by Dan Schiro
“Reflect!”
Her lightning surged forth with a crackle and struck the thin sword Orion held up in front of him. For a split-second the blindingly bright spark danced between their blades, one spell against another. Then the ball lightning left Orion’s sword for good and struck LaVal LaVoy with an ear-splitting thunderclap. She flew through the air and hit the ground smoking.
Orion struggled to his feet and staggered toward her. As he reached her, she stirred and rose to her knees, holding up her trembling spellblade in a paltry attempt to defend herself. Orion grimaced and morphed his tai chi sword back to the jungle machete. He hacked off her spellblade arm with a grunt, and LaVal wailed a digitized scream.
“No more hiding, LaVal.” Orion curled the fingers of his left hand under the bottom edge of her reflective helmet. “No more striking from the shadows,” he growled as he yanked the helmet free.
The human face beneath looked all too familiar, if a little older. She had corn-silk blonde hair, skin weathered by hard drugs and days spent sculpting in the sun, cruelly curved lips and curious green eyes that half-mirrored Orion’s own.
“Mom?” Orion whispered.
“Ah, my son,” she rasped, a slight smile on her lips. “The son I never wanted.”
Speechless, he held her by the collar for a moment. Then something drew his eye to the shadowy figures in the gallery. Orion could just barely make out their shapes, but they were suddenly familiar. Biz Tessia, his therapist and sometimes lover, was there. Britta from the sephilon space yacht was there, too, along with the private school teacher he had lost his virginity to when he was just 14. As his head swiveled, Orion saw that he had shared a bed with all of the women silently judging him from the shadows of the gallery.
Orion looked down at his mother’s face with a sudden, wry smirk. “You know what? I don’t believe it.” He looked again at the ludicrous collection behind the high table. “I don’t care how far this Guild can reach, we crashed in the middle of the galactic gutter. All of you, all of this — it’s just an image pulled out of my head by some piece of broken E-tech that’s outlived its usefulness by a few dozen millennia.”
A cruel sneer bent her lips. “Perception is reality, son.”
Orion held her collar in one hand, his manacite blade in the other, hesitating as he tried to convince himself that none of it was real. Tears welled in his eyes, and Orion brought his machete to her neck with a guttural snarl. After one clean stroke, he kicked away the body and watched the head roll off without emotion. His spellblade couldn’t taste so much as a trickle of blood magic from the illusion, so Orion drew on the power of his own flowing blood again. He knew it was foolish, spending years of his life to fuel his spellblade, but he no longer cared — this game had gone too far. Imagining the illusion around him as a pane of black glass, Orion screamed the word. “Shatter!”
A bubble of white light rippled forth from his spellblade, boiling away the dark chamber of the Assassins Guild. After a moment, Orion found himself in the airy pyramidal space he had expected when he went through the dark door. He saw a flawless white stone floor etched with circles of manacite-silver glyphs, alien machines along the walls and a glimmering sphere at the apex of the ceiling. A large white pod sat in each of the four corners, and one of them crackled with blue sparks as it opened at its jigsaw seam. Then a carpet of black moss crept in at the edges of his vision, but not because of another illusion — the wounds to the back of his legs were real. Orion had lost too much blood, spent too much of his own life force.
Too bad, he thought as he fell face down. He had really wanted to see what would come out of that pod, but it was time to die.
When Orion awoke, he found himself looking at his own reflection in a polished black boot. He needed a few moments to come to his senses — had he been drinking? Then the sudden rush of memory hit him. He rolled and jumped to his feet, falling into a tight defensive posture. Yet the creature in front of him made no move to attack.
“My legs,” Orion said, flexing them with ease.
“A simple matter to heal them,” said the humanoid in perfect galactic standard. “I wanted you to live long enough to tell me — who, and what, are you?”
