by Paul Anlee
Heart pounding, he dropped to one knee and fixed his gaze on the surprisingly delicate bare feet of the three-meter tall Angel sharing his small sphere. He didn’t dare look into what he knew would be beautiful, deadly eyes.
“That really isn’t necessary,” said a mellifluous, yet oddly familiar, voice tinged with a dry humor Stralasi recognized. He couldn’t believe it, yet he was compelled to raise his eyes.
The face before him was a more youthful and handsome version of Darak, if he looked past its swirling, mercurial skin.
Stralasi nearly fainted. Instead, he managed to squeak out, “Wha…? How…? Darak…?”
The Angel smiled, took Stralasi’s hands, and helped him to his feet.
“Yes, it truly is me,” said the Angel. “Or one version of me.” He looked at his own silvery hands and admired the opalescent wings extending from his back.
The creature laughed, and the sound was joyful music to Stralasi’s ears. “It has been a long time since I appeared to anyone in this body,” Darak said. “What do you think?” He struck a gallant posture, his hands fixed to the hilt of a gray carbyne sword.
Stralasi didn’t know what to think. How was this possible? His mind raced with contradictions and confusion. “You once stated that you were neither Shard nor Demon,” he said, “and yet you are clearly more than just a man. Are you an Angel, sent by the Living God to test me?”
From a meter above Stralasi’s upturned eyes, Darak answered quietly, thoughtfully. “Truly, I am all of these and more. And because I am more, I am not exactly any single one. But sent by Alum? No.”
Darak looked out at the ringworld. “Have you perused your surroundings? Can you deduce where we are?”
Stralasi turned away from the Angel despite a lifetime of training screaming out to him that such an action could warrant instant death. But, despite his appearance, this was undoubtedly Darak. He pointed to the arc.
“Clearly, we are near a ringworld, though I am not familiar with this one. I’ve seen videocasts of all such habitats within the Realm, but I don’t recall this one. I can’t imagine why Alum would build such a magnificent place in such an unremarkable location.”
“Yes, this one is unique,” answered the Angel, Darak. “Why do you judge its location to be unremarkable?”
“Its sun is either extremely distant or tiny,” replied Stralasi. “Something in its appearance makes me think it is more likely to be tiny. And I’ve never seen a night sky so devoid of light, which makes me think we must be near the edge of some small and insignificant galaxy.”
Imagine!--Stralasi marveled. Here I am, a humble monk of the Alumita, discussing astronomy with an Angel, while floating in an isolated bit of air and earth, suspended in outer space some small distance from an unknown ringworld. He shook his head in wonder.
“It is a small star, that is true,” confirmed Darak. “And it is near the edge of a thin galaxy with few stars and a great deal of dark gasses. It’s unique because it is the farthest in the Realm from any of Alum’s other worlds.”
Stralasi looked back over his shoulder. “Distance is meaningless in Alum’s Realm,” he cited by rote. “All worlds are no more than a few starsteps from all other worlds.”
“True,” Darak answered. “But not all worlds in the Realm—or rather, not all worlds formerly in the Realm—have starsteps.”
A horrified Stralasi turned back toward the ringworld as if scouting for signs of dangerous activity. “Rebels!” he realized.
“Indeed. My rebels, in fact.”
“Your rebels?” Stralasi struggled to process this new bit of information. This Angel, sometimes a Shard, sometimes a god, sometimes only a man, laying claim to leading rebels?
And not just any rebels. Rebels who somehow managed to build that pinnacle of technological achievement, a ringworld, while disconnected from Alum’s guidance? Had he not known Darak so well, he would have scoffed. Except, as incredible as it sounded, he was sure it was true.
“Well, not my rebels, exactly. I helped them gain their independence a long time ago,” explained Darak. “I still carry a good deal of affection and admiration for their efforts. I don’t own them or anything like that. They are no more mine than they were Alum’s.”
He pointed to the arc of the ringworld. “Frankly, I’m a little surprised they lasted long enough to build something like this. Rebellions that aren’t put down quickly usually fracture of their own accord due to internal strife, or they just fizzle out like a faulty rocket. Especially given where we are, this is impressive.”
