The 17

by Mike Kilroy

  Splifkin stood in front of the screen and stared at them. Zack bounced his leg up and down quickly—he did that when he was nervous—and, finally, Mizuki pressed her hand on his thigh to quiet it.

  Splifkin’s voice boomed. “Get comfortable. You are going to be here for a while.”

  The screen flickered on, displaying an atrium with mustard walls and chairs made of wicker set on either side of a marble bench with a thin mat stretched across it. In the center of the room was a sculpture of a naked man, reaching toward a skylight overhead that let in the soft rays of the sun.

  It was very ancient Rome, Zack thought.

  Soon, Omians filtered into the room. Some flopped on the wicker chairs, others rested on the bench. They all wore long robes of various colors and designs and laurel wreaths around their heads. Lucan was the last into the room and examined the sculpture.

  Zack leaned closer to Mizuki and whispered. “What’s this?”

  “Observation,” Mizuki answered. “I did the same thing with your people.”

  Zack watched and listened as they talked—and bickered. He understood every word. They had the same fears and concerns as he and his group had; questions were posed such as “Where are we? Are we even alive? Is this all just a nightmare? Or are we in one of the three hells?”

  Lucan did not take part in the debate. Instead he prowled and observed. When he did speak, it was forceful and charismatic. It only took a few sentences for him to disarm the tension and rally them around one goal: getting home. He pleaded that peace was the way, that if they refused to participate, their captors would have to deal with them and would perhaps yield and send them back to Wahe.

  Zack smiled as he listened. It was a familiar strategy and he could tell Lucan was of the same ilk as he.

  They watched the Omians for hours. At mid-day and again in the evening, Splifkin brought each a plate of food and drinks, grousing each time about not being a waiter.

  Zack had learned quite a bit about the Omians in the hours he spent watching. He learned their habits and customs. He learned how they spoke and acted. He learned what they did for leisure—which wasn’t very much. They mostly just sat around and meditated. Occasionally they would talk about art, or wade in a great bathhouse.

  Mizuki was uncomfortable with the nudity.

  So was Zack.

  He also learned there was a lot to admire about these people and their simple ways, but he resisted the urge to do so. Splifkin’s warning echoed in his thoughts.

  He found out the hard way to always listen to Splifkin; he was nearly turned into a norge.

  Zack couldn’t, however, quash his reverence for Lucan, who was quiet and confident—a leader.

  Everything Zack was not.

  Zack also noticed Mizuki taking a great interest in Lucan. She leaned forward on the couch and stared at the screen as Lucan went from person to person, offering encouragement and sage wisdom beyond his years. It was as if he were a Roman commander before a great battle, rallying his troops. Only he was rallying them not to fight.

  Mizuki spoke somberly. “He’s the fourth. There’s no doubt.”

  Zack agreed. “He’s pretty much everything they’re looking for. They’re making some serious progress now.”

  Mizuki leaned back again and sunk deeper into the leather. “That’s not good for us. The one thing we had going for us was time.”

  The worry on her face was clear. She nibbled on a nail as she watched silently, lost in thought.

  “How bad can it be if they get the seventeen?” It was an innocent question, but it drew a scathing look from Mizuki.

  “It’ll be bad.”

  “What can we do?”

  Mizuki slid closer to him on the couch, their shoulders touching, and then whispered, “Maybe when you get down there, knock that halo off Lucan’s head.”

  Zack struggled for a response. He blathered out a string of unintelligible syllables before finally forming a coherent sentence. “You want me to sabotage him?”

  “Not exactly—well, yeah, you could call it that, I guess. You can coax out his true nature. No one is that altruistic.” Mizuki winked. “Well, except for maybe you.”

  She leaned in even closer. He felt her breath blow in his ear. “If we can get rid of him, that’ll put a dent in their ‘Spark’ collecting.”

  Zack thought he would be lucky to simply fool the Omians for a day or two, let alone deftly orchestrate a systematic psychological attack on a member of a race be barely knew. It was an impossible assignment made even more preposterous.