Orion had never seen a humanoid quite like this. He — or she? — had perfectly white skin, long black hair, electric blue eyes, elfin ears and a tall, slender body that radiated androgynous charisma. S/he wore a long, belted tunic embroidered with hundreds of colorful symbols, a silver hoop in the upper edge of one elfin ear, and a single emerald ring glittering on a six-fingered hand. Orion also saw the silver glyph of a spellblade tattoo on the being’s right wrist. The scent of flowers seemed to waft off his host in pulses as steady as a beating heart.
“You mean me?” Orion blurted, still shaking off the cobwebs. “I’m a human… um, called Orion. Orion Grimslade III.” He shook his head. “And just who and what are you… lady? I mean… man?”
“Separate sexes are the evolutionary shackles of savage races.” The being’s delicate nose wrinkled ever so slightly. “And savage races are not permitted in the Temples of the Chosen.” Their petite mouth frowned, and their electric eyes narrowed as s/he gazed not just at him, but into him — or at least that’s how it felt. “Nor are savage races permitted to bond with soul metal.”
Orion took a sharp breath. “My god, you’re… you’re one of the Engineers.” Orion’s eyes darted to the steaming pod the being had emerged from. “You’ve been here, all this time.”
“I am L’yak of the Chosen People,” s/he said. “Guardian of the Temple of the Chosen and this jaunt pond, with my kindred.” L’yak glanced at the other unopened pods, a fleeting grimace creasing generous lips. “But you... how did you come to bond with soul metal?” S/he turned blazing blue eyes to Orion and looked him up and down. “What are you doing here? How did you survive the neural transubstantiation system? You’re clearly not one of Warlord Gala’s thralls.”
“I… I think you may be confused, L’yak.” Orion dropped his defensive stance completely now. “I don’t know how to say this. The good news is, Gala’s not going to be a problem.” He offered a tentative smile. “The bad news is… look, a lot of time has passed. A lot, a lot.”
S/he frowned at him. “But Gala’s forces were just at our gate. We… we went into the life-suspension pods when we deployed the neutron wave.” L’yak’s eyes grew large with a very human look of horror. “We… we were set to kick-spawn after the particles dissipated in six solar cycles.”
“It’s been a lot longer than that.” Orion said softly.
S/he began to tremble, and then with frightening speed dashed across the temple floor to a large stone font that rose waist high. S/he plunged a hand into the clear liquid that filled the bowl, and soon blue holograms twinkled in air. After scanning the glyphs for a moment, the sharp-eyed creature cried out. “Failed? Failed?!”
Again the temple guardian dashed across the floor in a few quick steps. S/he called forth a spellblade gauntlet, and the liquid manacite flowed from fingertip to shoulder, solidifying in seamless silver armor plating. As s/he reached one of the life-suspension pods, the blue-eyed being let the spellblade stretch out like weightless syrup and ooze into the vertical jigsaw seam. When the polished egg cracked a moment later, Orion spied a petrified, shrunken body inside. The guardian froze for a moment, and then reached out a long finger to touch the eyeless mummy’s face. A gentle caress was all it took to make the body inside crumble to a pile of fine dust.
S/he wailed a curse that echoed against the stone walls, then dashed around the temple floor to repeat the same process at both of the other pods. When it was irrefutable that s/he was the sole survivor, the temple guardian knelt and started a soft chant.
Orion waited for a few moments, the rhythmic prayer entrancing him. Then the blue-eyed being stood and turned to Orion composed. “How long have I slept?”
“Well…�
� Orion talked for a long time. What do you edit when explaining 50,000 years of galactic history to a creature from the very myths that history had been built upon? L’yak looked absolutely stupefied as Orion meandered his way through his explanation, and he feared he had made a mess of it.
“So, yeah,” Orion said with a shrug. “Basically, my kind just hit the scene a few hundred years ago when we discovered one of your manacite drives, so… thanks for that.” S/he looked at him agape for a moment, so he continued. “Yeah, and then I took this job protecting some guy who was, is, if we ever get out of here, running for office, political office.” He sighed and shook his head. “And someone’s trying to kill him. At first we thought it was terrorists, but now there’s this assassins guild, and it’s become this whole… thing!” He forced a chuckle. “That’s how we crashed here.” He felt like a donkey braying at a god.
