Psychonautz

by Gentry Race

  Tang straightened his slumping figure and walked away from Fery, eyeing the yellow and purple rays of the setting sun. Fery was quick to catch up with him, flipping her multicolored hair like she wanted to be noticed.

  “So, what now?” she asked.

  “I think these lizards are lying about the attack,” Tang said.

  “Yeah? How are you going to find out if what they’re telling us is a lie, sugar?”

  Tang stopped, noticing a dark purple forest just beyond the city. “Not sure, but someone has to know about this rock.”

  Fery saw what he was looking at. “You gonna try to find some locals?”

  “Yep, beat it out of ‘em if I have to,” Tang said.

  She grabbed his hand and placed it on her waist. “Maybe you can beat something else up first.”

  Tang looked into her crazed eyes, her hair even more colorful in the now amber sunset. He remembered the first time he’d hooked up with Fery—nothing like what he had with Hastings. But he figured this would be a good way to release some pent-up emotion.

  "Come on, Tang. Fuck me three ways from Sunday," Fery said.

  Tang shook his head, leaned over, and kissed her.

  23

  She lay naked on the blue grass, its hues more on the muted side in the night light that shone overhead. Like lamp posts from the eighteenth century, a fiery orange light glowed, but it moved about chaotically, as if filled with fireflies.

  Her suit voxelized over her soft skin with a wave of her hand when Tang got up to initiate his. His movements were abrupt and he ignored Fery, who was watching him with a smile, laying her head on her hand.

  “So, that’s it?” Fery asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks for the F shack.”

  “F shack?” she asked in disappointment. She stood up, her head barely reaching his upper torso. “Listen, Tang, I know you think of me as more than some cum dumpster.”

  “You bet,” he said facetiously. “You can go back to Big Daddy Beightol now.”

  “Fuck you, Tang,” Fery said, jumping to her feet and walking off toward the gardens.

  Tang knew the way he’d treated her was wrong, but he didn’t care. She had it coming. Hell, she’d wanted him. Tang chuckled to himself. If he let little squabbles with Fery stop him now, he’d miss the big picture. These fucking lizards were lying, and he needed to find out why.

  Tang voxelized what he could from the feed, donning two shoulder lights and walking down the steps of the cliff. Each step was carved meticulously into the green jaded rock. This stuck out like a sore thumb to Tang, having only seen the polished gold metal everywhere. He looked closer and wondered if he had just mistaken it for the patina corrosion that Switch was talking about earlier, but this rock was glossy in the night light versus a matte finish.

  At the base of the cliff, a road paved in more burnished gold extended into the small, sleeping city ahead, with two branching pathways veering to the left and right. There was a signpost scribed in another language. Tang touched his neck collar and his helmet voxelized over his head. He watched through the glass as the HUD interface picked out the script, making a few scrambling noises as it translated—Old City. Tang smiled, voxelizing his helmet back into its collar and jogging in the direction of the sign.

  The Old City felt like a graveyard of old reptilian statues used in the production of a low-budget movie. On Earth, most ruins were made of stone and concrete, but here, the objects felt fake and plastic-like. Tang assumed the artifacts were composed of the same glossy jade rock he’d seen before.

  Just past an overhanging archway, several mausoleum-type structures grew from the ground, covered in blue fauna. He couldn’t see where the buildings were connected, as if they were carved or grown from the ground itself. Interesting motifs danced around the tops of the doors that led into the chambers, written in a script Tang couldn’t read, but he paid no attention to it. Just past those stood a large mausoleum colored in a bold red. Tang was taken aback, not having seen this much red anywhere on that moon. Beightol would have creamed his pants in M. Knight Shamalayan-ness.

  The door to the mausoleum didn’t seem to have a handle of any sort. Tang pushed the door, but it didn’t budge. He looked around for any kind of lever, but there was nothing. He smiled, stepped back, and voxelized a large grenade hand cannon—one of his favorites he called Big Poppa.

  BOOM!

