by Chad R. Odom
“You chose to use it,” he said solemnly.
“Yes, we did. We knew Damrich wouldn’t stop here. He couldn’t. Even if all of us were dead and gone, he would use our technology to spread his rule over every system we knew of and surely those we didn’t. In addition, we never solved the plague he had created. Should some unsuspecting race visit our war-ravaged planet, they would only carry it back with them. Our culture developed this monster, and it was our culture that should deal with him.
“We produced the weapon as fast as possible.” The world shifted again to the final destruction of the heart of Andromeda. Damrich’s soldiers raided and destroyed the city, killing all who wouldn’t surrender and burning as they went. It seemed almost unfathomable to Oryan that a superior race could be so barbaric.
“So what happened?” Oryan asked. “If that had worked, none of this would be happening right now.”
“Unlike Damrich, we still wanted to preserve life somehow. That presented a problem: how do you preserve life that won’t be tainted by our past?
“Fortunately, that question was nearly self-answering. We developed the ability to clone a human being hundreds of years before this war began. Clones came into existence like a baby in an adult’s body. They had no memories, no preconceived notions, no anything. With them, it was possible to both end life and save it. However, with the destructive capability of our weapon still unknown, where could they go?
“Here again, the Architect presented a solution.” Rijel stopped speaking for a moment. The room continued to display the downfall of Andromeda. Suddenly, there was a white flash from the center of the city. A sphere of light emerged and each thing it touched became its own sphere. Within a few seconds, the ripple effect consumed the planet; its closest moons and anything else too close to escape the effects.
“The vacuum of space and the absence of materials to consume, caused the weapon to lose potency and eventually dissipate. It achieved the desired effect. The sun had finally set on our empire.”
Everything fell silent and, for the first time, the Oracle displayed only the void of space left by the Archides final weapon. The gravity of it all settled heavily on the shoulders of everyone in the room. Oryan eventually broke the silence.
“You’re still here,” he said looking at Sicari and Corvus. “Did you save yourselves instead of the clones?”
“Not quite,” Corvus replied abruptly, a tinge of disdain apparent.
“We took six clones; three males and three females with us when we left.”
“Where did you go?”
“Here, of course,” Sicari explained. “The Architect used this planet for his terraforming trials. He had come here on numerous occasions, trying to adapt a dead rock into various terrains on a small scale. Over the years, he would bring animal life here to make sure it would thrive. It had taken him hundreds of years to adapt it all, but, in the end, he had a serviceable world that could sustain life.”
The Oracle displayed the full magnificence of terraforming. Oryan watched as a small building in the snow began to generate various forms of energy he couldn’t explain. Small probes were sent out to hold stationary positions across the globe, and the energy produced between them created a net of energy around the globe. One by one, the probes reshaped the dead planet.
“Until the very last hour, we didn’t know this place was even a viable option. The Architect was the one who programmed the craft’s destination.”
A small vessel hurtled through space before it vanished, then reappeared on the planet Oryan knew as home. Several men and women exited the craft onto foreign soil. “We didn’t want the clones to remember their origin,” Rijel explained, “but these clones were little more than programmed computers disguised as humans. We programmed them with motor skills such as walking and running. We also programmed them with the knowledge of procreation and spoken language, but there was very little time for anything else. They knew how to procreate, but not why. Even the self-preservation mechanism we take for granted didn’t exist in them. Without some guidance, they would be dead within a few days of arriving.
“The Architect had a ‘base of operations’ of sorts,” Rijel raised his hands and looked around, telling Oryan that this was it. “It was his original terraforming experiment. That’s why we can contain a lush environment in the middle of such a harsh one.
“So, the three of us came to this world to ensure the survival of the clones, then retreated here to…expire.
“At first, everything went as planned. After a few decades, Corvus left to check on our experiment. He discovered a small tribe of people who had found their way to an area across the ocean from where they started. Fascinated by their rapid advance, he decided to take a closer look.”
The Oracle displayed the tribe as seen through Corvus’s personal scroll. “Corvus began to see the animosity we thought we had left behind. It was a survival of the fittest colony. They were cannibalistic and cruel. Corvus infiltrated further and made a discovery that forced us to come out of our hibernation.
“In a cave, not far from that place, Corvus found words written on the walls in Archadian. They detailed the mythology of a proud and fierce conqueror known as Damrich. It described a grand tale of their new God.”
Oryan watched as Corvus found the jagged letters carved into stone with primitive tools. He felt the hairs on his neck rise.
“We still don’t know how Damrich survived, but there was no mistaking that he had done just that, and somehow followed us here.
“The three of us went to the colony to find their false god and finish him before he could spread further but we were already too late.”
The Oracle showed the small tribe, impaled on pikes, or mutilated beyond recognition. Men, women and children slaughtered and left to rot. In the middle of the carnage was a rock that did not belong there. It had very obviously been moved and something was written in Archadian on its surface.
Corvus interpreted, “It says, ‘Did you miss me?’”
“We began to search for him. With nothing of our former tracking technology left, we had to use the technology that was growing around us which was primitive and unreliable. The population was increasing, and we were no closer to finding him, but he left us clues.
