Dimension

by Shay Zana

  I feel the frost, smell the ice, hear the hissing of doused flames, taste the ashes that withdraw from the air. The galaxy is darkening. Scattered Planet is dying.

  I shriek as I mount the cliff ahead, overlooking the entirety of the galaxy. The planets blaze in thick fire, ash roiling into space where the light reveals colliding stars that once orbited the core gracefully. The reek of flames fills my nose and clings to my soul, and the distant destruction across the vast ocean of space forces a cry of anguish from my throat. I collapse to my hands and knees, unable to endure.

  I feel cold hands reach for my face, where equally cold lips settle to my forehead. I see black tears perspire from black eyes, where they fall to poison the stars. I smell the rotten death on skin, where it flakes in layers of time. I taste the perfume of possession, where it haunts with heartless memory. I hear the hissing words, where they slide through smiling teeth.

  “It is over.”

  Power bursts from my heart, fused with raw fury. I scream it all out at her, slashing with my dagger for a throat that spews out blackness. I feel it speckle me only after she is on the ground, torn, writhing in the throes of a black death.

  Seeing this sight, my fingers numb and my dagger is set free, knees following in a forward veer. I let out a wail, feeling the release of a misery long lingering as it carries across the stars. I see my own hands convulse to her until I manage a firm grip of her hand, staring down at her decrepit body, howling my apologies. Her eyes stare upward soullessly, her lips agape as they had gurgled her last breath.

  I sit idle, staring at her shell, hand glued to hers, as stars in the distance continue to perish, leaving stains of their light for moments of remembrance before all traces eventually go. I manage to shift my line of sight to dwell on these chaotic events, so distant and silent in space that their chaos is only a lost reverie.

  “Kiya!” Deo cries as he makes for her falling body. He does not reach her before she crashes down in a limp heap, but stoops to the floor beneath the stargrid and cradles her in his arms. Surrounding the false shelter of the stargrid is the disorder of near destruction, Altair suffering under the whiplash of artificial solarflares. The others frantically attempt to request another dimensional shift, but Altair is simply too drained of energy to obey, weakened to a crippled animal.

  Despite it all, Deo’s only focus is on Kitera as she lays motionless, her eyes wide open, showing the whites only, skin cold. The spectral atmosphere emanating from her does not ward him away like it once did. Instead, he finds a strange comfort in it, embracing it like his arms are embracing her, dwelling on her air, knowing that she will do everything in her power to help them.

  I feel a magnitude of fresh heat enter my heart rhythm, the sight of murdered stars over the landscape of a dead Earth no longer ruining me, but empowering me.

  I release Ziva’s chilled hand and stand, delving my senses through the stellar battlefield, searching for the septuple star system and its secrets. I centre my focus there, hanging off the bridge through dimensions in an unyielding fixation. Layers are exfoliated, surfaces dismantled, until I am on the brink of the core.

  In a sensory explosion, I am broken and submerging from the edge of such secrets. Ziva stares back at my renewed sight, sin in her eyes and a shadow of success.

  Success?

  A twinge in my abdomen drags my eyes down to see my dagger deeply imbedded within, crimson blood weeping through my garment. My lips taste of hot iron as I sputter up life fluid and take in a gasp of air, suddenly struggling in the task. A frigid flush voyages through me as I stumble back a step, wondering why the pain has not made its entrance.

  I look up as Ziva tilts her head and stares as if fascinated by my reaction, studying my body’s aftermath, and my mind. When my knees finally buckle, she simpers in pleasure and rushes at me in a sadistic glee. I barely feel her hands engulf my throat, but I feel the effect as I immediately strain for a grip on continued life.

  “Just let go, my Kiya. It is over. It is over.”

  I hear my body gagging, fingers fumbling for hers at my windpipe, limbs spasming beneath her. I want to scream, and the weight on my freedom has my nerves screaming at me to do so.

  But I feel myself fading.

  Deo checks Kitera’s pulse after her body gives a subtle spasm. Once he realises it is weakening, he gives a small involuntary sob as he clutches her even tighter, oblivious as flames erupt behind him and the vessel’s screams reach a deafening pitch.