  Zack could tell Lucan would not be easily swayed, just as he wasn’t. For the most part, he stayed true to himself, even when rage did boil in him to a critical mass and he wanted to kill the German boy. Ultimately, he couldn’t, and the Ankhs saw it.

  How can I fool both the Omians and our captors?

  Zack could tell Mizuki didn’t have much faith in her plan, either. It wasn’t much of a plan to begin with. It was more of a dream. It was better than nothing. Everything is in the trying

  Besides, who can say no to those eyes?

  Mizuki pecked him on the cheek. He felt the shudder again. “Just be careful. Lucan may be a pacifist, but the others aren’t.”

  †††

  Zack felt his head dip down and snap back up. There was a strange halo around everything, a sort of glow that forced him to blink his eyes rapidly.

  It was fatigue. Mizuki also showed the same symptoms.

  They had been at it for nearly sixteen hours, the Omians proving to be a tremendous bore. They were asleep now, too, having left the atrium for their rooms, which were displayed on smaller feeds on the big screen.

  Zack wished he was sleeping as well.

  Mizuki finally was, her latest head bob downward not resulting in a quick jerk back up. Zack thought he could hear her snoring.

  He reached out to touch her curved neck, but she sprung away, snatched his hand and twisted it harshly. Zack groaned in pain before she released.

  “Never try to wake me like that!” She barked.

  Zack held his hands up in contrition— and a bit of fear. “I’m sorry. Jeez. What was that for?”

  Mizuki, now calm and perhaps a bit giddy from exhaustion, smiled and giggled. “My people don’t like to be startled. We react … angrily.”

  Zack rubbed his ruddy knuckles. “I’d say so.”

  Mizuki yawned and pulled her hair out of its pony tail. It billowed out like silky black smoke. She had bags under her bloodshot and droopy brown eyes, her mouth was pried open by fatigue and she slumped in her seat, yet Zack thought her ravishing.

  She let out another long yawn, leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. “That’s enough Omian snooze-fest for me for one day,” was all she said as she stood and stumbled away like a zombie.

  Zack rubbed his face and watched the screen again. He focused on Lucan, who was awake and staring straight ahead. His jaw was clenched in determination. He looked like a boy who was steadfast in one desire: to defy his captors and find escape.

  Perhaps he didn’t have to sabotage him, Zack thought. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter. Lucan most definitely had a Spark.

  Zack, too, surrendered to his fatigue and began to make his way toward his room, but he found himself heading in the other direction. He was so tired, he wasn’t sure why he was stumbling toward Mizuki’s room. His pace became brisker the closer he came to her.

  Zack knocked on her door softly, tapping out the raps like notes to a love song.

  She answered and smiled wide, a gleam in her eyes that made Zack’s heart melt.

  “Thought you’d you come.” Mizuki winked. It was the biggest shudder yet.

  “Can I stay here?” Zack asked, his lips so close to hers they were almost touching. “I want to be uncomfortably cold tonight.”

  Part II

  Chapter Three

  When in Wahe

  Zack awoke on the less-than-giving mat on a hard marble bench and stared up at sculpted pe
nis.

  It was very unnerving.

  He was the only one in the atrium. He wore a long red robe and he felt a wreath tight around his head.

  These clothes are so unflattering. But so Omian.

  When in Wahe...

  He grabbed a circular cake that looked to be made of some sort of brown rice that sat on a hassock in front of the bench. Zack sunk his teeth into it and it crunched as he chewed. He was surprised at how good it tasted.

  He devoured the rest of it. The crumbs of the cake fell onto his lap and he dusted them off with two quick swipes of his hand.

  He stood and prowled the atrium. He peered up through the open ceiling at the azure sky, and then strolled into an adjacent room and heard the splashing of water.

  An Omian girl he knew from his dossier as Valentina snapped her head around and screamed while covering her breasts.

  “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.” Zack repeated, closing his eyes and turning away. “I … just got here.”

  Valentina bellowed “Lucan! Lucan! Another has arrived.”

