Flight of the Gryphon

by Ann Durand

  "You know that each family in your village makes an annual pilgrimage to your altar, right?" he asked. "The…uh, Kopa…Kopa…"

  "Kopa Na An," Katera finished. "My people have used the altar for centuries. Before Askinadon arrived, we prayed there and left gifts for Lupana, the Goddess of the Moon who reigns over us."

  "Yeah, Kopa Na An. That's the place," Mikolen said, nodding. "It is at the altar that the Kastaks insert the disc into your foreheads. It's a simple, painless procedure. Not a single drop of blood is shed. They use a sophisticated surgical instrument called an Insertech to imbed it."

  "I don't remember a surgic…sur…the Insertech thing. When our families were summoned to the altars, we chanted and paid tribute to Askinadon, then we received a blessing from him, with the Fortune Maker. It's this grey, oval thing about…" Katera held her hands a foot apart. "…this big, and it has a handle. The Kastak would place the end of it right here." She raised a finger to her forehead and froze.

  Ma Lan Kena Lupana. Merciful Lupana. That's it. Her hand fell from her face. Mikolen watched her, grinning broadly.

  "Yep. And that's no Fortune Maker, at least not a maker of happy fortunes. The grey, oval thing as you describe it, is the Insertech, the instrument that empowers Askinadon to be what he is. With it, he inserts and activates the Voice, along with its living hell, into your thoughts. He used it to insert a disc into the heads of all of you when he arrived from our world ten years ago."

  His world, he'd explained last night over their second glass of minola, was a planet-a huge rock, like a ball, floating in the vast ocean of space…just like her world. She'd asked him why they didn't fall off the bottom and sides. He'd talked about a force called gravity. It was such amazing news and she'd done her best to absorb it. Now, he was walking across the floor to her. He crouched in front of her chair.

  "And since then," he continued, "Askinadon checks the discs for accuracy once a year, tunes them up…whatever they need. That's why he has you all make your so-called pilgrimage to the altar."

  Katera was dumbfounded. "But how does the…Insertech work? I mean, how do they get those discs inside us? We felt nothing but a pinch."

  A look of concentration settled over his features. He'd had the same look last night while explaining the concept of planets within solar systems and galaxies. She'd felt deliciously safe as he'd wrestled with his words, trying to make them clear. His patience had worn steady as she'd rattled off a multitude of questions. He was striking a similar pose now, as if he was glancing up at an unseen tablet. Thoughtful…and handsome, she realized as the light of the lanadik fell across his face.

  "Originally, the Insertech was designed to perform surgeries," he began, gesturing with his hands, "which is a way of cutting into the body to fix something that's wrong inside. The Insertech allows the skin and tissue to avert insult from the incision. It has a feature that allows it to slice through tissue and preserve the integrity of the exposed cells during the procedure. When the surgery is completed, it slides everything back into its original position. The tissue has no memory of ever being cut, so it reattaches itself, and presto! No marks, no nothing." Mikolen lowered his hands. "That's the simple explanation."

  Katera gave him a blank look. "You mean that Insertech was cutting open our heads?"

  "In a way, yes. Then, a VisiOrb-that's the disc-was inserted through a small opening on the end of the Insertech."

  "You used this…VisiOrb on your planet?"

  "Yes, but for a different purpose. We used it on patients demonstrating symptoms of dementia or Alzheimers."

  "What is that?" she asked.

  "It's usually an old person's disease. They become very forgetful. They can forget the simplest things…like how to lift a fork or dress themselves."

  "Oh, yes. My aunt Tasha became that way before she died," Katera said, remembering. "After a while she didn't know us anymore-she didn't know anybody. She could not even remember how to lift herself onto a hoshdel, and she'd been a prize rider."

  "Exactly," Mikolen said. "On our planet the VisiOrb was used to guide these people through the simple actions of daily living, like eating and using the transport system. One attendant was able to monitor three or four patients from a remote site and direct them through their days. It enabled them to have a certain measure of independent living before the final stages of memory loss set in, when they became incapable of processing even simple directions."

  "I see," Katera said, quietly. "So the disc, the VisiOrb, was a good thing in your world."

  "It's merely a thing in any world. In mine, it was used well. Until Don…Askinadon got a hold of it in this world."