  “No,” he protests, his hands seizing her face and pulling her in closer. “Kiya, come on, baby. Come on...”

  A fever rises in what blood remains. Trading desperate gasps for air, my lips shrink back to bear a snarl at my possessed sister. Using the last of the oxygen in my blood, my hand reaches down to the dagger in my flesh, fingers curling around the hilt. Through the distortion of pain and waning force, my muscles contract to yank out the dagger. My sister loosens her grip, allowing not only a shriek to explode out, but for my hand to sink my dagger deep into her heart.

  She falls back and wails like a banshee, clawing at the intrusion through her chest.

  Taking in precious air, I force myself to roll and prime my body for recovery. My pulse racks with renewal, clearing my eyesight and lending power to my ferocity. I look up and centre her in my crosshairs, hand clutching the burst of pain at my stomach as I charge her, vocalizing a raw battle cry.

  She was ready for me, ripping out the dagger in moist blackness and swiping to meet me. Dodging it, I bash through her and smash her down with a bodily force, pinning her in a straddle before reaching for the dagger. Hands are everywhere in the struggle, the dagger swimming in a turbulent sea of red and black blood as we fumble and growl at each other.

  Suddenly, an unforeseen strike to my wound has me belching out more blood, leaving an opening for Ziva. She takes charge of the dagger and rolls me, the blade coming down for my throat at an almost numbing crescendo of motion.

  Almost.

  I use my forearm to block, crying out to reinforce my fury and in turn, manifesting the strength I had not known I possessed. I hiss at her and fight back in rebellion, flinging one of my knees up to pulse at her back. She cranes forward. I stab my bloody fingers into her eye sockets. She screams.

  As I wriggle free and stumble to a safe distance, the dagger once again in hand, I watch my sister as she whirls back in my direction, her eyes hollow and exuding black blood, her creamy hair streaked in it, her skin wreathed and shattered. My comprehension of her image begins to distort like the code of life as she takes each step at me, fragmentations of motion in disarray.

  As we meet a final time, light is exhaled over the dead world.

  Her body gives another shudder, eyes wane closed, and beneath her eyelids Deo can see the shuffling motion of her eyeballs sliding back down. He nurtures his hope as he silently waits for her to return, holding his breath, all else muted beyond the sphere of her energy.

  Kitera’s eyes drift open at last, straining up at him, such distress lacerating his features that she has to blink several times to check it is really him. But now he smiles at her in relief, his eyes curving and glistening. She smiles back, her exhaustion evaporating at the sight of those eyes. “I feel them. They are with me.”

  “Who’s with you?” Deo asks softly, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “The Demons?”

  “The Zodiacs,” she whispers.

  “Here? How?”

  “Through me.” And suddenly, the peace smoothing over her features vanishes and twisted pain takes rule. She screams violently, the veins rising beneath the skin of her forehead, her eyes bulging and reddening. Deo clutches her hand and she squeezes back. “They war!” she cries harshly, thrashing her head back as her body contorts in his hold.

  Deo is at a loss, panic curling tightly in his stomach as he attempts to keep her thrashes at bay. He grits his teeth and holds her firmly as foreign words gush from her mouth, sounding like a rushed prayer. With muscles contracti
ng sharply, her wailing rises in pitch until he thinks her vocal chords will snap. The ordeal makes him think of childbirth, only this must be on an entirely different scale, a scale he cannot begin to comprehend as it continues to tear through her. It is when she cries out his name that it all becomes too much for him, feeling the uprising of tears.

  “I’m here, I’m not letting go,” Deo consoles solidly, willing himself to stay strong for her, to not let his emotions burst out and shatter the rock she so desperately needs. He just hates to see her like this, possessed by such heinousness.

  Her cries stop. Her body spasms once more before falling limp, eyes frozen as they stare up, past Deo and into the stellarium above them. She can hear his voice distantly, the deep tones of care, but his words ring hollow to her ears and his form is a daze of blurs. She can feel Altair quiver beneath her, the biological deck rippling in recoil of pain, but the hard thuds are dulled to soft murmurs.

  “Core,” she mumbles lifelessly, her breath leaving her. “Sphere core...”