  Lucan bolted into the bathhouse with three other Omians a step behind him. They all stood and stared at Zack, who tried to be as Omian as he could.

  Lucan approached him and his eyes flitted across Zack’s every feature. “What’s your name?”

  Zack was so nervous that he almost forgot his Omian moniker. “Decim. But everyone calls me Dec.”

  Lucan smiled warmly and patted Zack on the shoulder. “Well, Dec, the others will have you think we are in one of the three hells. But I don’t believe that. We are in a zoo, paraded about at the whims of an alien race.”

  Valentina emerged from the bath and quickly covered herself in her robe. Her hair, long and raven black, still dripped. “Sorry for my reaction.”

  Zack smiled and bowed, as was the Omian custom when meeting a woman. “No worries.”

  Lucan patted him again on the back of his red robe. “Come, let’s talk.”

  Lucan led Zack into another room, this one small and warm like a sauna with hard wooden benches built into what looked like stucco walls. Lucan took a deep breath and sat, offering Zack a seat next to him.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Crotos,” Zack answered quickly.

  “Ah, Crotos. It’s beautiful there. I like the smell of the pines that seem to stretch into infinity. I traveled there with my parents not long ago, to the elegant areas of course, not to the ones in squalor. Is the fishing still good?”

  “The best.”

  Lucan seemed pleased. “Well, hopefully you’ll be back there getting lots of nibbles soon.”

  Zack put on his best fearful, disoriented face. He tried to remember what it was like when he first arrived in that house in what seemed so long ago. He tried to channel that trepidation. “Where are we? I was in a cell and now I’m here.”

  Lucan nodded. “We all arrive this way. Valentina was first. Then Portia. Then I. Then the others and now you.”

  “What are we doing here? Why take us?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s a test, perhaps. We have fought beings that aren’t like us with weapons our ancestors used long ago. It’s distressing on the best days. But I have a plan. If we refuse to participate, perhaps our captors will find we aren’t worth the trouble and will send us home.”

  Zack thought of some Omian slang, a shortening of their word for crucify. In English it came out, “Or they will cifee us.”

  “There’s that possibility, but I don’t think they will. I have to believe a species so advanced to be able to hurtle us across the stars and recreate ancient places like this one is not prone to murder.”

  Zack feigned panic. He was surprised he was so good at it. Lucan patted him on the back softly. It was amazingly effective and reassuring.

  “There’s no need to worry. The three Gods are with you, always.”

  Zack nodded and smiled. “I’ll do whatever I need to do. You can count on me.”

  “That’s good news. Go rest. You must be overwhelmed.”

  Lucan stood and strolled away, like a boy without a care in the world, like a boy with a day off from school in search of adventure. He seemed to find it with Valentina as the two shared a laugh and a kiss.

  Zack was amazed by Lucan’s calmness and charisma.

  This is going to be even more difficult than I thought.

  †††

  Valentina applied gentle strokes of paint with her brush to the canvas as Zack posed uncomfortably for her.

  She had convinced him to be her model—she said she had painted all of the arrivals to this make-believe land—and he obliged.

  When in Wahe, after all.

  Valentina jammed the brush between her teeth; her eyes knitted, and she pushed her hair behind her ears—and what lovely ears they were. She whistled a tune that sounded familiar to Zack, even though he knew it couldn’t be something he had heard.

  Zack had to know. He always had to know things. “That’s beautiful. What is it?”

  Valentina looked at him perplexed and grabbed the brush from her bite. “Really? You don’t know?”

  Zack shrugged. “Should I?”

  “Yes, Dec, you should. It’s only our oldest hymn. You must have sung it a million times growing up in Crotos like me.”

  Oops.

  He had been here scarcely a day and he already had slipped up. Valentina examined him with suspicion. She was smart and observant. Zack should have known better.

  Silence is your friend, you idiot. Silence is your friend.

  Zack couldn’t be silent now. “I know. I just haven’t heard it rendered with such beauty.”

  He hoped that would satiate her doubts.

