by C. A. Pack
The yellow team shuffled off, picking up shovels and wheelbarrows along the way. When they got to the storm drain, they divided into groups. One dug a hole to bury the Terrorians in. Another agreed to act like a conveyor, passing buckets of whatever from one to the next until it could be emptied in a wheelbarrow. A third would cart the remains to the graves. But the group no one wanted to be part of was the team that had to travel to ground zero inside the storm drain and fill the buckets. Guffle and Flugle accepted that responsibility and grabbed a pile of buckets.
“Wait.” Cici walked over and tied a flashlight to the top of Guffle’s head. “This way you can see what you’re doing.” She did the same for Flugle.
The two boys trudged inside the storm drain with their human conveyer belt following behind.
“Yuck,” one of the conveyors yelled. “It stinks in here.”
Marbol had told them to take the left tunnel, but even if he hadn’t, all they would have had to do was follow the overly ripe aroma. They tried not to breathe too deeply. Their progression was halted by a mass of black sludge. Guffle picked at it with his shovel and a chunk fell off. He shoveled it into a bucket, and when it was full, he told them to pass it on. He and Flugle continued on, scraping at the giant mound and shoveling up what fell off. As they continued, it got harder and harder to break apart the remains. But they kept at it, knowing the sooner they finished, the sooner they could join the party of celebrants.
“At this rate, we’re never going to finish.” He rammed his shovel into the black mass as hard as he could and screamed—starting a panic—when the mound shifted and moaned.
—LOI—
18
Johanna felt sorry for Jackson, even if he did have a date with another girl. She had to work with him and depend on him and didn’t want to make an enemy of him, so after Ava left, she reheated some lasagna and brought it up to him.
His eyes lit up when she appeared with a plate of food. “Is that for me?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t think you’d give me any.” He took hold of the plate and dug a fork into the noodles.
“You’re my best friend and my co-worker,” she said. “Regardless of anything else going on between us, I’ve still got your back. And considering it’s attached to your stomach, I thought I’d bring you some lasagna since there’s plenty of it.”
Jackson closed his eyes while he swallowed. “This is so good.”
“Just bring down the dirty dish when you’re done.”
“Will do…but it will be late.”
“What do you mean?”
“Chris won’t be here. He has a hot date tonight, so I’m covering for him.”
The smile that Johanna had plastered on her face faded. I wonder if that’s because Chris will be covering for Jackson tomorrow night? “Right,” she said quietly before walking away.
Nero 51 exited the time machine and looked around a devastated library. Most of the books and shelves were gone, making it hard for him to tell which realm he and Odyon had managed to penetrate.
Odyon took shape. “From what I can tell, this library is on Romantica. I originally thought it was abandoned until I found several of your species half-unconscious on the ground floor. The outer doors and windows of this facility are locked. I may be able to penetrate them to the outside, but you won’t. Is there a particular reason for your species to be on Romantica?”
“I sent them here to destroy the books. Without knowledge, Romantica will crumble. All the realms will crumble when we successfully destroy their libraries. Terroria alone will have all the knowledge in the universe—all the power in the universe. We will rule the realms and everyone on them.”
Odyon tilted his head. “You will not rule the realms without my help, and I don’t wish to live on Terroria, so you will have to make an exception. I prefer either Mysteriose or Fantasia, having lived on both worlds. Or, perhaps Lumina. What, exactly, are your plans for Lumina?”
“Lumina is not one of the twelve realms.”
“Of course not, but you cannot conquer the twelve realms without overthrowing Lumina. The deans of the College of Overseers will do everything in their power to quash your rebellion as long as they remain in a position of power. The deans must be taken prisoner, and Lumina must be under your control for any plan to work.”
“I did not plan on squandering resources on a world where the overseers have the power to reverse everything I put in place. Without the other realms at their beck and call, Lumina will be an empty power.”
“Are you blind or just plain stupid? As soon as you destroy books on any realm, the overseers will replace them. You will not be able to make any meaningful progress until you take Lumina.” Odyon ripped off the edge of a broken shelf and threw it to the ground.
“You want me to decimate the overseers?”
Odyon paused. His mind raced. “No. I’ll handle the overseers. Lumina will be my new home. Continue what you’re doing. You’ve given me an idea.”