  “The sphere core,” Deo repeats. He looks over his shoulder to the others as they watch helplessly. “The sphere core. Take Altair to the core of one of those spheres!”

  At once, Mazayus springs to the command console and triangulates a requested course for Altair. Slowly, they feel the ship lurch and increase speed in response, labouring through a minefield of solarflares. Deo carefully scoops Kitera up in his arms and carries her over with the others, her eyes distant and unfocused.

  They watch and wait as Altair approaches the nearest sphere, pushing through more waves that phase around the system like tides of water. As the ship enters the artificial atmosphere, they feel the tug of gravity and the acceleration. Auroras tint their entry, a wash of colours rolling into the fires of haste as the pursuit of controlled solarflares razes their wake. The crew clutch onto the forward consoles to steady themselves through the quivering journey.

  Upon the nearing proximity to the sphere’s surface, they all have to deny every instinct in them to prepare for impact. As Altair plunges through the liquid nikita, all falls silent, the moment dominated by a thick slick of continuous pale material sliding over Altair’s external surveillance before they crack into static.

  Rushing to the starboard observatory, the crew stand in wonder. The core is hollow. Billions of glittering lights give life to what appears to be a flowing city made entirely of nikita and entity. Pillars stretching from one side of the sphere’s core to the other are gushing with light and movement, like mobile buildings, fluid and alive. Structures stretch up from every angle of the interior sphere, eliminating any horizon. All the eye can see is an infinite loop of cityscape.

  They watch, stunned, as many ikamanu glide around this city in seemingly aimless activity. They interact with Altair by smearing their entities together, communicating telepathically. As Altair continues to converge alongside a colossal pillar that appears to have grown across to the other side of the city, they realise the glittering lights seen at a distance are dormant ikamanu, growing out of the structures as if still in their wombs. The nikita cradles them in place, feeding metallic nutrients to provide their structure and integrity.

  This sphere is a giant womb.

  “Why aren’t we dead yet?” Boone breathes out, frozen in a steady stance as if any sudden movement will alert their presence.

  “The flares were herding us inside,” Mazayus answers absently, attention pivoted to the glorious alien environment outside. “That’s why we had time before we were attacked, like breaking a curfew. These ikamanu are being farmed.” He pauses for effect as his team gather closer and gape at the evidence laid out before them. “Whatever monitors the spheres believes us to be just another wandering vessel, for whatever purpose they are sent out.”

  “Slaves.” Natheus concludes.

  “We have one hell of an advantage, here,” Deo adds, Kitera beginning to recover in his arms as she stirs to view the spectacle.

  But Boone crosses his arms. “I don’t like it. This place is giving me the creeps. You think another species created this, or its just a natural phenomenon?”

  “Possibly both,” Mazayus hums.

  The gathering dusk of vast distance takes shape into more spires, looming over the artificial sky to add depth to shadows and contours to activity. As Altair moves, its pace begins to wane, an indicator to the fact that the vessel is on edge and wary. This would usually transfer to the crew, but not this time. This is the first alien discovery ever encountered by humanity, in another dimension of existence. Fascination has encapsulated them, curiosity only hitting its stride in each revelation of a new spire or shift in the fluid metropolis. But despite the constant activity, they cannot banish the feeling that this place has long been abandoned, the eerie reinforcement to the thought sliding through them all.

  “So we gonna blow it the fuck up or what?”

  All turn to Boone as he waits expectantly for an answer, hands planted on hips with a shrug of the shoulders.

  “That’s what they always do on the screens, right?”

  “Altair must enter the sphere’s central cortex,” Kitera speaks up through a dry swallow. “Invade the city’s database with its entity to overload its firewalls. This will initiate the stellar device, activating a gravitational shield around each star in this system and effectively altering their orbital paths into a collision.” She utters a quiet whisper for Deo to let her down, still clinging to him for support as he does so gingerly. Her hands quake violently as they wash hair from her face. “A command code must be inputted through the primary access point. I must do this with the Zodiacs, but first Altair must infiltrate the biological network of the city.” She now points shakily to a massive core of light in the centre of the sphere city, suspended within a sheer globe of liquid nikita. Inside swishes a mass of entity, like water sloshing about restlessly. “It is a hive mind of entity. Altair will create a supernova in the core, disrupting its mental focus and allowing infiltration.”