“And where exactly are we?” Stralasi asked, turning to confront the Angel.
“In the ancient catalogs, this galaxy was known as ESO 461-36. It’s notable for being the only galaxy within a region known as the Local Void. It’s a strange small, dark galaxy just outside the plane of the so-called Local Cluster that includes the Milky Way. The nearest galaxy is over eight million light years away, and the Origin galaxy is over twenty-five million light years away.
“The ESO galaxy is unusual, so unusual that Alum went out of His way to place an exploratory colony here, as humanity expanded toward the Virgo Cluster. As a remote outpost in a sparsely-populated galaxy far off the main path of expansion, it wasn’t considered important enough to warrant quashing my little rebellion there twenty-million odd years ago.”
“You helped the rebels twenty million years ago?”
“Indeed. And having just contacted the authorities here, and received their greetings, it seems the descendants of that rebellion still enjoy their independence.”
Darak noticed Stralasi’s stunned expression. “I’m as surprised as you are. Alum seldom permits rebellions to go unpunished.”
“That’s not it,” corrected the incredulous Brother. “You contacted the authorities?”
“Oh, that. Yes, I used my old verification codes. It’s interesting that they’ve actually remembered them for so long. They should arrive soon.”
“They’ll be here? Soon?” Stralasi felt his knees go weak again. It was one thing to confront an Angel; it was another to confront rebels. Angels carried out Alum’s Will. That is, all the Angels he knew of did. Rebels were loyal to no one but themselves. Who knew what aims or guidelines they might have. Then he remembered who he was with. Darak wouldn’t permit any harm to come to him…would he?
“Yes. I thought that since we arrived unexpectedly, it’d be best to announce our presence and permit the local leaders to escort us in from the ancient rendezvous point in whatever manner they see fit.”
There was much unspoken history in Darak’s answer. As usual—thought Stralasi. Struggling to make sense of everyone and everything around him felt like a normal state when he was with Darak. “Is it even possible they would remember you after so much time?”
Darak held his arms out to either side. “I used the ancient protocols, and have assumed the expected appearance. So far, they are responding as I would have hoped. It would appear they’ve kept their promise to me over these impossibly many years. Let us see what kind of reception we are accorded. Ahh, and here they are!”
Stralasi looked to the ringworld arc in time to see a bright flame shoot from a barely perceptible, decelerating vehicle of some sort. A rocket? No one uses rockets in the Realm anymore. But he’d studied them at the Alumita and was certain that’s what was bearing down on them.
Judging by the brightness of its exhaust, the ship was braking hard as it approached. The ship was aiming straight for them. He glanced back at Darak.
Couldn’t the Angel tell they were minutes, perhaps seconds, away from being fried? Maybe he thought their bubble would protect them. Darak’s Angel body might be impervious to heat and violent concussion, but his own body was not. He opened his mouth to say something.
The flare drew closer and Stralasi saw it was angled slightly away from them. Whoever guided the vehicle was approaching their shell in such a way that the exhaust would avoid them. The flame diminished in ferocity.
Darak smiled. Had he been aware of Stralasi’s anxiety? The Brother was uncertain. He wasn’t at all comforted by his memories of the demon/god/Angel’s sense of humor when he saw Stralasi’s previous reactions to clearly terrifying circumstances. He frowned and turned back to watch the approaching vessel.
The main drive cut off within a few kilometers of the sphere. Its relative velocity slowed to a few meters per second, and small attitudinal jets completed the maneuvering.
Brother Stralasi could finally confirm that it was some kind of spaceship, cylindrical, about thirty meters long and ten in diameter.
The ship came to rest alongside their bubble but did nothing further. The windows were dark and reflective, giving no hint as to who or what was waiting inside. There were no interior or exterior lights; there was no communication and no movement.
Stralasi wondered what they were supposed to do. Were they communicating with Darak telepathically? Could Darak simply shift them inside? He assumed there must be an internal compartment of some sort, judging by the presence of glass-covered viewing ports along the side of the cylinder.
