by Mike Kilroy
“Yeah, freaking awesome,” Mizuki mocked and grabbed the sleeve of his Whitesnake T-shirt. “This is what we want to show you.” Mizuki dragged him to the arch, the soles of his bare feet blackened by the dirt and muck “Look at this.” She pointed at a set of symbols carved and encircled by an oval at the apex of the half moon.
Zack tilted his head and strained his neck to get a better look. “Okay, what am I looking at?”
Eb cleared his throat and spoke. “It’s an Egyptian cartouche. They were usually reserved for royals and pharaohs.”
Zack cocked his head and craned his neck again to get an even better look at the wide array of symbols. “What does it say?”
Eb stammered. “That, um, that’s the thing of it. It says ‘Zack Earnest.’”
Zack stared at the cartouche and the carvings contained in it—the door bolt, the vulture, the golden bowl, the feathers and the mouth—for several moments, trying to figure out what it all meant.
Mizuki’s voice echoed forebodingly throughout the tomb. “We found other chambers like this—a lot more.”
“Thirty-four of them?” Zack asked abruptly. He already knew the answer.
Mizuki peered at Eb, who shot her a confused, perplexed look. “Um, well, more than seventeen. Sure.”
It was clear to Zack now. He was a history buff—another reason why he was often stuffed into lockers. This was a burial tomb, the symbols on the walls directions to the afterlife, the arch the first of the twelve gates of hell he needed to pass through.
The only way to get to the afterlife is to die. Clearly, they would not survive the extraction of the Spark.
Mizuki probably had one with her name on it. So did Valentina and most likely all of the seventeen—or thirty-four as George had let slip.
Zack rubbed his hands through his thick hair and closed his eyes. He was flustered. He was confused. Perhaps they had brainwashed him into thinking he was part of some grand design of the universe, that he was more than just an awkward seventeen-year-old boy with nothing to offer. Perhaps they had preyed on his desire to be important, to be essential to someone.
All they had collected shared the same trait: All were lost and disillusioned. All longed to be important. All wished to be needed.
The Ankhs were no more than intergalactic cult leaders.
They were evolved humans, but still humans. They were still callous and savage, couching it in tradition and logic. Zack and those like him were there for one reason: to be consumed.
Mizuki pleaded, unaware she didn’t have to. “They’re gonna kill us Zack. One way or another, we’re all gonna end up in tombs like this. They don’t care if they are already dead. They’re gonna take us down with them—unless we fight.”
Zack sighed, his exhale billowed mist into the cool, damp air. “Fight how?”
Mikuzi grabbed Zack’s hand and rubbed it gently. “I don’t know. But we have to try, don’t we? It’s all in the trying, right? What did George say?”
Zack paced in front the arch and glanced every so often up at his name in the cartouche. He could read it as clearly as if it were chiseled in English. “He said they know they are all but dead, but they won’t give up. He said they seeded my planet and many others. He said there are actually thirty-four Sparks, but they only need seventeen and he said only the strongest seventeen will survive.”
“Oh … this is bad,” Eb whined. “Oh … this is so bad.”
Mizuki shot him a scowl. “Shut up, Eb.”
“He’s right,” Zack muttered as he stopped his pacing and stared at Mizuki. “This is bad. I guess a part of me always had faith in them, that they were genuine and really needed our help, that we would be filling a grand service to the universe in helping keep them alive. I was wrong.”
They made their way back up the steps and through the seeping halls and to the long hallway where the seventeen were to be housed. Two more were ushered in by Apparat. They smiled and bounded with nary a care. They were completely oblivious to the fate that was waiting for them.
“They have the seventeen,” Mizuki lamented.
“No,” Zack replied. “They have the thirty-four.”
Part III
Chapter One
Such a Small Universe
Mizuki was as despondent as Zack had ever seen her. She sat on his bed with her legs tucked under her and rocked to-and-fro slowly, like a boat being jostled by small waves. She stared out at his moon, rising high in the velvet sky.
