by Gentry Race
Vix gave an excited nod.
Nathan stood in the room that had been prepared for him with the utmost care. It seemed that fighting alongside the Drækonians had made him a brother, and they now catered to his every need like he was the High Priest. He stood in front of the polished metal mirror that was tinted the ubiquitous gold color preferred by the city’s residents.
He looked good. He was covered in the rock-tech armor that the Drækonians had provided the schematics to voxelize. It was the very same armor they wore. Beyond the facade, Nathan felt indifferent inside the armor, and yet at ease. The 'nauts had shown him his path, but the Drækonians had shown him his destiny. Nathan contemplated what he’d do after he saved his love and completed his mission, considering whether he and Hastings would go back to Earth.
A figure snaked into Nathan’s room, and he immediately recognized the High Priest from the purple sheaths of dried flesh that draped from his collar.
"I hope you’re finding your armor accommodating," the High Priest said.
Nathan smiled, but his attention was elsewhere. He wasn’t interested in the armor technology right then, but he was curious about the sheaths he’d seen hanging all over the palace. "What is that?"
The High Priest looked where he pointed and smiled at Nathan’s curiosity. "These were our wings."
"Wings?" Nathan asked, looking closer to examine the dried, veiny structure.
"Yes. After the Great Uprising, our forethought was not all the high-and-mighty Starcadians took. We were once airborne, free to fly across the planet," the High priest said, turning around to show his two small nubs. "They felt we would cause less trouble if we were grounded."
"What about the wyverns you fly on?" Nathan asked, pointing to the window.
"My dear boy, those are a branch of the evolution of our species. Unfortunately, they stayed four-legged, which prevented them from creating tools or provoking intelligence. They are but workers.”
Nathan couldn't believe the rich history he was being exposed to. To think that other alien species across the galaxy had experienced some of the same things humans had.
"On my planet, we have a similar species called canines, or dogs. Some refer to them as man’s best friend,” Nathan said, now looking at the faint stars. For a second, he missed his home. "Do you think we’ll find her?"
"Yesss, but we will need the Ætching of an Æon to defeat Ira. That moon is free and can be used by any fighting Acedian," the High Priest explained. "It will take years to lock its orbit back to where it was."
"What of the other moons?" Nathan asked.
"There are Æons much worse than Ira. Bless our stars that they only freed one. Now, get some sleep. We will gather an army no system has seen before."
29
The reflected light cast off by the gas giant, Gigantica, was radiant, very high in the yellow spectrum. Nathan was taken aback while looking out his small window at the contrasting complementary colors. It reminded him of how Earth's blue sky contrasted against the orange of maple trees in the fall. Contrast seemed to be the connecting thread among all things.
And, like contrast, there was conflict; and without conflict, there was no story, no drama. That certainly wasn't the case here as Nathan watched an army of one hundred thousand proceed into the distance, vanishing into the beige fog of dirt they stirred up with their footsteps. Like something out of the Iliad, they were going to rescue their Helen of Troy.
In front of the rows of Drækonian soldiers, Nathan recognized the armor-plated, dog-like dragons called wyverns. Their teeth were more menacing than the spikes that ran down the three spinal columns of their bodies.
Nathan shifted his shoulder, adjusting the voxelized rock-tech plating, and he noticed the large spike that protruded from each side of the plate. The Acedians weren’t gonna know what hit ’em.
He crouched to his knees, still cast in the warm, yellow light, and saw the silhouetted violet shadow of the small Ira moon. He cleared his mind and thought of Hastings. She had Ætched with no problem, but Nathan knew that what had once been an advantage was now causing him problems—his eye.
Rockheed could easily have replaced his eye with a bionic one, but Nathan had chosen not to. Now, slight regret sank in his stomach. This injury had been so helpful in hunting the Spry bugs—or Invidian bugs—that it had been him and only him who’d been able to form a team and slaughter them to near extinction. Back then, Hastings had been only a thought in his mind compared to what she was now.
Her brilliant red hair and freckled face exhibited a hard façade, but Nathan knew she could be a lover compared to no other. His time loop had shown him this. In the midst of these thoughts, he circled his fingers and felt a warm sensation at the back of his neck. And it wasn’t the touch of a reptilian entity, which was all that should have been around him right then. Instead, he felt a human hand.
Nathan opened his eyes and looked down to see that a pair of human hands encased in blue light was caressing his chest. He turned his head and saw Hastings in a blue holographic form, her facial expression calm and her eyes staring at him in an uncanny way—as if she didn’t know him.
“Hastings?” Nathan said.
“I am anything you want,” the entity said.
Her hand caressed his face, and he fell into a daze, closing his eyes in response to her touch. Completely lost in the dream-like sensation, he suddenly snapped back to reality.
It was a trick. The hands vanished away.
Hastings was not here. He felt lonely and thought of Richter. If only he was here to see him.
What seemed like a shimmering stemming from his suit and into his peripheral, turned to rippling effect that was right in front of him.
And there he was. Richter, his brother in full form. A chromatic aberration of light, the edges of his face and body glimmered like they were a misaligned with a ghostly hue of red and blue.