A large door opened in the adjacent craft and Darak moved them forward—air, dirt, and all—into the waiting hold. Stralasi realized that he’d been holding his breath and released it slowly. They slid forward into the darkness.
“Is there no way we can cast some light on the inside of this vessel?” he asked the Angel.
“My apologies,” replied Darak. “In my excitement, I forgot.”
Their protective shell cast a diffused glow around them as they passed deeper into the ship. The addition of light didn’t help. The chamber into which they were moving had no discernible features. Smooth, dull gray walls with no protuberance, attachment, or discontinuity surrounded them.
Stralasi hoped Darak knew what he was doing, trusting this ship to be friendly. Well, if it had been sent to capture us, the owners will be in for a big surprise. He had no idea of the ship’s capabilities, but the destructive might of an Angel was legendary.
I only hope that if a fight does break out, Darak remembers to keep me safe.
The few stars visible behind them were slowly occluded by the closing door. We’re committed now—he thought, trying to assess any hint of concern on Darak’s mercurial face. The Angel seemed to have serenely accepted being swallowed up by the ship.
With the door closed, the wall appeared completely seamless. There was no hint of where the hatch had been.
“Now what?” asked the Brother.
“Now we wait until we arrive at a ringworld docking station,” Darak replied. “It shouldn’t be long.”
The Brother steadied himself against the wall, waiting to feel the jerk of acceleration. He bent his knees expectantly.
After a minute there was still no sign they were underway. He asked the Angel, “Why aren’t we moving?”
Darak peered down at the monk. “We began moving the instant the door was closed. We’re accelerating at a rate high enough to turn your body into mush. I’m compensating.” He looked upward.
Stralasi followed his gaze but saw nothing.
“The pilot of this ship can handle the acceleration, as can I, but I’m a little surprised they made no allowance for you. That is uncharacteristic. Perhaps they assumed I would ensure no harm came to you.” He returned his gaze to Stralasi. “Or perhaps they didn’t care if it did.”
The Brother considered Darak’s beautiful, frightful, angelic smile. Was the Angel joking or serious? Stralasi couldn’t tell. He shivered, drew his arms around himself, and plunked himself down on a tiny piece of ground, facing away from the Angel. The monk withdrew into silence, contemplating a small stone in front of his feet on the little piece of Gargus 718.5 that traveled wherever they went. Minutes passed, but the Good Brother did not stir.
A whoosh of air and bright light filled the chamber, breaking Stralasi’s meditation. He stood and straightened his clothes.
The hatch door opened into a well-lit corridor lined with white panels. A ramp extended up into the transport ship, right to their tiny piece of ground. At the bottom of the ramp, stood a woman.
Stralasi would have said she was not yet past the first third of her life. She had a tentative smile on her lips and a meter-wide Securitor hovering over her right shoulder.
“Shall we?” Darak motioned Stralasi forward as he dropped their protective shield. Immediately, the Brother’s nose was assaulted by a complex mix of odors, cleaning chemicals to be sure, and an unmistakable odor of fertile land.
Darak made his way down the ramp, with Stralasi tagging behind.
The woman lowered her head, took an awkward step back with one foot, and bowed deeply.
Darak smiled at the genuflection and uttered something incomprehensible to Stralasi.
“What did you say?” the monk whispered.
Darak turned to the monk and lifted a hand with the index finger raised. Stralasi felt a mild tingling in his head.
“I said, there’s no need for such a formal greeting to one who had abandoned the Esu so long ago,” the Angel repeated. As he spoke the woman rose.
“He does not speak our language,” she stated.
“He did not speak our language,” Darak corrected. “He does now.”
“True marvels do travel with you, as it is told,” said the woman.
“What do you mean?” asked Stralasi, talking over her. “I understand you perfectly.” Only when he thought about it did he realize the woman had been speaking a language other than Standard. Yet, now, he understood both tongues equally well and found he could reply easily in whichever he chose.
