The Gods Who Chose Us

by Michael J Roy

  There was a sudden flash in front of the propeller, followed by a loud popping. Smoke poured from the engine, blocking her view, and the propeller rotated free of any mechanical constraints or rhythm—Athena was no long in control of it. She turned off the engine and waited for the smoke to abate. Maintenance must have stopped on these planes a while ago—I’m not even sure the researchers ever used them. “I guess we’ll glide the rest of the way.”

  “Where are we going anyway?”

  “Bandurria. If we are dealing with Primordials then they may be going back to old research sites—either their own or others. I doubt their landing in Nazca was an accident. The closest research facility is in Bandurria.”

  “Wasn’t there one in Nazca?”

  “Yes, but that facility has been inoperable for a long time. At some point before the Fracturing started the roof caved in and the entire facility was buried in rock.”

  “And Bandurria is possibly still functional?” Atlas’ voice was rife with confusion.

  “Not likely.” Athena grew tired of the conversation. “I doubt we’ll run into the intruders in Bandurria, but stay alert.”

  Atlas grunted in agreement.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, after gliding another twenty kilometers, the plane lost all altitude. The Cessna was approaching the ground at over 160 kilometers per hour.

  Athena prepped for a crash landing by positioning herself, as best she could in the tiny plane, with her knees near her chest and her heels touching the seat. She would have removed her seatbelt had there been any on board as she wanted to be ready to spring out the plane in a moment’s notice.

  Athena looked over at Atlas, who nodded, confirming he was ready. She flicked her right hand, using her connection to space-time to send a gravitational ripple to blow out the windshield and the surrounding metal in the cockpit. She and Atlas leapt through the opening she created an instant later.

  Athena flexed her muscles and pushed against space to slow her motion. Because, like all Primordials, Athena was woven into the fabric of space-time, she had a weak ability to transfer and draw varying amounts of energy from space itself. The sensation was similar to one expanding their body in water to increase their surface area and dampen their movement, or using their hands to create friction and slow their descent when traveling down a slide. As in the case of simple friction, the energy dissipated from Athena manifested itself as heat.

  Flames flickered around her arms and legs as her body slowed. The concentrated, fleeting bouts of heat felt more like tingles than burns. If any minor damage was done, Athena’s immune system would work quickly to mend the wounds.

  Athena gently landed on her feet as she watched the Cessna collide with the ground. The screeching, flaming ton of twisted metal rolled and came to a stop a mere 30 meters or so from its impact site. She looked down at her body and noticed a few scraps and burns that were already disappearing. Her naturally evolved regeneration worked only slightly faster than the most advanced augmented healing the elite Aesirians possessed. Athena and her fellow Olympians didn’t focus their scientific efforts into increasing their biological advantage, and looked down on civilizations that needed augmentation to advance or evolve to survive in the universe. The Aesir will eventually learn the importance of moving at the pace dictated by nature.

  Unscathed and a short three kilometers from where she wanted to be, Athena headed toward her destination in Bandurria.

  “Follow me. We don’t have far to go.”

  Act I, Chapter 9

  Detection

  Location: Rainforest, Northwestern Bolivia

  …which leads me to believe Loki never had the conscious intention of fighting for Sigyn, let alone Vili.

  —In Vino Veritas, page 106, note 8.

  * * *

  Loki was bored. Sigyn appeared to be in a deep trance, Vili was off finding Descendants, and Loki was stuck in the rainforest counting the number of times he could fool a jaguar into thinking he was a rodent. The answer was zero.

  He had removed his armor, revealing a custom skin-tight body suit and tactical belt around his waist, both made of the same material. Loki could adjust the frequencies of electromagnetic radiation his body absorbed and emitted—mostly in the visible light spectrum—and the fabric of the suit mimicked the exact color of his skin. The tights became a nearly-permanent extension of his body. This was only one of many things that made Loki aberrant in Aesirian society.