Nathan rubbed his eye, checking his sanity, but he was still there. He saw the slightest of a warm smile on Richter’s face and then he spoke.
“What about your brothers, Nathan?” he asked.
Nathan was shocked from the blatant question. He was seeing an incarnation of some sort. Was he real? Did Richter exist somewhere I could have access to him?
He opened his eyes in a panic, stopping the Ætching process. The entity disappeared, and Nathan couldn’t comprehend the endless possibilities of this power. The Starcadians had done well taking forethought and imagination away from the Drækonians. Who knew what could happen if thoughts ran out of control?
“Commander, sir?” A well-polished guard entered the chamber, interrupting the session.
“Did you see that? It wasn’t an Æon,” Nathan asked, unable to shake the feeling.
“Yes, sir. Imagination is a powerful thing when Ætching,” the guard said. “Come, your Drækonian warriors await.”
“Wait. You called me commander?” he asked, finally processing the rank the guard had used to address him.
“Yes, Commander. You are now leading the High Army of the Drækonian Empire,” the guard replied.
“There must be a mistake,” Nathan said with obvious confusion on his face.
“No, you showed your resilience in battle yesterday, and the High Priest thinks you are ready to lead us,” the guard said, leaving his chamber.
Nathan looked out the window, and a mantle of accomplishment descended over his mind. It hadn’t been long since he’d fought under Hastings as a rookie, soon moving to leading the Dreadnauts, and now commanding an army. In retrospect, he saw how all the dots connected, and he felt like it was more than just chance. It almost felt like destiny arriving at his door.
Nathan voxelized a small knife, inspecting the design Richter had held onto all those years. He voxelized a long staff and placed the knife onto the head of the staff.
With this staff, the enemy will see me coming. They will see me, and they will know my name.
Vix lay hidden from sight behind the
garden walls of the Drækonian Empire, the well-trimmed, cobalt-blue bushes providing perfect cover. She voxelized a small mirror from her palm voxel port, holding it high and watching the large army amass.
Just past the gathering army was the facility that held Tang. Four guards stood, armed to the teeth above a small waterway that flowed into the building.
Vix motioned to the group that the guards were getting ready to leave.
"How will we get past the prison guards?" Fery asked.
"What do you mean ‘we’?" Switch asked. "Didn't you rob a Federal Reserve? This is your schtick.”
“Schtick?” Fery echoed, looking at Beightol.
“Superpower,” Beightol clarified.
“Listen, you broke out of the Reform Facility’s HOLEs," Switch said. "If we get you to the stream, you’ll have access to any part of the facility.”
“Okay, but how will I get to the water without the guards noticing?” Fery asked.
Vix looked at Beightol, who was still carrying Switch in his arms.
“Leave to M-Knight-Shyamalama-ding-dong.”
The well-polished Drækonian guards peered out into the distance without blinking their eyes. Clad in their rock-tech armor, they held the stunning-staffs that were standard issue for them, charged with enough electricity to send any organism into convulsions.
A horn blew from around the way, and the guard on the right turned to the other, giving a knowing nod. It was their way of communicating in silence that their dominant species was heading into battle. The second guard returned the nod and continued his formation, the long staff changing from one hand to the other.
Along the pathway, the guards could see a large figure approaching smoothly, as if gliding on tracks. A tattered cloak with a red hood covered most of the face, except for a pig-like snout with large tusks protruding from its mouth. Beneath the draping crimson robe, the body was stitched together with purple branches and blue sod.
The Drækonian picked up his staff, charging the end. “By Mother Mintaka, what is that?”
The creature glided straight toward them, towering over them as it approached. “I am the one you don't speak about!"
The guards looked more confused than afraid. "We didn't speak about you, we swear. We don't know you."
The creature raised its long, sharp talons, spewing snot from its large snout and shrieking loudly. The guards manned their staffs, ready to strike, but now that the creature was closer, they recognized the makeshift costume of sticks and twigs. At the creature's feet was a platform with wheels that resembled a flat dolly.
"What the hell? It's a bloody costume!" one guard shouted, striking his staff at the cloak.
Purple flames erupted from below, and the creature screamed. Another stab of electricity sent the creature running off in pain, shrieking into the distance.
"Better run, you beast from hell!" yelled one guard to the trees.
The other guard adjusted his armor and smiled at his comrades, all of them unaware of the tiny bubbles that percolated from the waterway beneath them.
Fery voxelized a set of water jets on her back and rotating fins along her now-streamlined Voxel suit that resembled the skin of a shark. She felt at home in the water, despite needing a breathing apparatus. She silently thanked her dad for the time they’d spent navigating the small, narrow chasms of the outer rim Caving System. Those conditions had taught her patience and efficiency.
She kicked on the jets, keeping the setting low so she didn’t stir up too many bubbles or sediment. Inside her helmet, HUD projections crawled around, including a live feed of the hilarious aftermath of her team’s prank. The camera showed Vix’s point of view as she frantically tried to put out a fire on the red robe Beightol was wearing. Those guys were crazy, but she loved it.
She turned the corner of the small waterway that coursed through the castle, recognizing the red light from the High Priest’s chambers they had been shown to before.
