its way back into her brain. For a moment, she didn’t even dare to move. Only to breathe.
“You’re up,” the woman said, her focus still turned on the dough before her. “You know, I thought you were coming here to kill me, but then I quickly realized that you’re not even strong enough to do it.”
Despite the woman’s casual manner, Ia remained reverently silent.
The ramen chef separated the dough into smaller pieces. “All right. Let’s hear it. Get it all out.”
“You’re Deus,” Ia whispered.
“Actually, my name is Kami,” the woman said. “Deus was a title you people gave me. I’ve been in this realm for several star spans now, and that’s just one of the names I’ve collected. I have a feeling you understand what that means. Blood Wolf of the Skies. Sovereign of Dead Space. The one and only Ia Cōcha.”
The woman knew who she was. Deus knew who she was.
She was still in a cloud of shock when Kami turned to her. Ia couldn’t help but stare. The front of her torso was no longer flesh, completely replaced with something Ia couldn’t even explain. It was like Kami had been ripped into two and then bonded back together, with what looked like a dark pit—a wormhole—at her core.
With sudden clarity, she pieced it together. “You’re the Half-Man.”
Kami nodded. “Yet another name you people gave me. One person happened to see me without a shirt on, and it scared the heavies out of him.”
“What happened to you?” Ia asked.
“Oh, it was over a century ago—the battle that changed it all.” Kami sighed. “I thought I was unstoppable. With all my power, I could transform the mass and density of anything, tear holes from universe to universe. I was indeed greatness personified. But then all it took was one stray grenade to rip me in two. Now I use the majority of my strength to keep myself together like this.”
She stood up, grabbed a piece of dough, and tossed it into the swirling emptiness inside her.
“It’s a spatial tear,” Kami explained. “I don’t know where the dough goes. But I do know it makes great noodles.” After a short moment, Kami grabbed an empty bowl and held it at an angle before her. Seconds later, the dough came hurling out of her, its shape a lot more noodle-like than when it came in. “Now you understand why I keep it secret,” Kami said. “Kind of unappetizing when you think about it.”
Ia laughed nervously, scratching the back of her neck. She was sitting in front of a god. A figure that many people believed in, that some even feared. She was powerful and strong—and she could defeat Einn.
“There is a reason I’m here,” Ia said. “My brother is trying to open a bridge to another universe.”
“I know. I can sense an unbalance somewhere in that mess out there,” Kami grumbled. “If your brother opens a bridge that size, anything can come through. Things that don’t exist in this universe. Dangerous things. It’s not good, trust me.”
Then that meant th
ey needed Deus more than anything. The universe was in danger, and this woman was of the few who knew just how much. “So you’ll help?”
Kami turned back to Ia and shook her head. “I’ve given up on getting involved in this realm’s matters. I just want to live the rest of my days in comfort.”
Ia felt a weight drag at her shoulders. “But I can’t do this on my own. I’m not strong enough. I’m not like you.”
As Ia spoke, Kami threaded her arms through the sleeves of her tunic and then braided her long, silver hair. It seemed like she wasn’t listening, but finally, she stilled, her amber eyes suddenly focused on Ia. Sharp, intense, in a way that almost took Ia’s breath away.
“You are like me in many ways,” Kami said. “Do you know why I thought you were here to kill me? It’s because I sensed more in you. Your origins aren’t completely from this realm. Usually, those like us have abilities.”
Ia thought of the experiment footage from GodsEye. Her father was from another universe, but she had never thought about how that affected her. “What kind of abilities?”
“It’s like this broth.” Kami reached for the soup ladle and stirred the pot, a plethora of aromas filling the air. “There are many dimensions to it. The flavor isn’t the same for everyone because not everyone has the same taste buds, you know. Your abilities are going to be different from your brother’s. And different from mine,” she said. “Mine are better, though, in case you haven’t realized.”
Ia furrowed her brow, remembering the day she fell from great heights. “I’ve seen my brother create wormholes with his hands.”
“There are those of us who can manipulate matter, energy, gateways, sometimes even the temporal plane.” Kami eyed her carefully. “But there are some who can’t.”
Ia understood what she was trying to say.
The woman placed a bowl of fresh ramen before her. Ia stirred the contents of the bowl, watching all the ingredients swirl together. Even if she took a bite, she wouldn’t be able to taste it. There was too much on her mind. With all of this new information laid before her, Ia felt helpless and desperate. But that was why she was here to begin with. Because she was already desperate. And she already knew she needed help. Ia had come here to find the Half-Man, and she’d found someone even better.