“Your moon is so beautiful,” she said. “It has so much character. It has been barraged and gouged and scarred, but it keeps rising.”
She wiped a tear with the back of her trembling hand. For the first time, Zack had seen Mizuki surrender. He was saddened by the sight.
He wanted to offer her words of encouragement but had none for her. He wanted to console her, but had no comfort left in him. He was as rudderless as she was, as rudderless as he had always been.
Instead, he sat next to her, his legs tucked under him and rocked in unison with her. It brought a little spark to her face, bathed in moonlight, as she turned her gaze to him.
“Let’s just enjoy the time we have left,” he whispered.
She nodded and chuckled, clasping her left hand into his right hand. Their fingers folded perfectly, interlocking like two pieces of a puzzle. It soothed them both.
Mizuki stared down at their hands, and then quickly jerked them up to her eye level. She twisted them and pushed them into the light cast by the moon.
She smiled broadly. “I have an idea.”
She bounded off the bed, walked briskly to the door and swung it open. She looked back and said, “C’mon,” as she galloped toward her room.
Mizuki flung her door open and rummaged through a closet, murmuring to herself. Finally, she shrieked with joy as she pulled out a long metal tube with a needle at the end of it.
“I’m going to give you a tattoo,” she exclaimed.
Zack was bemused. He was happy to see the light and excitement he had grown to love back in her big brown eyes, but thought her tat idea so random. He figured she had a grand solution to their grand problem, but she simply wanted to give him some ink.
Maybe that was the point. Maybe it was the little things that would make their final days—however many there would be—joyous.
Zack laughed giddily again. “Okay. Where are you putting this tattoo? Not on my butt. I draw the line at my butt.”
Mizuki slapped him playfully on the arm. “No. Not on your tushy. On your right hand, stupid. Fork it over.”
Zack shrugged, nodded and sat in front of her on the uneven, warm stone floor. She grabbed his hand softly, rubbed her thumbs on its crest and rested it carefully on her lap.
“Trust me,” she said. “It won’t hurt—a lot. I promise.”
She shook the long metal tube vigorously. It looked nothing like a tattoo needle he was accustomed to seeing.
Mizuki noticed him staring at it, wide-eyed, and reassured him. “This is a zumi. Our people have used this to tattoo symbols on our bodies for centuries. It’s quite safe.”
Zack felt a pinch as she pressed the needle into his hand and began drawing a circle He watched and wondered what she was creating as she filled in the oval with light silver.
It stung, but a lot less than when he stuck the same paw into the plasma field. When she was done, he lifted it close to his eyes and inspected it in wonderment.
“What is it?” He was embarrassed to ask and hoped Mizuki would not become cross at the question.
She smiled wide instead. “You’ll see.”
She skillfully drew a similar circle on her left hand. Zack watched as she finished. She was quite a skilled tattooist. He supposed it was a common skill on her world.
Mizuki blew on her hand and shook it for a minute, and then reached out for his. Their fingers intertwined and she held them up to eye level again. “See, it’s Alldan and Anneka. When our hands are folded together the moons are together again. T
hey can be together any time we are.”
It was perhaps the most beautiful gesture he had ever seen and it made his heart leap. With their hands still clasped together—Alldan and Anneka united—they kissed, deeply and passionately. Zack had always worried if their first kiss would be awkward, or if he would botch it somehow. Those worries melted away.
It was perfect.
For one night, they were together like Alldan and Anneka, happy and content.
†††
Zack awoke shivering as Mizuki rubbed his arm rapidly in an attempt to warm him.
He rolled out of the hammock and let out an “ah” as the heat emanating from the stones beneath his feet thawed him.
They heard a rustling from outside the door and Zack swung it open. As he did, a dress that dangled from the hallway doorknob fell to the floor. Zack grabbed it and held the dress up.
The frock was cherry red with gathered cap sleeves. The hem had double bows on a ruffled flounce.
It was stunning and Zack couldn’t help but wonder what Mizuki would look like in it.