  It didn’t—at least not completely.

  “Right,” she said, applying another stroke to her masterpiece, her eyes still trained on Zack.

  Zack hated awkward silence, so he broke it. “What’s your deal?”

  “My deal?”

  “Yeah. Your deal. Everyone has a deal.”

  Valentina laughed. “My deal is I want to get this painting done so quiet yourself. I can’t get your lips right if you are constantly flapping them.”

  Zack should have left it at that.

  He didn’t. “What’s Lucan’s deal?”

  “Let me guess. Everyone has a deal, even Lucan?”

  Zack nodded.

  “His deal is he thinks he’s more important than he is. He comes from wealth and an inflated ego comes with that. Don’t get me wrong, he is quite dashing and I am quite fond of him, but something else drives him, something more than altruism.”

  Valentina painted with flourished now, her grin widening with each mad stroke.

  She liked what she was seeing.

  Zack felt his arm, bent and holding up his head, cramp. He dare not move it, though.

  Zack struggled to talk like an Omian. “Lucan seems noble of heart to me.”

  Valentina scoffed. “Yeah. He seems like that, doesn’t he?”

  “You know different?”

  She changed the subject. “Quiet. Your lips are flapping again.”

  †††

  Zack stole himself away from the others, the talk of philosophy too deep for his patience and temperament. He wandered to Valentina’s easel and stared with a broadening smile at her painting of him. She almost made him look dapper in his robe and wreath.

  That takes some serious talent.

  He was broken out of his trance by Valentina’s abrupt words. “Paint me.”

  It was a request that caught Zack off-guard.

  “Paint … you?”

  She smiled coyly. “Yes. Paint me.”

  “I’m not very good.”

  She scoffed. “Growing up in Crotos, you must have been as inspired as I. The art there is splendid. I know of not one youth there who aspires for something other than creation—if they can escape the poverty, that is. I always thought my art would get me out of the slums. I guess something else did.”

  Zack was sti
ll adjusting to the flowery language of the Omians. “I guess I have chosen a different road.”

  Valentina replaced the painting of him with an empty canvas and slinked to the bench. She lay on it almost seductively. If Zack didn’t know any better, he thought she may be flirting.

  She loosed her robe.

  Yes. She is flirting.

  Zack averted his eyes. “Valentina, I’m flattered, but this is not the time.”

  “It’s the perfect time,” she said sincerely. “We are from Crotos. We know life is short. We know how to live, not like the others, not like Lucan who looks down his nose at us. We may die tomorrow. We may die tonight even. We don’t know. Everything is crazy here and nothing is guaranteed. We have to live for the moment. Seize the day.”

  Zack muttered, “Carpe diem.”

  Valentina looked at him with amazement. “You know our ancient language. You are learned.”

  She loosened her robe even more.

  Seduction was a universal constant, it seemed.

  Zack turned his eyes away again and they stopped on Lucan, who scornfully peered at the scene that played before him. “What is this?”

  Valentina hurriedly tightened her robe. “Nothing, Lucan. Zack was going to paint my portrait since there are ones of the rest of us, but none of myself.”

  Zack could tell Lucan didn’t believe her. His face flushed and his lips were pressed tightly together in seething anger. “Just as I thought. You’re a Crotos whore.”

  Valentina shuddered. “No, I’m not. How can you say that?”

  “You’ll open that robe for anyone.” Lucan pointed curtly at Zack. “Even him. First the robe, then the legs.”

  It was incredibly cruel and nothing like what Zack expected from Lucan. He was jealous, insanely so.

  Jealousy was universal constant, too, it seemed.

  “Lucan,” Zack said in a voice as calm as he could make it. “It was a misunderstanding.”

  Lucan stomped his way toward Zack and stood face to face to him. “Understand this, Crotos trash. She is mine. Not yours. I protect what is mine.”

  Zack held his hands up and backed away. He glanced at Valentina, whose head was bowed in shame. He felt for her. She was vulnerable and afraid, trying to latch on to anything that made her feel less of those things. It was her way of coping.