  "Why do you keep calling him Don?" she asked, shelving other questions about the VisiOrb.

  "Because his name is Don. Don Askins."

  Katera frowned. "Why did he change his name?"

  "For your people…because all of the males in your culture have a name that ends in o-n, or e-n, or i-n. Something with 'n'. The females all have names that end with 'a', as you know. I'm sure he used it to assist him in creating a new persona for your people…a god-like persona."

  Katera paused, wondering. "Then is your name really Mikolen?"

  Mikolen smiled sheepishly. "No. I did the same thing, but for a different reason. I am no god any more than Don Askins, but I wanted to give you a name you could relate to."

  Katera raised an eyebrow. "So, your real name?"

  "It's Mike. Mike Leno. On my world, we have two names instead of one, like your people. Don and Askins. Mike and Leno. So, I just mixed up my name to come up with a new one."

  "Shall I call you…?"

  "No, call me Mikolen. It's fine." He smiled. She wanted to reach out, touch him. He stood up and took a deep breath. "Katera, please, " he said, and hesitated. He looked at his hands, looked at her. "I know how you feel about your family, but we can do nothing for them or anyone else in Parallon. Won't you let me guide you through the Shirkas to a new home? Maybe, some day you can return…who knows?"

  Katera stood up quickly and moved around him, as if he were in her way. She strode to the exit and turned to face him again, hands on hips.

  "I told you. No," she said, firmly. "You don't have to help me, but I'm staying in Parallon." She dropped her hands to her sides. "Don't worry," she added, lowering her voice. "I won't tell anyone about you."

  She knew from their conversations that Askinadon hadn't the slightest notion that Mikolen lived in this dark, subterranean world within the mountain. He was not even aware that Mikolen existed on the planet, believing instead that he'd been killed in the first hour after they'd materialized on the summit. This allowed Mikolen to slip inside Askinadon's castle undetected in the darkness, when few Kastaks were on hand to watch the numerous gates and doors. In those stolen moments, he would sequester whatever he needed for his project-a special project with a purpose he'd guardedly kept from her, but Katera knew from listening that it held high hopes for him. Probably, she mused sadly, he was building a way to escape and return to his home on that planet…Earth.

  "I promise. I won't tell anyone that you're here," she repeated.

  Mikolen shook his head from side to side. "You won't have to tell anyone. As soon as a new VisiOrb is inserted in your head, all you need to do is think it, and there'll be a horde of rocsadon's charging through that thin layer of brush shielding the front entrance of these caves."

  Katera gulped. If Askinadon learned that Mikolen lived and worked within the mountain beneath his castle, he would destroy him. More importantly, she sensed that Mikolen had a chance to return to his home, the one he ached for, and she did not want to ruin it for him. She wanted to see him succeed, even if it meant that he must leave Parallon for his own world.

  "What would you have me do?" she asked.

  Mikolen stared at her. Then he bowed his head and walked to the opposite wall. When he turned around, he had a preoccupied look in his eyes as they surfed some unknown horizon. He lowered his head again
and paced the floor, crossing from wall to wall as her impatience grew. Finally, he halted and turned to her with an open mouth.

  "It might work. Maybe…I think I have the tools."

  "What is it?"

  "The VisiOrb-I think I can modify it. I simply need to substitute the signals to the VisiOrb for the electrical impulses to and from the brain. I can redirect them from the piezoelectric crystals in the Orb to a converter that will mimic the neurotransmitters in the brain…yes, I believe it can work."

  Katera had no idea what he was talking about, but felt her hopes lift. In all likelihood, the salvation of her people rode dimly upon this dubious inspiration, but she could not resist grasping hope.

  "What can you do?" she asked, excitedly.

  Mikolen rushed to her and grabbed both shoulders. "I think I can create the Voice outside of the head. To fool Askinadon. You can listen to the Voice through an earpiece outside of your head and respond to it using a microphone-you know, with your voice instead of your thoughts. Askinadon won't know the difference."

  Katera let this sink in. "You mean I can tell him what I want him to think I'm thinking?"

  "Exactly."

  Katera inhaled sharply. "Can you make one for all my people?"