She blustered. “What the hell is that?”
“A dress.”
“I know that. But for what?”
Zack noticed an envelope on the floor and picked it up. On the front, written in calligraphy was Mizuki’s name. He handed it to her and she ripped it open, her eyes narrowing in anger as they rolled over the lines.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me. A party? They’re throwing us a party?”
She handed Zack the invitation and he read it intently.
“The pleasure of your company is requested at The Seventeen Saturnalia, tonight at seventeen-hundred of your time units in the Grand Ballroom located in the Center of the Universe. Please wear the accoutrements provided for you.”
It was so absurd, Zack couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, it’s a nice dress.”
“This is ridiculous. Really? A party? To send us to our deaths, no doubt.”
“What else can we do? Let’s just play along. It could be fun. Plus, we’ll have access to the others. We can talk to them. Maybe one of them knows something more. Maybe if we all put our heads together, we can figure something out.”
She snatched the dress out of Zack’s hands, held it up to her and smoothed it out against her body. “Good point.” Zack could tell she was attempting to fight off a smile. She failed. “It is a nice dress.”
†††
When Zack returned to his room, he found a tuxedo hanging on his door with the same invitation attached to it.
He wondered if the other group of seventeen was having a similar soiree.
Was this to be the grand sendoff?
If it was, he planned to enjoy it. If it was, he wanted it to be a magical night with Mizuki.
The tux fit him perfectly and he cut quite the handsome figure in it as he stared at himself in the mirror. He ran a comb through his hair, and then blew on his cupped hand and sniffed for foulness. There was none.
He was ready.
The time of the party neared and he walked to Mizuki’s room to accompany her there. He felt like he should bring her flowers, but had no idea if such a practice was expected on her world. Perhaps it was an insult, so he chose to err on the side of caution and came empty-handed.
He knocked on her door and waited for what seemed like forever before it swung open. His heart fluttered at the sight of Mizuki. She stood before him in that red dress, her lips painted a slight shade of violet to match the shadow on her eyelids. It was a stunning choice and it caught him a bit off-guard.
Her cheek bones were even more prominent with a streak of rose red blush under them and when she smiled, her teeth sparkled.
She grabbed the flounce of her dress and lifted it as she curtsied. “Well?”
Zack’s words were lost in her beauty. There was no description for her allure. Of all the languages spoken by all the species in the universe, none would suffice to do her elegance justice.
He told her as much and she smiled coyly and slapped his shoulder. “Shut up!”
He held out his tattooed hand and she placed hers in his.
The moons were together again.
They were met by two burly men who escorted them to, presumably, the center of the universe. Zack wondered if it was really the center of the universe, or just a euphemism used by the Ankhs. He supposed it didn’t matter much either way.
Two large metal doors swung open and a calming music Zack did not recognize met his ears. Large chandeliers hung high above the ballroom casting soft light below to the people who milled about. In the middle of the room was an oval cut into the floor made of solid gold that was approximately the size of a hockey rink. A large ankh constructed of what seemed to be a million glistening diamonds was set in the middle of the golden circle. Jutting out from it were lines, splitting an outer oval into triangular pie pieces, each of subtle color differences. They fanned out toward platforms with long tables covered in fancy cloth. On them were platters loaded with a wide variety of foods and bowls of drink, all elegantly arranged.
Zack counted the pie slivers—there were twelve of them. He also noticed the outer ring was rotating ever so slightly around the stationary middle golden floor.
“Mercy of the Gods,” Mizuki babbled a few times before saying, “This is amazing.”
Zack could only nod in agreement.
He spun around and peered at the tables. He recognized one that had to be dedicated to Earth. On the platters were hot dogs, hamburgers, tacos and other assorted dishes representing all of the nations of his world. There was even a plate full of Hot Pockets, which made him cringe.
His planet’s eating habits were horrid compared to some of the other worlds.
We’re the trailer trash of the universe.