  He used his electromagnetic manipulation to make his chest to look like a large rat while the rest of his body blended in with the environment. He was hoping the jaguar would come over and provide him with some entertainment, but even the jaguar had better things to do.

  Loki looked over at Sigyn to see if she was still meditating. She was sitting underneath a natural canopy near a small stream. Thin rays of light penetrated the branches above her and stood motionless around her body—giving her an ancient, holy quality. He observed how her long and wavy dirty blonde hair cascaded down the sides of her face and framed her delicate features. Her deep red lips stuck out against the backdrop of her pale skin. His boredom started to fade.

  Sigyn had always surprised Loki. She embodied characteristics that typically annoyed him in other people, making them too banal and shallow, but she somehow was able to exhibit them and stay unpredictable. And she’s so damn entertaining…there’s a lot worse company I could have had on this mission. He thought back to the first words she had ever spoken to him, “That’s a stupid hat.” Loki ruminated on the memory and realized he was donning a genuine smile.

  Sigyn’s eyes sprung open, “We need to go.”

  Loki felt a wave of awkwardness, a sensation he was entirely unaccustomed to, and quickly looked up –“What was that?”

  “An Olympian was recently in the vicinity of our landing site in Nazca….and now they’re moving. I know they aren’t moving toward us, but I won’t know their exact direction until we’re closer. We need to get going.” Sigyn got up and brushed herself off.

  “Just one?” Loki asked, relieved Sigyn didn’t seem to notice his stare.

  “Not sure, but we’ll find out soon enough. That compound we saw earlier with transportation should be a 20 minute sprint west from here.” As soon as she finished speaking she took off running.

  Loki hesitated for a moment, and then picked up his armor and ran after her, his mind moving almost as fast as his enhanced body. The Aesir, while less advanced than the Olympians, were skilled enough in genetics to increase strength, speed, endurance, longevity, and intellect beyond what nature normally allowed for in an untampered species. Moreover, they were more than willing to bond with machines—as demonstrated by Vili—or modify their core biology to gain advantages.

  Olympians tended to look down on such modifications; they felt a civilization had to earn its way to prominence through evolution. “A creature’s body can’t outpace their mind.” A common concern throughout Olympian society was that the Aesir would become too advanced too quickly. They’ve seen firsthand how minor civilizations drove themselves to extinction before even colonizing a second planet, and that was without galvanizing evolution.

  Evolution has never been tied solely to nature’s impetus…it’s not some magical entity meant to govern all species. It’s a process. If the Olympians won’t embrace advancement then they’ll fall to the civilizations that will.

  * * *

  They sprinted through the forest in silence. Sigyn was nervous—her augmentations had never been used in a real fight. Moreover, there was a lot riding on her. If she couldn’t track down the Olympians on Earth then this entire mission would be for nothing. Not only could the Olympians potentially kill the three Aesirian intruders, but they could wipe out the humans or, even worse, they could allow the humans to join Olympia and replace the Aesir. What am I doing here?

  If my genetics never matched to the Mimir Interpreters then who knows what I’d be doing. Maybe working as a physicist in S
vartalfheim on the adamant project or as a researcher in Asgard working with Eir on biological advancements…but instead I was sent for military training on Valhalla. My augmentation…

  Why do our elders pretend the augmentations are a choice? Every public official or local leader—even teachers—hint at permanent social ostracism if students don’t submit to testing which genetic augmentations are the most effective with their biology. And there is always a safe and optimum match.

  ‘Don’t let your history be rewritten.’ ‘Saying ‘no’ to an augmentation is saying ‘no’ to freedom.’ How much of this crisis is manufactured? Are the Aesir unnecessarily clinging to events that are truly in the past? The old, fringe Olympians that lived through and encouraged sentient experimentation may never truly change, but surely their children will—and have.