  Mikolen dropped his hands. "No, Katera. I can only make one. I have the materials to create one, maybe two at the most. I will use the VisiOrb that I cut from your head and convert it. Perhaps, I can convert it into two sets. That's the best I can do. But it will allow you to escape the thought police."

  Katera drew in a deep breath. It was the best chance she had to save herself and her sister. Maybe she could even infiltrate Askinadon's camp.

  "Yes, do it Mikolen…please."

  "I will. Yes, I will." He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a connecting tunnel near the cavern's entry. "You can assist me in my lab. It's a little ways down this tunnel," he said, as they ducked into it.

  Katera's heart vaulted in a series of leaps, but she couldn't be sure if it was Mikolen's grand idea that thrilled her, or the warm touch of his fingers intertwined with hers.

  Chapter Seven

  Kastak Morchison slid the bolt from the heavy gate that led into the corrals housing the rocsadons, the fiendish dragon-pets of Askinadon. He dreaded the assignment ahead, though it was supposedly an honor to perform it. Askinadon had given the order to him personally, not through the VisiOrb. To defy such an order was an invitation to torture, perhaps even death, though it was rare for Askinadon to kill a Kastak.

  Long, intense indoctrination and training marked the creation of this pseudo-elite corps, and at only thirty-one strong, they were too few in number for Askinadon to eliminate any of them without a cause for concern. Still, all were well acquainted with the wrath of Askinadon. On several occasions, when goods or materials turned up missing, such as lab equipment, ullis, even food, they were collectively tortured, even after the VisiOrbs had cleared every one of them.

  Wearing a scowl, Morchison shoved the gate open several feet and poked his head through it to the large holding area on the other side. Several chained animals lifted their massive heads and eyed him. He struggled to keep his breathing slow and even. He knew how well these beasts could smell fear…rumor had it they could detect your sweat half a mile away. He wiped his brow. It was said they could feel your heart pounding through their feet as the vibrations traveled from your body across the ground.

  Not that they could harm him now, he reassured himself, closing the gate while surveying the thick chains and short leads that wrapped from gigantic posts to equally formidable legs. Morchison waved to Kastak Timoton, who had just finished tethering a rocsadon. Timoton swiped an arm over a sweat-drenched brow and waved back, wearing a look of exhaustion. Timoton appeared more than ready to relinquish the arena. Before he could escape, Morchison called to him.

  "I need you to spot for me."

  Timoton slowed-gave Morchison a pained look. "Which one?"

  "Gorgeron."

  Timoton stiffened. "Gorgeron?" His voice had risen an octave. "Crap, I don't know…"

  "Askinadon's orders," came the quick reply.

  No way did Morchison intend to handle this monstrous alpha male by himself. Timoton didn't have to know the job had been entrusted to Morchison alone. Timoton's shoulders slumped, but he nodded and retrieved his tiket, the long pole with fine claws for gripping and maneuvering the locks and chains around the animals' feet.

  "Who's on the menu?" Timoton asked, as he trudged back toward Morchison.

  "Don't know, but I don't think it's a random pick. Askinadon seemed very…intent."

  "This one's not for sport, then?"

  "No, I don't think he's trying to terrorize the whole village this time. He's targeting a single individual." Morchison released a piece of torn fabric that hung from his belt. "Here's the scrap with the victim's scent. It's already been fixed."

  "Did you do it?"

  "Yeah. Used extra suderik, too. Enough to get him down the mountain to the village and back up again. It's also impregnated with the scent of a goat that we'll drag into the corral to get Gorgeron back up here. I needed the extra suderik to hold the two scents."

  "Extra suderik?" A look of fear flashed across Timoton's face. "As if it isn't bad enough fixing the deadliest rocsadon in the corral, but to add more suderik?"

  He shook his head, looking dismayed. Morchison understood. Suderik, a natural secretion produced within the olfactory system of the animal, created the unfaltering focus of a rocsadon to destroy a specific prey animal with single-minded ferocity-to the exclusion of all other prey. Suderik was the catalyst behind the crazed predatory behavior of the rocsadons. They were milked for it in order to redirect their behaviors toward selected individuals. Small vials of the stinky substance were kept in the lab for this purpose and mixed with the scent of the chosen victim.

  "Well, whoever wore this garment will be dead before nightfall…that's a fact," Morchison said, positioning himself in front of Gorgeron.