Zack wandered to his planet’s display and curiously eyed a pear-shaped albino man that looked a lot like Eb, but wasn’t. Zack walked around the circle and stopped in front of another table and spied a plate that contained a strange appearing food that looked like a cracker with a mystery meat spread on it. He reached out for it, but a pale hand slapped him.
“Are you left-handed or right-handed?” The albino female asked.
Zack just peered at her. “You’re a Zorgite.”
“Why, yes, I am. But are you left-handed or right-handed?” She asked again.
Zack lifted his right arm and wiggled his fingers. “Right-handed.”
“No. No,” she said tersely. “Your planet—is it right-handed or left-handed?”
Zack gave the Zorgite a perplexed look. The albino just sighed. “What planet do you hail from?”
“Earth.”
“Earth. Earth.” The Zorgite ran her chubby, bloodless finger down a list secured to a clipboard. “Earth,” she repeated again, her finger finally stopping. “Ah, Earth. You’re left-handed. It’s okay for you to eat that.”
Zack reached out, grabbed the cracker and sniffed it. The odor was appetizing enough. He lifted it to his lips, hesitated for a second, and then shoved it onto his mouth. He chewed slowly at first. He prepared for the worst, but as the alien cuisine melted on his tongue, he smiled.
It was quite scrumptious.
Before he could swallow, he felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned to see Mizuki smiling and panting with anticipation, “C’mon. You have to meet someone.”
Mizuki led him to the Gorn, who smiled and bowed as they approached. “It is so good to finally formally meet you, Zack. I will never forget what you did for me and my mate. I am Waldan. I am a Sozarian, not a Gorn, as your people have named us.”
Zack was embarrassed. “Sorry, Waldan. We meant no disrespect.”
Waldan laughed hardily. It put Zack a bit at ease. “You should hear what we called your species—”
“Listen to what Waldan found out,” Mizuki interrupted.
“The Ankhs …” Waldan leaned in closer to Zack, close enough to hear the air push through his large nostrils in a wheeze. “There are only three of
them left.”
Zack cocked his head at that revelation.
“There are only three of the bastards,” Mizuki interrupted again. “Can you believe that?”
The entire Ankh race had been whittled down by time and by degeneration to a mere three. Zack almost felt sorry for them.
They were about to be expunged from the cosmos.
It explained George’s fervent loyalty even amid the knowledge that their quest was futile. Bertha and Fred were all he had left. In many ways, George was more alone than any of his captives.
Zack spoke plainly. “The three of them are still pretty powerful.”
Waldan nodded. “Yes, they are. But they are weakening.”
“Tell him what you saw,” Mizuki said, excitedly.
“They have recreated the habitat on my home world to amazing perfection and sophistication. But the other evening, as I peered out across the marshland of my home, I saw the shimmering milky lake on the edge of my property blink out of existence and then reappear. It did that throughout the dusk.”
Mizuki fervidly offered her explanation. “They are losing power. They can't maintain these illusions they have created.”
Zack thought that quite possible. He often wondered how they were able to manipulate the environments so completely and so convincingly. It had to take an enormous amount of energy.
That power was draining, as was their very existence.
Mizuki grabbed his hand and rubbed it with her thumb. “I'm gonna mingle a bit, see what else I can dig up.”
Zack nodded and before he had a chance to say a word to her, she bounded off. Waldan bowed and also departed, leaving him alone.
He peered about the room at the rest of the seventeen as they mingled, laughed and tasted some of the exotic dishes from other worlds. They were mostly happy and cheerful, but also had distrustful looks in their varied eyes. There were certain emotions that were universal and obvious on almost every kind of face—coal black ones and lizard-like ones, cat-like ones and human ones. Happiness was one of those universal looks; sadness another; pensiveness and fear two more.
And distrust. Distrust was perhaps the easiest to spot of all.
Another soft, non-offensive song played with perfect pitch. Some of the seventeen decided to dance on the gold oval. Zack had never danced before. He was too shy. He was too nervous. And he rarely had an occasion to be with a girl long enough to do a waltz with her.