“You told me you would teach me how to appear and disappear like you do. You told me we would have power over the portals. Both of us. I will do nothing until you have made good on your promise.”
Odyon disappeared.
Nero 51 waited for the shapeshifter to reappear. He waited hours. When Odyon didn’t reappear, he went in search of his troopers. Perhaps he already had power over the portals now that he had successfully landed on Romantica. If so, he could start transporting his soldiers home.
He found a few Terrorians lying listlessly on the main floor. He tried to rouse them, but they had too little energy to respond. He sighed. I’m going to have to drag each of them up the cupola stairs. He approached the closest soldier and dragged him a short way. The strap to the soldier’s decimator caught onto a piece of furniture. He dropped the soldier’s shoulders and pulled the decimator free. He looked at the others littering the floor. They are no longer any use to me. He grabbed a decimator and put them out of their misery, turning them all to dust.
Jackson watched Johanna retreat down the stairs, momentarily forgetting about the plate of food in his hand. What am I doing? What have I done? Guilt flowed into every cell of his being. He thought about his date with Emily. He felt more anxious than excited and very confused.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He answered it awkwardly. “Hello?”
“Hi Jackson, it’s Emily.”
He nearly dropped his plate. “How did you get this number?”
“Cassie Turner just called and gave it to me. We’re double-dating tomorrow and she called to tell me you just got this new number. Is it okay that I called?”
“Sure,” Jackson said, keeping his voice down.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Uh…because I’m in a library.”
“Oh, that makes sense.”
And I don’t want Johanna to hear me.
“Everybody out now!”
Juveniles scrambled out of the storm drain after Guffle screamed. One or more could have been trampled, but instead, they ran out one after the other, linking hands like a long chain.
Bungie abandoned the grave he was digging and ran to the mouth of the storm drain. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“One of the monsters is still alive,” Flugle said. “We heard him moan.”
“Someone’s got to kill it, then,” Bungie said. “Who will it be?”
Flugle gasped. “It’s not going to be me.”
They all looked at Guffle.
“What?”
Bungie grabbed both his shoulders. “You’ve got to go back in there and kill that thing.”
Guffle’s head rotated from side to side. “I already removed the other one. It’s someone else’s turn.”
“It should be one of the older kids,” a younger boy shouted. “You have ’sperience.”
Bungie and Guffle were the two oldest ones. They tried to outstare each other until Flugle said, “Rock, paper, scissors. It’s the only fair way t
o do it.”
Everyone nodded, recognizing the wisdom of Flugle’s words. They started to chant, “Rock, paper, scissors… rock, paper, scissors…rock, paper, scissors….”
Finally, the two eldest boys nodded and took position.
“Best three out of five,” Flugle said.
“No,” someone else cried. “Do four out of seven.”
“Do I hear five out of nine?” Bungie’s words dripped with sarcasm.
“Yeah,” Guffle said, staring at him. “Five out of nine.”
Bungie accepted the challenge. “You’re on.”
The two of them pumped their hands as they said in unison, “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.”
Guffle took the lead to cheers from the team when his rock crushed scissors. But Bungie quickly rebounded when his paper covered Guffle’s rock. Bungie won a second round in a row, but Guffle tied the score with his next move. They each scored another point in the fifth and sixth rounds.
The seventh round went to Bungie, followed by two tie rounds. Then, Guffle evened the score again. The ninth and last round would be the deciding game. “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”
Bungie put in paper.
Guffle put in scissors.
Mope 98 put in a tentacle.
Dean Proteus Bligh walked through the Mysterian caves and observed all the natural resources the realm had to offer. Off to the side, tables were set up where community leaders packaged equal measures of minerals or herbs, numbered the package, assigned it to a note of currency, and inserted the information on identical master lists to be held by Hue the Elder at the Library of Illumination and Malcolm Trees, the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
PB:♆ You have your work cut out for you.
“Yes,” Mal agreed. “It’s a bit more structured than Mysterians are used to, but necessary to ensure all are treated fairly.”
“It will certainly keep me busy,” Hue the Elder added. “It’s much more documentation than I previously had to worry about. We’ve gone from a single notation, like ‘a cart of silver ore,’ to dozens of entries for smaller packages of the same ore. But once it is set up, our reserves will be easier to track.”
“Can anyone enter and exit the caves at will?” Malcolm asked.