“Guys, I don’t know where I’m going,” Fery called to Switch.
Vix had just finished patting out the last of the flames.
“I’m downloading schematics. Sending now,” Switch said.
A fluttering of instructions and manuals cycled within a small HUD window. Fery could hardly comprehend the hundreds of documents sent. “Jesus, sugar, I need a map, not their whole history.”
“Sorry,” Switch said. “Here’s the map.”
Fery read it with precision, ramping her speed and executing turn after turn with ease. The small waterway opened to a chasm with a small, rectangular gap in the ceiling that was covered in bars. She jettisoned to it and poked her head out of the water before voxelizing a small camera. She grabbed the bars and shoved her hand through.
Two cells were opposite each other. One was abandoned, and in the other was a man she’d once called lover. Tang had been a dick to Fery, but a good dick, indeed. She knew he would never be with her, but a good fuck was appreciated by a randy girl like herself.
Fery voxelized a small cutting torch on her forearm and arced a bright light that automatically set her helmet to dim. Even though she’d cut through each bar, they held their places due to the angle she’d used. Fery then jetted a few feet down and turned her feet so they were facing the opening, hit the jets full throttle in reverse, slammed into the bars, and flew into the cell area.
She landed on her feet like a sexy cat, voxelizing her water jets back into their ports and folding her helmet into the neck of her suit. As she neared Tang’s cell, she could see a shadow moving repetitively, followed by a thumping sound.
Tang sat over the toilet, his skin grey and waxen. A bruise was forming where he was consistently pile-driving his head into the wall. Fery knew what was happening. Tang had been an ex-heroin dealer while running guns in Burma. The poor sap was starving for a feed line. Now that he was off the grid, the cravings were setting in.
He slammed his head into the wall again, but this time he noticed her. "Took ya' long enough."
Fery smiled, pulling her ponytail down and flipping her rainbow-colored hair as she walked closer. “No longer than you were inside me.”
Tang sat up, shaking his head. "I'm glad to see you, Fery. You got any of that white stuff?"
She was silent.
“Well, I suppose you’ve got the upper hand here,” he said.
Fery swayed her hips as she covered the last few feet and stopped at the bars. “We had amoment topside, but that moment is gone. What I need from you is the thought-files on your grey goo.”
“Well, voxelize that arc torch and cut me out,” Tang said.
“No. I need the files—not you,” she responded.
He shook his head in disappointment. “So, I didn't deliver enough to warrant at least a half-hearted rescue?”
Fery leaned forward, voxelizing a small ported device and extending it to Tang. “Not even close, sugar.”
30
The Acedian moon took only a few hours to reach, thanks to the Starcadian mapping. They had calculated almost every point of the Gigantica system, allowing for express speeds to be calculated by the onboard computers of Vorian's fleet.
He sat back, the patina of his skin dampening the harsh light shining on him from the cockpit controls. Just behind his cruiser was a massive fleet of forty ships, along with wyverns clinging to the outer hulls, fitted with breathing apparatuses for the short haul. The wyverns’ skin was made of some of the strongest material in the system—the scales having been used as primitive weapons millennia ago.
Vorian looked to his trusted friend and co-pilot, Volup. His eyes resembled his in their almond shape, paired with sharp black slits for pupils, indicating they had been birthed from the same race of Dræka.
"Do you think she can do it?" Vorian asked Volup.
Volup turned to Vorian, snaking his forked tongue out a few times to sense the emotion of his friend. "We finally have a human that can regenerate its own flesh, as if a Starcadian and Terran had birthed a child
with the Ætch ability. I’ve never seen such a feat or species. I think the tides have turned."
Vorian smiled. He unbuckled his hexagonal rocky harness and stood up. “I will ease her tension.”
Volup smirked. “Make sure to keep your distance. I heard the retrieval team had quite the fight with her when she woke.”
Hastings was chained on her knees, her Voxel suit protecting her fragile flesh. She breathed deeply, sensing the heavy air sinking into her lungs, and could feel her suit adjusting to the atmosphere. She squinted her eyes in response to the bright, electrical energy bars in front of her. At first, they seemed to be a brilliant white, but once her vision adjusted, they turned to a golden amber. Hastings looked around, realizing she was in the back of a cargo enclosure. Deep indentations had been gouged out in the floor where several heavy loads had been dropped.
A lock ratcheted just past the bars and a door opened, exposing a silhouetted figure. Hastings recognized the species—human-like mixed with lizard, its long tail swaying about and the broad talon jutting from the knee.
He walked closer, and the amber energy lit up his face. It was Vorian. He smiled, slowly pushing his knee talon between the energy bars.
“You can touch it, you know,” Vorian said.
Hastings pulled her head back in disgust. “Touch what?”
Vorian retracted the talon back into his skin like sheathing a knife. “No one told you?”
“They told me you’re a terrorist that is hell-bent on seeing the destruction of this system,” she said between gritted teeth.
Vorian laughed. “They lied to you, girl. I’m the only one looking out for this system. I want to unite the moons, not segregate them like the Drækonians.”
Hastings was quiet for a moment, processing what he had said. “If that’s true, then why invade Oyria?”