  The door flipped off its hinges and blew back inside the mausoleum. As the smoke cleared, Tang stepped into the rank smell of death and decomposition. There were dinosaur bones on a solid jade table, but in a humanoid form. He could tell it was one of those lizards. Its arms were crossed over to each shoulder, demonstrating the usual “Rest in Peace” burial position Tang had seen before.

  He nudged the corpse with the tip of his cannon, and the bones instantly vaporized into piles of ashes that spilled over the sides of the table. A look of intense confusion crossed his face, and he glanced around to make sure no one had seen what he’d done.

  “The hell?” Tang asked out loud.

  He looked closer at the ashes and saw that the jade table wasn’t a table at all, but an altar with an inscription that was carved into the stone. Tang stepped back and voxelized a large tubed barrel affixed with a slinking hose that connected to the back of his suit. He formed his helmet once again.

  “Time for a blowjob.”

  He turned the barrel on, gushing air and blowing the ashes all over. Tang went line for line, making sure he could see all of the text. When all of the ash was gone, his helmet’s HUD was already translating the text. A couple of scrambling sounds later, it was clear what the carved text inscribed—Do Not Disturb.

  “Well, shit,” Tang said humorously, focusing on the lower inscription now.

  The text was clear as day, reading: “Here lies Apothecus, Leader of the Drækonians, Bringer of light, Destroyer of the Miner Uprising, Segregator of the Seven Moons: Gula, Luxor, Avarice, Drækonia, Ira, Acedia, Invidia.”

  “So, this motherfucka’ segregated everything here,” Tang said with a smile.

  He rubbed his finger across the indented text, contemplating his next move. He had to tell Hastings, but would she believe him? He stepped back once again, this time voxelizing a large battering hammer that jutted from this forearm.

  “You can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs,” Tang said, slamming the mallet onto the table.

  The jade rock cracked into three pieces, and Tang felt like Moses picking up the large slabs. He voxeliezed a few slats, one on his back and one on his chest, piling the inscribed and fractured table into them.

  “Now they gotta’ believe me,” he said.

  24

  Invidia was the smallest of the moons that orbited Gigantica. Reminiscent of an electronic jungle, this techno-organic world had huge black tendrils for trees and slinking cables for jungle vines. Among the black, techno-organic plating of the bark pulsed tiny lights, similar to the bugs’ shell-like skin.

  Vorian waited patiently, eyeing a holographic map that represented the moons of the Gigantica system. The yellow light cast from the gas giant contrasted vibrantly with the purple holographic wireframe. He looked closely at his rocky home moon of Acedia, contrasting drastically with Invidia’s cyber-like surface. The variety Gigantica had evolved into would often slip his mind since he knew it wasn’t natural. Its creators, whoever they were, were great innovators, and possessed the ultimate power—imagination.

  Vorian could now see something moving fast on the map, blipping from location to location. It was the Invidian bug, and like a bolt of light, the creature was suddenly standing on all fours before him. Vorian smiled, appreciating its techno-organic skin and filament-wired mandible.

  The bug was fat and juicy with information, like a caterpillar ready to weave himself into a thick cocoon. It sat opposite him in an inconspicuous manner, tentative like a shy deer approaching a hunter. Vorian saw Volup walking up and motioned for him to stop, then lowered himself to
his knees, closing his eyes and swirling his fingers in a circular manner.

  From the back of Vorian’s thick neck collar, a hooded figure draped in black light appeared. Its face resembled the Invidian bug—a cross between a large armadillo and a dust mite. In its hand, it held a white longbow the size of a car. Vorian kept his circular motion at a constant speed as light traced along his fingertips.

  “Give me the info,” Vorian said, steadily.

  The bug was even more hesitant now, shaking with fear like a small dog. Vorian raised his hand, initiating the large Invidian Æon above him to copy his moves. He placed one hand as if he were drawing the bow, and the Æon followed suit. He could see the bug’s beady black eyes jumping, and knew it would only be a matter of seconds before it jumped. Vorian released his grip.

  SNAP!