  “You think you can do this, Kiya?” Boone asks tenderly, referring to her deterioration.

  “I have to. The Demons are aware of our presence in their dimension, but the Zodiacs are keeping them at bay, for now. We have no time for preparation.”

  “What defences should we expect?” Mazayus asks.

  Kitera looks intently at the globe of entities. “Once the supernova is created, the machines will awaken from their dormant states and defend the device.”

  “Machines?”

  With a curt flick of her chin, she directs the soldiers to hone their attention out deeper into the city. Where shadows merge and light is drowned, shapes begin to take form to the trained eye, menacing in variables and crisp in equality. Legions of machines, constructed for what could only be the purpose of combat, featuring mounted weaponry in undistinguishable capabilities and armour plating in unknown strength. Some are bipedal, some quadruped, and some even hexapod. They stand in immobile formations, appearing inactive save for glowing skeletal internals.

  “I dunno whether to say ‘this is where it gets fun,’ or ‘this is where it gets generic.’ Maybe both,” Boone drawls, never taking his magnified optics off the machines.

  “Hopefully it becomes neither,” Mazayus replies. “How will Altair know what to do when it comes in contact with the central cortex?”

  To this, Kitera smiles knowingly, and a glimmer of stamina returns to her features. “It will know what to do. This is what the ikamanu were created for.”

  THE SPHERE CORE

  Deo watches with worry as Kitera forces herself into deep meditation, sitting stiffly on the deck of navigation, always preferring to be in direct contact with Altair’s material. She is still attired in her ritual garments, though she has thrown a cloak over herself and shrouded her face with it. So much has happened over the past week, to the ongoing war between Serenity and the UEU, to the galaxy’s state, to the state of existence, but despite all this, foremost in his mind is the development between
them. He hated her not long ago, could not trust her, and now she is more important to him than anything, even his honour, and the reality of it scares him a little. Can he fully trust her? Is he in love with her? He has never known love before, and is sceptical about such a notion. A Paragon in love with a Cipher... not only is it unprofessional and ridiculous, but it is treason, against his code, against her cultural beliefs, against society. Ciphers are seen as untouchable holy figures, angels. He feels as though his ignorance has tainted her purity. The code of her people is strict, it must be, they must set an example for the rest of humanity. If her people discover her treason, they will likely execute her.

  “Very cold out there, below zero, but the air is breathable.” Mazayus’ announcement has the team listening intently. The Paragons don their gear while Kitera takes a vitasuit from him. “Wear it, it will not only keep you warm, but safe in case of exposure.”

  The men avert their eyes respectfully as the Cipher shrugs off her cloak and strips her garment from her body, pulling on the suit and adjusting several straps and padded layering as it conforms to her body and tightens to her skin. Safe to look again, Boone begins to go about explaining the details of correctly equipping the suit, but stops mid-sentence as he notices her strange ease with the suit and apparent familiarity with its functions, her hands working efficiently at clipping the helmet to the back of her neck. Has she worn one before?

  Kitera feigns ignorance of their curiosity, ignoring them as she realises the only thing missing is a pair of combat boots to provide support to her feet, which are now covered like socks. There will be none in her size aboard the ship, but she is accustomed to going barefoot.

  A shudder along Altair’s hull signals its connection with the central cortex of the sphere, the outer layer of the entity globe.

  “Time to move,” Mazayus advises.

  They make for the starboard airlock, making sure to check pressure, heat, and oxygen levels before equalizing the airlock and exiting the ikamanu. At first, Mazayus proceeds alone, sticking his head out and observing with pistol taking point. Looking along the vessel, he can see that it has connected itself to some sort of biological dock, tendrils of black liquid nikita reaching around its form and melding into its hull. Creepy. He has to leap down onto a narrow ledge and make his way carefully across it to a wide pathway that encircles the burning globe. The air is thick, chilly, and the gravity is light. The echoing sounds of electronic rhythms permeate the vast distance of the alien city, the sounds of machines processing data or communicating. They seem to remain oblivious to all else around them.