“A slight adjustment to your lattice in the language centers to permit you to understand the local dialect,” he explained. “My apologies for not doing it earlier, while you were brooding.”
“I was not brooding,” objected Stralasi. “I was…meditating.”
A raised eyebrow formed in Darak’s mercurial liquid mirror.
“You travel with a companion?” observed the woman. “The ancient texts make no mention of this.”
Stralasi pointed to the sphere hovering behind her. “You travel with a Securitor. Are you afraid of us?”
The woman appeared momentarily confused. She looked to Darak for explanation.
“Ahh, yes. I suppose they do have a similar form, but her companion is as much Cybrid as Securitor,” the Angel corrected. “It’s her guardian, manipulator, mentation aid, and much more. And she is not traveling with it any more than you are traveling with your arm.”
It was Stralasi’s turn to not understand.
Darak explained, “Since I left them, the Esu have discovered the mutual benefits of a human-Cybrid symbiosis.” He waved his hand to encompass both beings. “You are looking at one person, biological and electromechanical, a single entity with split consciousness.”
“My name is Crissea,” the woman said. She indicated the floating mechanism. “We call this part of us, our Familiar.”
Stralasi did not recognize that use of the word. Crissea gave a shallow bow from the waist, and her Familiar bobbed a few centimeters at the same time. “Welcome to Eso-La.”
Darak returned the bow, something Stralasi would never have imagined. Other than Alum himself, who was an Angel obligated to honor? He hurriedly joined in the gesture of respect.
The Angel returned to full stature and pronounced in a formal, ritualistic voice, “I am Darak Legsu, Broken Shard of Alum. I am Gabriel, Fallen Commander of the Virgo Central Wing. I am Fal sek Troal, Betrayer of the Aelu. I am the Da’ark Triad, Brother, Traitor, and Savior.”
25
As Darak proclaimed his multiple identities, Stralasi’s eyes grew wider and wider. The Angel hadn’t mentioned these titles to him. No wonder. They didn’t sound like anything to be proud of, at least what he could understand of them: Fallen Commander, the Da’ark Triad, Traitor.
The Good Brother wasn’t familiar with any of the figures. He had an odd feeling, an inkling, that
perhaps the Realm possessed a whole parallel, unofficial history, one unsanctioned by Alum and quite different from the one he had been taught.
Crissea gave a satisfied smile and a nod. “It is as foretold by the ancients.” Her gaze fell on the Good Brother. “Almost.”
“This is Ontro nem Stralasi, a Brother of the Alumit and my traveling companion.”
Crissea’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the Church of Alum.
“He is on…educational leave,” explained Darak, “without approval of his superiors. However, I’m sure the Good Brother is finding our travels to be quite a valuable learning experience.” He smiled at the understatement.
Crissea laughed softly, at the sound of Stralasi muttering under his breath.
“Brother Stralasi,” she said with a small dip of her head. “It would be my pleasure to introduce you to the many marvels of our world, a world outside the official ‘sanction’ of the Alumit, I’m afraid.”
Stralasi bobbed his head. “Since traveling with Darak these past few months, I’ve learned of many things that would not be officially sanctioned by the Alumit.”
“We have little time for touring, I’m afraid,” Darak interjected. “I have something important to ask of your people. Would it be possible to call a meeting of the World Authorities?”
“They are gathering as we speak,” the young woman replied. “Eso-La is large, and we eschew the instantaneous starstep transportation technology of the Realm. A few hours of tube travel will be required of our most distant Coordina members.”
She indicated for the Angel and Good Brother to follow. “We can share some refreshments while we wait for the last few representatives to arrive.”
They walked a short distance to the end of the corridor, where a section of the floor lifted them through a few hundred meters of hollowed out rock to arrive at the innermost habitable surface of the ringworld.
The platform emerged into the light of a clear, sunny day. Stralasi felt giddy as he whirled about, taking in the paradise-like garden. He’d expected to arrive in some grand building, like a Global Alumita or even a planetary tube station, where the governing Council would meet them in majestic chambers. But this! This was so much better.