  The long arrow penetrated the insect’s thorax, and Vorian watched the electricity crack about as it was sucked up into the bow. The fat bug was dead. He walked over to it and pulled the arrow from his kill, handing it to the large Æon above. Along with the bow, the Æon held it high and sparked the info into Vorian’s neck.

  He felt energy and information flooding his body. Pictures flew past his mind's eye, and he dropped to his knees. Volup ran to his aid, but he pushed him away, not wanting to interfere with the process. More pictures came together in a strobe-like motion, forming an animation.

  He recognized the gardens of Drækonia, the Ætchers, and even the snake-like High Priest. His insides swelled with anger. But what threw him off was the Terrans who sat in a circle, similar to how they’d been earlier. Are humans practicing to Ætch? The thought wasn’t surprising to him. He’d known the High Priest would probably stoop to asking other species to fight their fight—a cowardly move to say the least.

  “What do you see, sir?” Volup asked.

  “Humans, training in the ways of the Ætch,” Vorian said, watching two who were Ætching more successfully than the other. “Two women are competent in the craft.”

  “Sir, if they summon a new form of Æon, we’ll be lost in the fight,” Volup said.

  Vorian opened his eyes, collapsing the large Æon above him before standing. He walked away from what was now a small bug, rapidly shriveling, and looked at the holograph showing the moon closest to Invidia. It was held in orbit via long tendrils that sank deep into Gigantica’s gaseous atmosphere.

  “It’s time to free Ira with the Æther we have,” Vorian said.

  “Finally, the Drækonians will learn what it means to be free,” Volup affirmed, walking away toward the techno-organic structure that served as their quarters.

  “And Volup,” Vorian said, catching him before he went inside, “I need those women.”

  25

  Nathan walked into the heavily padded corridor that was just under the outside garden area of the Drækonian Empire. Small filaments ran along the walls, snapping into electrical signals in the air that Nathan couldn’t sense. Behind him, Hastings and Vix were escorted by the Drækonian guards.

  The darkness of the corridor reflected Nathan’s opinion of how his day had gone.

  "Shouldn’t the rest be with us?” Hastings asked.

  “Your technical friend wanted to further examine the kernel, and the big guy insisted on watching a movie. Something about your human senses,” one of the guards said.

  “Sixth Sense,” they all said at the same time, shaking their heads.

  Nathan tried to hold his head high, but he felt defeated by not being able to conjure the Voxelight. He looked back at Hastings as she chatted with Vix about the omnipotent power she’d felt, but she caught him sulking and wiped the excitement from her face.

  “Don’t worry, Nathan, you’re gonna get it,” Hastings said.

  They entered a room surrounded by red and purple plush couches made of the same filament as the walls. The circular shape the furry sectionals were arranged in was inviting and felt like something out of a dream.

  “Have a seat. The High Priest will be with you momentarily,” the guard said as he left.

  Hastings and Vix sat down on the couch, their Voxel suits snapping in reaction to the filaments. Nathan sat down across from them, feeling the snapping sensation pulse through his suit also. The tingling tickled his senses, and goose-bumps formed under his suit.

  “That’s different,” Nathan said.

  Hastings laid back and spread out her arms, embracing the tingling sensation. “It feels like a soapy bubble bath.”

  Vix looked at her like she was crazy.

  A voice echoed in the dimly lit room, but Nathan couldn’t see anyone else around. “What the—?”

  They looked around as another voice echoed about them, and they quickly recognized the High Priest. “My guests, this is the linking room. I am talking to you through the filaments that touch your body.”

  “Unbelievable. Signal transference?” Hastings asked.

  “Yes. Here, after training, we reflect on the day's successes or defeats,” the High Priest said.

  Nathan tried not to react to the comment or to Vix’s and Hastings’ exuberant moods.

  “Like a form of meditation?” Nathan asked.

  “Yes, I want you to sit there and close your eyes. We can sense your emotions and help… liberate your feelings,” the High Priest said.