  Even so, I haven’t noticed much personal oppression. Tension, yes, but not outright conflict. Sure, Aesirians don’t hold many positions of power in society and integration has been slow, but if we subsumed humans would we dare allow them to hold power until their integration was complete? And what does that even mean? Until they become like us? Are we as different from the Olympians as Vili and our other leaders claim? It’s true that broader Olympia, outside of Asgard and Valhalla, has never felt like home, but is that really because our societies are distinct?

  It’s not like I haven’t benefited from Olympia. Of course, the elders have an answer for that as well: ‘Should you thank the Council for carrying your limp body after they were the ones to cripple it?’ ‘Do a few basic benefits mandate your unyielding loyalty to Olympia, as the Council desires?’

  Despite mocking the duty-bound society demonstrated in Olympia, the Aesir definitely didn’t avoid implementing it in their own…some Aesir will never conform to our culture, though. She glanced at Loki. He was sometimes a breath of fresh air amongst all the rules, pressure, and politics she found herself drowning in too often. She was reminded of their first encounter.

  * * *

  Sigyn first met Loki on Valhalla during basic military strategy training. Part of his punishment for fooling a fellow troop of cadets into shaving their hair as a requirement for advancement was to assist in running the strategy simulations for new pupils. Sigyn was seated at a pod that resembled a four meter tall, hollowed out half egg. She sat mostly covered in the cross-section, staring at the simulations displayed over the inside of the shell. The pod could simulate anything from large-scale space battles to small-scale terrain skirmishes. Loki was walking between pods to assess techniques, offer suggestions, and field questions. He made his way to Sigyn’s location.

  Sighing and clearly bored, he first went to inspect the output on Sigyn’s pod. “Uhh, Sigeen, Seagan…Sig….any questions? Looks like you…only lost every other battle you’ve fought in. Great. Puts you in the top 10%. Aren’t you a star pupil?” Loki looked up from the pod. His eyes narrowed and he began to smirk; his fixation of her appearance crossed the platonic line.

  Sigyn didn’t respond. She spared a momentary glance in his direction, but stayed concentrated on the task before her. She was in a battle toward the heart of the galaxy against an unknown Primordial force. They had her fleet out-gunned and out-numbered. There were 100 “M”-shaped fighters accelerating toward her—their three, small engines at full throttle—from two bulky transport ships. The enemy fighters were more powerful than the 50 Nemesis she had at her command, but slightly slower at top engagement speed. Moreover, she only had one transport ship: a Storskip.

  Storskips, like most transport ships, lack maneuverability in close-range fights. They aren’t anything special—essentially a giant metallic oval—and are slow and clunky. Their real value is in how quickly they can jump into and out of space battles. They are large enough to house the equipment that can contract and expand space-time at speeds faster than light—the only known way to travel through space at superluminal pace. Additionally, they hold up to 50 fighters and, while lacking any serious long range weapons, are armed with automated short range guns to defend against smaller, more nimble fighters.

  They want me to retreat. Sigyn thought as she assessed the battle simulation before her. The “right” answer was probably to call back her fighters and jump out of the sector. A lesson in when to run? Sigyn started shouting commands at her simulated fighters, but to her surprise her gut was drowning out her logic. Instead of running, she increased her fighters to full speed and aimed to split the two transport ships. She lost some fighters on the way, but 43 made it through and unleashed their full weaponry on the larger ships. She even had a couple of her fighters fly directly into the transports’ hangers and detonate the payloads they carried on board.

  This move left her Storskip undefended, but she took the opportunity to jump out of the sector as her fighters sped to attack the two larger ships. She immediately jumped back to the fight, but behind the enemy transport ships in the direction opposite from their “M”-shaped fighters. It was a risky move for sure, but she did the calculations for the jump earlier in the battle and didn’t think enough time had passed for them to have appreciably changed. The jump was the only move she made that put theoretical Aesirian lives at risk—the Nemesis ships were automated. The simulation ended with her losing 15 fighters at the expense of stranding 100 enemy fighters and destroying two enemy transport ships.