“Our innocent world began to covet, lie, cheat, and murder. Like the Arkons of Andromeda, we found the craft, but never the craftsman. He’s never revealed himself, but he reminds us he’s alive. He uses the people to advance his goal of taking control of this world as he almost did Andromeda.”
Rijel fell quiet and Sicari finished the tale that Rijel could not. “Eventually, Damrich found Rijel. He captured, tortured, and eventually killed him.” The events displayed on the Oracle stopped and the room returned to the white it had started with, though Rijel remained.
“When our first efforts at containing him failed, we knew eventually we would need a force larger than the two of us. So, we took people from the population of the planet and brought them here.”
Oryan pondered everything. It was a vast wealth of knowledge but a difficult pill to swallow. Could he accept that the beginning of this world was the result of a cataclysmic reset caused by the very people he had come to trust and respect?
Then there was the matter of his dad. Did Armay really believe all of this? Oryan could not escape the evidence he had seen. These people were obviously more advanced in both technology and medicine than anyone he knew of. Those who lived within the camp seemed content and happy. Then there was Celeste. She and their son had been rescued by these people.
“Why show me this?” he asked.
Sicari walked around the Oracle and stood beside Oryan. He spoke a few words of command to the device and the image of Rijel disappeared. Another figure replaced him: Armay. Oryan smiled. He hoped from the first time he saw what the Oracle could do that he could see his father like this.
“We started training Arkons. We allowed them to set up a hub for information outside these walls.
That hub eventually became Acamar. We used it as a refuge and as a way to stay more abreast of the world at large.
“Our situation has never been so hopeless. We’re no closer to him but your father was. We knew he was making progress because we could see the portions of Damrich’s empire we knew about collapse, but Armay told us very little.”
“Why,” Oryan asked.
“Honestly, we don’t know,” Corvus answered. “We didn’t press him. We trusted him to inform us if he needed help.”
“Then Acamar fell,” remarked Oryan.
Corvus acknowledged the statement, and Sicari spoke, “Yes and when it did, we lost him. His desire to see you born and Kathrine safe took him away from the hunt.”
“Now you want me to pick up where he left off.”
“That’s your choice. As I’ve told you, we’ll shelter you and your family regardless of your decision. What we’re looking for is the knowledge of where your father left off.”
“What do you expect me to know that you don’t already? He never told me any of this. Quite frankly, I don’t know if I believe any of it.”
They both ignored Oryan’s question and Corvus pressed. “Armay kept a scroll of his own. In his case, it was a detailed record of his hunt for Damrich. Scrolls are little more than small round crystals. It could easily fit in your palm. Once the owner of a scroll finalizes it, it becomes clear, and can no longer be altered. Until they’re finalized, they’re a shade of blue or purple. Think hard. Do you remember anything that might be what we’re looking for?”
The look on Oryan’s face was hard. Armay had known them and at least, to an extent, believed them. His father’s scroll was in front of them all along but they hadn’t seen it. His father was a genius.
Enemies from Within
Celeste was an incredibly gifted musician. Oryan knew of at least four instruments she could play proficiently, to say nothing of her singing voice. She spent her time writing pieces of her own while Asher and Oryan were away from home. She took every chance she could to pass that love and those skills on to her son.
On this day, he watched Celeste as she gently tutored Asher. She kept a soft hand but her heavy foot drummed out the beats as he played the tunes with all the perfection a little boy could muster. Oryan sat on the floor, listening to the instruction. Asher’s blocks were there and Oryan indulged while they played.
Oryan often built him crude depictions of the places he had seen on his travels. He built him the barracks where the Knights were housed, the Quarter where Grandpa had lived, even the palace at Obsidian. Asher was never satisfied until his father also built the military apparatus necessary to conquer any of those places. Complete with sound effects, Asher would inevitably destroy any fortification Oryan could erect.
When the last few notes had been played, Asher looked longingly at his mother. His innocent blue eyes were his greatest weapon. With a pathetic glance at Oryan and the blocks, Celeste released him back to his father. Oryan could see her mood had significantly improved.
“Until you came along, he never wanted his lessons to end!” Celeste chided with a loving grin. Oryan appreciated the levity, but the dark shadows under her eyes reminded him she was not herself.
“See, this is the trouble,” Oryan responded as he built the foundation for Asher’s next conquest. “If your mom could understand the sophistication of blocks, she would appreciate my hard work.”
Asher agreed whole-heartedly with an emphatic nod of his head.
“Uh huh. And how does one acquire an appreciation for blocks?” she asked.
Oryan’s shoulders dropped and his mouth fell open incredulously. He looked at Asher who smiled, only slightly paying attention to the conversation taking place. “Hey, Asher? How do we get Mom to like blocks?”
“She has to build them!” he said. “Come on, mommy! Build blocks!”
Oryan looked at Celeste matter-of-factly. “Yeah, come on, Mom!”
Celeste shook her head and sat on the floor opposite Oryan. She pulled her hair back and rolled her head on a graceful neck. “Little does Dad know, Mom is the queen of blocks and can take Dad any day!”