  Separating walls began to grow between Nathan, Hastings, and Vix, and then he was in his own compartment. A flood of feelings clouded his mind as he closed his eyes and laid back. Flashes of light fluttered through like he was experiencing a flashback in the deprivation tank at Rockheed. He gripped the filaments in a bunch as the flashing increased. It felt like he was tunneling deep into something, but he couldn’t make it out.

  Next, he felt his legs grow cold, and he couldn’t move his body. Is this a flashback? His pulse quickened, and then he felt his body becoming warm and wet, as if he were swimming. But when the wet sensation changed to a more viscous fluid, he panicked.

  He tried to crack his eyelid, and a slit of light entered. He could see six bright blue arms reaching around from under his body. The massage that followed put him into an ecstatic trance, pushing and pulling the stress from him. The idea that he had traveled halfway around the galaxy to get a massage was crazy, and he wondered why they were doing this.

  A voice boomed from overhead. “Nathan, in order to succeed, you have to let it all go—the doubts, the fears. Tell me, what do you fear?”

  Nathan thought of a giant rabid wolf at first, but then that subsided. He couldn’t help but think of Hastings, his time loop experience, and the future they were supposed to have. The picture he’d found under the bunk on that cold ship seemed further from his grasp now than ever. She would never see him like that. But his mental image seemed to change, as if the Drækonians were forcing him to see a different path.

  What had once been a dark ship was now a bright amber sunset, streaked with horizontal pink clouds. He was on Earth, and he felt the warmth of a hand touching his. He looked over to see Hastings standing by his side—a graceful, freckled-face Hastings, her hair flowing down to her shoulders, longer than he’d ever seen it. She smiled, bright as the sun, and grabbed his hand before placing it on the small bump in her lower belly.

  “You see, all your frustrations, worries, and fears are the misuse of your imagination,” the voice said.

  Nathan sat there in silence, feeling the peace that washed over him. Without thinking, he held one hand up, slowly circling two fingers, and felt a hot sensation around his neck. He then opened his eyes to a glowing, bright blue hammer grazing his face. It was Dræk.

  “Well done,” the High Priest said, shocking Nathan’s mood like cold ice.

  Nathan slowly opened his eyes and raised himself up as the walls receded. His Voxel suit was intact. He looked over to Hastings, and she smiled and stretched her arms out. Vix was now in a Zen pose.

  What did we just experience? Nathan thought.

  “How was your session?” the High Priest asked. />
  Vix opened her eyes with a smile.

  “Excellent. Now, please join us for dinner in the main hall. I will have my guards waiting for you.”

  Nathan couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he stood.

  “Well, that certainly cheered you up,” Hastings said to him, returning his smile.

  “Yeah, I… uh… It was good.”

  “Only good?” Hastings asked. She then leaned over and whispered, “I thought you were great.”

  Nathan's heart fluttered at the comment, his eyes momentarily widening.

  26

  The moon of Ira was a fiery, volcanic inferno of molten rock. In place of the large oceans that covered other planets, hot lava regurgitated from the steaming core, forming a soft crust that resembled plasticity. Even though it was young geologically, there were a few rocky basalt islands that could be inhabited.

  A small craft rocked over the circumventing heat below, bursting blue jets into fiery flame. Vorian pulled the controls down, feeling the turbulence buck him like a wild Invidian bug. He spun the aft of the ship around, finding a less blustering pocket to lower the ship into.

  He could see the latticed texture of the tendrils, gripping the moon like thick wire digging into skin. Since the moons had been tied down for centuries, Vorian knew he wouldn’t have to blow the tendrils to get the moons orbiting. He only needed to help them.

  His cockpit opened, and he jumped out, landing on the craggy crust. He could feel the heat through his thick-plated armor but paid no mind. Under the hull of the ship clung a rocket thruster—the last of them. He detached it and sat it on the ground. With a flip of a switch, three claws extended and dug deep into the core. A green flashing light immediately blinked, indicating that it was ready.

  A large swell of lava spurted up, and Vorian dodged the sledging, hellish goop. He watched the hot lava react with the tendrils—and by react, he meant nothing was happening.