  “Wow. I guess you learned the real lesson: sometimes it’s better to be unpredictable than logical,” Loki said, surprised, but quickly grinning again. “It doesn’t appear you need any advice for these simulations, but I’m offering free extra-curricular tutoring over drinks tonight.”

  Disgusted, Sigyn finally made eye contact with him. Loki was wearing the typical garb of a 3rd year: a forest green long-sleeved, apron-looking shirt that stopped right below the knee; a brown utility belt around the waist; grey pocketed, tactical pants; thick, brown boots; and a hat with a downward angled brim and a flat top with two raised peaks running from front to back.

  “That’s a stupid hat.” And Sigyn turned her attention back to the simulator.

  “Ha! Personality on Valhalla? You really are special,” Loki said as he moved to the next pod.

  * * *

  Loki and Sigyn came to a small clearing at the edge of the forest. What could barely be called a fence—five strands of wire connected to wooden posts—surrounded a few hastily constructed shacks made of straw and wood. Loki didn’t get the sense they were permanent dwellings, but he didn’t care. His focus was on the dirty, four-wheeled vehicle sitting behind the fence and the two armed guards posted at the entrance holding long, black rifles.

  Sigyn reached out and held Loki by the shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking—you can’t kill them.”

  Grinning, Loki turned his head to the side and replied. “Sigyn, our instructions were to avoid doing anything that may lead to discord between humans and Aesir, but how is anyone going to link us to what happens in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Admittedly, it’s unlikely, but we aren’t in the position to take risks. Sneak around the back, drive the vehicle through the ‘fence’, and I’ll meet you on the other side of the clearing. I don’t see any other vehicles here, so it’s unlikely the guards will be able to follow us.”

  Loki thought for a second and then grabbed Sigyn’s hand that lay on his shoulder. “And as a further act of nobility I will open the door for you so the lady doesn’t soil her hand.”

  Sigyn used her other hand to smack Loki on the back of his head, took the armor he was still clinging to, and promptly got up and started moving around to the other side of the clearing.

  Loki watched as she left, and then turned his attention back to the task at hand. His smile faded as he assessed damage that could be caused by the guards’ weapons. They fired projectiles—that much was obvious—but the propellant was a more important consideration. Based on what Loki observed on Earth so far—and Aesirian intelligence prior to the mission—chances were that the propellant would be a si
mple chemical combustion and, therefore, the projectiles wouldn’t be lethal unless they hit specific parts of his body. They would certainly hurt and probably break through his skin, but those wounds would heal within the hour.

  The only aspect of the guards which seemed suspicious was that each of them had a long, thick design that started on the right side of their forehead, went down their right temple, expanded across their face, chin, and neck, and then disappeared beneath their shirts. Loki hadn’t observed anything like that on any other human. Maybe it’s just a marking? They’re part of a specific group? It’s possible the markings are signs of genetic tampering, but humans can’t be that advanced. Still, Loki didn’t want to take any chances.

  He prepared to move toward the vehicle. In an instant, his body suit and exposed skin mimicked the green, browns, and yellows in the scenery behind him. Loki was sufficiently cloaked.

  He stayed low to the ground and crawled toward the guards, roughly perpendicular to the gate’s entrance and the guards’ stare. If he stayed straight he would reach the vehicle, located approximately five meters behind the guards, without the guards noticing. He had maybe 35 meters to crawl in mid-shin high grasses. He began his uneventful crawl and soon reached the “fence.”

  As he arrived, he realized that the five strands of wire surrounding the compound—each spaced about a third of a meter apart—were running a minor electrical current. How much further do I have? Eh, ten paces or so before I’m at the vehicle…not ideal, but doable. He was less worried about the minor shock and more worried about drawing the attention of the guards. Loki adjusted his body so he was positioned parallel with the fence and quickly maneuvered himself through one of the spaces between the wires. His butt and shoulders brushed against the wires, producing a popping noise as he passed.