Oryan grinned coyly. “Asher, tell Mom who’s gonna win.”
Without looking away from the blocks, he responded quickly and confidently, “Me.”
Just as Oryan was about to protest, there was a knock at the door. Rebekkah, a blonde short-haired female poked her head in. “Everyone decent?” she queried. When everyone responded to the affirmative, Rebekkah entered.
“Rebekkah! We’re playing blocks and Mom is playing too, and she says she’s better than Dad!” Asher exclaimed.
“Is that so?” Rebekkah asked, placing her bag on the table.
“Yeah, but I think Daddy will win.”
Celeste placed her hands on her hips and addressed Asher. “That’s not fair! Why does Dad get to win?”
Asher shrugged. “You told me Daddy always wins.”
Celeste breathed a heavy sigh of defeat and stood. “The things he remembers!”
“Where are you going?” Oryan asked.
“We’re going to the market. That’s why I called her here,” Celeste replied.
Asher looked a little deflated, but the look quickly disappeared as Rebekkah sat next to him and began to build.
“Hey buddy,” Oryan whispered to Asher. He held out his hand to his son and, with a wink, thanked him. “Dad always wins!”
Asher slapped Oryan’s hand. “Dad always wins!”
“I don’t know what you two are whispering about over there, but I’m sure it can’t be good!” Celeste quipped. “Say bye to Dad, Asher. He and Mom have to run errands.”
Oryan got on his knees and the boy threw his arms around his neck. Oryan kissed him on the cheek and Asher returned the kiss. “Bye, Daddy,” he said in a small voice.
“Bye buddy. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Celeste wrapped her arm through his and pulled him to the door. The two left, but a few seconds later, Oryan poked his head back in.
“Asher!” he said in a loud whisper.
The boy looked up at his father, who was giving him a very familiar glance. “Daddy always wins!” he said back.
Rebekkah rolled her green eyes and grinned before he disappeared out the door.
***
Celeste walked beside Oryan. She was dressed in the usual earth colors of the camp with Oryan matching. On Oryan’s left wrist, he wore a small, white, intricate bracelet. It was a smaller version of the one that Eldar had used to bind them, which now hung in their home. Celeste wore a similar token, only hers was located on her left ankle.
She wore a sort of sling over her shoulder with a pouch that she stored some of the fruit and vegetables they were picking from vendors. Oryan carried a small pack on his back. It was refrigerated and despite its small appearance, it held large quantities.
Through the busier parts of the camp, they simply chatted with friends as they got what they needed from the vendors. Oryan happily tasted the various fruits offered to him. Foods here were rich and sweet. When the traffic cleared, they began to discuss deeper matters.
“What did you find out about your dad’s scroll?” Celeste asked.
“Not a thing,” Oryan admitted as he bounced a piece of fruit off his elbow and back into his hand.
Armay’s scroll had been hiding in plain sight. Oryan had unwittingly given it to Celeste years ago when he gave her his mother’s necklace. It truly was the keeper of secrets. Celeste had managed to hold onto it through her ordeal, and Eldar had removed it when she arrived and set it aside until she was healed. Unlike Sicari and Corvus, Eldar wasn’t looking for Armay’s scrolls. Oryan asked for Eldar’s discretion and Eldar agreed after giving him a small device capable of reading scrolls. He called it a lens.
“If I had, don’t you think I would’ve told you first?”
The soft patter of Celeste’s bare feet could be heard. “Yes. But if there’s nothing, wh
y haven’t you told Sicari?”
“I don’t know how these things work,” Oryan admitted. I’ve done everything I know to do, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t more. I know my dad. He was a dutiful soldier and wouldn’t have kept secrets from them unless there was a reason. I don’t think he trusted them.”
Celeste asked, “Do you trust them?”
There was something behind her words that Oryan hadn’t heard from her before. “I’m always skeptical,” he said, and Celeste nodded her agreement. “Do you?”
“I did,” she admitted.
“But not anymore,” he finished. “What changed your mind?”
“Too many secrets,” she replied.
There was a man who had broken off from the other market goers and was nearing Celeste and Oryan. He kept his head down. At first, the man’s odd behavior did not register, but the hairs on Oryan’s neck stood on end. Most people around here always walked with their heads up. They smiled and waved as they passed by.
The man angled toward Celeste and a smile crossed his lips as he nodded to Celeste. The man’s hand moved in slow motion as it rose to give Celeste a pat on the shoulder but Oryan stepped in between them to take something from a cart, and the gesture landed on his arm instead. There was a slight pinch, but Oryan paid it no real heed.
The man continued his journey down the wide pathway. Oryan took a step forward and felt his stomach wrench. Sounds seemed dull as did colors. Every light he saw drew long tails as he turned his head. He looked at his shoulder. There, barely noticeable, was a spot of blood.
Oryan’s body forced back the effects of whatever toxin was coursing through his veins. He began to run down the path in the direction the man had been walking. He rounded the circle only to be confronted by another market teeming with patrons.
Celeste was only a step behind him. Concern was written all over her face, and she was asking him over and over what was wrong, but he didn’t respond, choosing instead to focus on his target.