L’yak nodded slowly. “I see.” S/he was quiet for a few seconds, electric eyes searching the floor. “I…” S/he looked up at Orion, gazing at him intently. “You call us ‘Engineers.’ What does history say happened to my people, the Chosen?”
Orion blew out a long breath. “No one really knows, L’yak. I mean, scholars debate it — disease, civil war, Dark Spacers, tons of theories are out there. An old man once told me that the spellblades drove you all mad.” He chewed his lip and waited, wondering if he would be the first to hear the answer to one of the galaxy’s oldest mysteries.
“I would like to know myself,” s/he said quietly.
Orion took a moment, trying to find a way not to sound desperate. “L’yak, it’s going to take some time to adjust but, hey, you’re alive.” He threw on a broad smile. “And guess what? A couple of billion of the galaxy’s best minds are going to line up to talk to you. You’ll be very popular,” he added with a certain nod. “But here’s the thing. I’ve got a bunch of scared, injured people counting on me. Good people. Any chance you can help me send a signal? I just want to call for help and get us all out of here before anyone else dies.”
L’yak’s bright eyes narrowed as she seemed to consider it. “Does fortune favor you often, Orion?”
Orion smirked. “I’d say so. Better to be lucky than good, right?”
“I owe you a debt for freeing me.” S/he gazed at him with a sad smile. “My people pay their debts, to friends and enemies alike, and so I will send you home.”
Orion clapped his hands once. “Alright! What, you’ve got a ship under wraps here?”
“This temple holds a jaunt pond, Orion.” S/he spread six-fingered hands wide, the emerald ring glittering in the light of the tiny star above them. “You stand at the doorway to the Chosen’s sub-ether elevator. It was our crowning achievement and our… our pathway to domination. Just where would you like to go?”
Chapter 24
Orion stood at the edge of the floating island as it descended slowly into the lake, his face beaming with a bright smile as he scanned for Aurelia. Displaced water gushed over the grassy floodplain and filled the canal running through the island, and the huge chunk of stone and soil settled into place like a missing puzzle piece. Orion quickly spotted his friend, twinkling with emerald energy not far away. She floated just above the gentle wave surging over the shore, her brassy eyes as wide as coins.
“Oh, the look on your face is too good,” Orion called to her.
Aurelia splashed down into the standing water and trudged toward him across the sodden ground. “I was about to head back to camp and organize a rescue. By the Jade Way, Orion, it’s been hours.”
Orion realized that the red-orange giant had moved from high noon toward the horizon by more than he had expected. He must have been unconscious for quite some time after he had narrowly escaped the bloody illusion. “Time well spent,” he assured her. “I found a way off this rock.”
Aurelia glanced at the temple across the expertly tended garden. “Ah, some kind of Engineer structure. Did you figure out how to send a signal?”
“Better than that,” Orion said with a smirk. “We can teleport directly back to the Maker Rings, no ether route required.”
“Some kind of portal?” Aurelia furrowed her brow. “How can you be sure the E-tech still works properly after so many thousands of years?”
“My new Engineer friend seems pretty confident.” Orion wanted to enjoy the moment — Aurelia had been around a long time, and it was hard to surprise her. “I’ll introduce you. L’yak is even older than you are, in a manner of speaking.”
“I’m not in the mood for your jokes, human,” Aurelia scoffed. She glared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “A living Engineer?”
“There’s that look again,” Orion chuckled. “Come on, let’s get back to camp. I’ll explain everything.”
Again they hiked through the jungle, this time cutting a wide berth around the patch of alien wildflowers that had incapacitated them. A few of the giant spiders scurried through the aqua-marine canopy above them, but the long-legged spinners seemed hesitant to attack fully conscious prey. As they trudged up the hillock to their camp, Bully charged up wagging his stubby tail, Vanlith following not far behind.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said, the glimmer of a smile in her icy eyes. “The vycart said you’d survive to return.” Her hands and face wore streaks of soot from a day spent digging through the corpse of her ship.