  Timoton approached the beast from behind with the tiket. Morchison stood with his feet splayed, ready to drop the fixing cloth from a tiket in one hand, while gripping a set of ripping tails in the other. Gorgeron, who had been slumbering between his posts, rolled up onto his knees and snorted in anticipation. His back, a slate gray mountain of hard flesh, swayed as he lifted his massive head, perched like a unweildy anchor at the end of a long neck.

  "Up, Gorgeron!" Morchison yelled, and cast the ripping tails into the air, allowing the needle sharp tacks to whistle past the beast's nose.

  A low growl of protest rumbled from Gorgeron's throat, but he shifted his weight over his front legs, hoisting his tonnage forward. When his back legs escaped and sprang free, he pushed his chest up over his front legs, grunting. Then he stretched his neck up, up, until it reached its full height twenty feet over the ground. Morchison swallowed hard as he stepped back out of range.

  "Head down!" he commanded.

  Gorgeron lowered his neck to the ground, gnashing his long teeth at Morchison, who whipped the tails past his nose again for good measure. Then Morchison raised his tiket, preparing to drop the fixing cloth. The timing for this exercise was critical, and a mistake could cost the handler dearly.

  "Be careful," Timoton warned. "I'll let you know when the last chain is released. Wait until I shout ' now '. Don't wait a single second after I shout. Remember what happened to Kastak Stanson two years ago…he threw the cloth too late."

  "Yeah, I was there. I saw the rocsadon fix on him instead."

  "Really? I heard the rocsadon ignored the cloth…advanced on the poor chump."

  "Yep. Stanson lashed the ripping tails into its face; a tack even lodged in the animal's eye and ripped it, but it didn't make any difference."

  A reverent silence fell between them as Timoton fumbled with the last lock and chain. Visions of Stanson inside the rocsadon's mouth head first, his legs jutting from the jaws and slicing the air like scissors, played through Morchi
son's mind as the last lock fell open.

  "Now!" Timoton shouted.

  Morchison lowered the tiket toward Gorgeron's prostrated head as the animal snorted in anticipation. The cloth fell over his wide nostrils. Gorgeron bellowed painfully and shook his head, sending the cloth drifting to the ground in front of him. There he plunged his head into it, thumping and rubbing his nose over it as the muscles along the length of him twitched and tensed. Morchison lifted the ripping tails over Gorgeron's head.

  "Go!" he shouted, and lashed the tails into the air. They whistled, stinging the air just inches from the great beast's head, and still he thrashed his nose into the cloth as if nothing else existed. "Go!" Morchison commanded again, allowing the ripping tails to tear a gash in the side of the rocsadon's head.

  Gogeron blinked, shook his head, and stretched his neck up and out. He opened his jaws wide and inhaled, then blew out a long and haunting cry. It resounded over the high walls of the corral and sent an ominous warning to all on the other side.

  Good, the hunting call. He was ready. Morchison nodded to Timoton, who removed the bolt and pushed the gate wide open. Huffing wildly, Gorgeron dashed for the opening with the explosive force of a volcano. As he disappeared through it, Timoton screamed into a megaphone.

  "Rocsadon coming through!"

  A thick, dark cloud of dust churned behind Gorgeron as he thundered past rows of hostas bordering a trail down the mountain that had suddenly been rendered empty. Morchison sighed heavily, returned the tiket to its sheath, and motioned Timoton to follow him out of the corral. It would be eight hours before Gorgeron returned, and Askinadon was busy in his bedchamber. He'd delivered the new wife, Shamana, to the horny old goat himself. Morchison had two good hours of precious time without labor or duty or that damned Voice inside his head.

  He'd use the time to dream about unleashing a rocsadon on Askinadon and eliminating the jerk. He'd love to do more than merely dream about it…if another Kastak hadn't already tried it and failed. Askinadon alone kept weapons powerful enough to destroy a rocsadon. He had put one of the monsters down as it had charged toward him a few years ago. Then he'd undertaken an intense investigation using the VisiOrbs to read the thoughts of every Kastak. The renegade Kastak had finally revealed himself and, after several long days and nights, had succumbed to his tortures. Nope, no one had tried it since. But he could dream-yes, he could.