Orion smirked. “You had any doubt?”
She shrugged and brushed a strand of sweaty black hair off her cheek. “Let’s just say I owe Kangor 100 UC.”
“Will you tell her already?” Aurelia hissed.
“First things first.” Orion glanced around the camp, trying to survey how the survivors’ situation had changed during his missing hours. “How’s everything here?”
Vanlith glanced back down into the valley where many of the survivors still toiled in the Star Sentry’s jagged ruin. “Good news is, we found two more survivors thanks to this beautiful mutt.” Vanlith reached over and stroked Bully’s silky ear, and the dog’s tongue lolled out happily. “Bad news is, we lost one of them an hour ago. Worse news is, we haven’t found much of what we need to build an ether dish.” Her fine features twisted into a scowl. “What about you two? Did your hunch pay off?”
“Better than I ever hoped.” He motioned for her to follow as he started into camp. “Let’s find Zovaco, and I’ll explain to both of you. Then we can talk about a plan for striking camp and transporting the wounded. We’re getting out of here.”
They found Zovaco and Kangor in one of the larger thermal tents. The politician was in the middle of refreshing Mervyn’s many bandages, and the vycart warrior scratched at the sprouting fur on his veiny pink arm. After a lengthy explanation that included the phrase “trust me” many, many times, Orion persuaded the others to follow him into what must have sounded like the fever dream of a deranged historian.
Commander Vanlith wasted no time calling together the survivors, explaining that Orion “believed” he had found an Engineers’ installation that could help them get home, and that if it didn’t, the ancient structure could at least provide shelter. The able-bodied survivors worked fast as the remains of the afternoon melted away, lashing supplies into packs and building crude litters to carry those who couldn’t walk on their own.
They set out with what Orion estimated to be a few hours of daylight left. This would have been ample time had Orion been traveling this now-familiar trail alone. Yet the maimed moved slowly, the injured had to be transported carefully, and the treetop spiders seemed to grow bolder at the smell of their festering wounds. Orion led the way, following his own path of flattened ferns and broken branches while Aurelia, Kangor, the Briarhearts and Quartermaster Clynn fought off the giant arachnids that danced down on silky ropes. Orion quickly realized that the cranky old freyan was much more comfortable wielding a pulse rifle than he was managing inventory. He even seemed to enjoy it, keeping co
unt in an impromptu competition with the others to see who could blast the most spiders.
When they finally arrived at the vast garden, all but a sliver of the huge blood orange sun had disappeared behind the horizon. The Temple of the Chosen stood out stark and white against the darkening sky, a jarring geometric shape after their slow trek through the untamed jungle. A few of the survivors in their long train gasped and murmured when they saw the tripods roaming the garden, as they were familiar sights to anyone who had visited the Maker Rings. With Bully at his side, Orion escorted the survivors through the winding stepping-stone paths until they stopped in front of the temple’s lone door.
He turned and hesitated a moment, trying to think of how he could prepare them. “Okay, everyone, listen up. I’m not sure how to say this, but you’re going to meet a very nice person inside who is what we would call, um… an Engineer.” A couple of voices blurted short expressions of disbelief, and Orion even heard a few scoffs. “I know that’s a lot to wrap your head around, but… look, just try to be cool, alright?”
One by one, the 48 survivors of the Star Sentry crash passed from the shadows of the dying sunset into the bright light of the temple. The untethered ball of light illuminated the airy interior with all the clarity of brightest day, and L’yak stood in the middle of the concentric circles of manacite symbols on the stone floor. S/he looked tall and elegant in the colorful belted tunic, still radiating that strange androgynous charisma and the scent of flowers.
“Greetings,” L’yak said as the survivors filed into the spacious temple. “I am L’yak. Guardian of the Temple of the Chosen.” S/he took them in for a moment with large, electric blue eyes. “Your friend Orion tells me that you call my people the ‘Engineers?’”