“We’ve never had a problem before,” Hue answered, “a least, not a big problem.”
PB:♆You’re saying there has been some theft in the past.
Hue nodded slowly. “Yes.”
PB:♆ I will ask Ryden Simmdry if the College of Overseers might agree to install gates in the caves.
Hue squared his shoulders. “That move might upset local leaders, not because you’re protecting resources, but because it looks like you don’t trust the people of Mysteriose.”
PB:♆ They will have to learn to accept it. Malcolm, you’ll handle that, won’t you?
“Of course,” Mal agreed. “They already dislike me. They might as well have a valid reason to hate me.”
Proteus Bligh and Hue both looked concerned until Mal said he was joking and assured them he would be happy to help.
Mal looked at the deans gathered around the conference table at the College of Overseers. “So, as you can see, Adventura has absolutely no use for my services as Chancellor of the Exchequer, which means I have no excuse for visiting that realm.”
RS:⌘ A problem, indeed.
RZ: π Do you think they could be dangerous?
RS:⌘ Only in consideration of their role in history. They were part of the first triumvirate that instigated the Two Millennia War.
“However,” Mal said, “I’ve spoken with them, and in my opinion, there is no reason to believe they will repeat history.”
AR:∑ When I first met with him to discuss the Terrorian invasion, Prophet IAN c. went so far as to ask, “If they,” meaning the Terrorians, “choose to make the same mistakes over again, must we,” meaning the Adventurans, “also be punished?”
RS:⌘ Unfortunately, this eliminates the opportunity for Malcolm to be our eyes and ears on Adventura, unless we can think of another plausible reason for him to be there.
Mal looked around the table. “They seem overly impressed by earning prestige. Perhaps we could propose the Adventurans help us in a way that builds prestige?”
RS:⌘ Continue….
“I don’t have any ideas right now, so any suggestions would be appreciated.”
The air on Romantica was crisp and clean, perfect for the militairres’ competition. The men who lived on Romantica had been employed overnight to help the women build a platform for visiting dignitaries, as well as several bleachers to accommodate a large crowd. Pairs of oversized platoon flags were created and nailed to poles, and flag bearers were selected to lead the militairres in a parade past the spectators and judges. Dame Erato had assembled a contingent of Romantican cooks to prepare refreshments. And, a group of musicians had agreed to play between contests. In all, the day of competition had taken on the spirit of a holiday.
In the hour following first light, Master Ryden Simmdry arrived to officiate, along with Deans Horatio Blastoe, Pru Tellerence, Zenith Fullova, and Chancellor of the Exchequer, Malcolm Trees. Furst and Dame Erato would be joining them on the platform. If Natalia Dalura hadn’t been needed to command a platoon, she would have had a place of honor on the platform as well. However, as an active militairre, her place was on the field, even if her talents and those of the other commanders were not being judged that day.
Before long, the stands filled up and a flourish of horns signaled the beginning of the event.
The militairres had gathered under the tent with the flaps down, however, when the horns sounded, two civilians opened the flaps and each platoon marched forward two-by-two. The militairres split right and left, circling the entire field and passing each other at the midpoint, which elicited positive comments from the crowd, who marveled at their ease of movement without sacrificing Romantican style.
Once they all reassembled at the starting point, curator Natalia Dalura addressed the crowd.
“Friends, neighbors, and distinguished guests. Today is a proud day in Romantican history. While we wish the circumstances that call for a fighting militia did not exist, we are more than ready to rise to the challenge. Today, we will demonstrate all that we have accomplished in a very short time.
“Our reason is twofold. Not only do we want to give you a chance to share in the joy of our accomplishments but also to bear witness as the top two contenders in each specialty are elevated to the rank of captain for that platoon.
“We are honored today to be joined by Master Ryden Simmdry.” Natalia went on to introduce the other deans from the College of Overseers and Furst.
“Now, I must take my place as commander of the hand combat unit so we can initiate our roll call.”
She walked over and stood between her platoon’s standard bearers. The crowd quieted. She nodded at Arraba.
“Archers. Roll call. Commander Arraba Jolen.” Each archer down the line called out militairre and added her full name after it. Weaponry went next, followed by stick fighting, and hand combat.
Immediately afterward, everyone except the archers marched off the field.
Nero 51 refused to wait any longer for Odyon. He’d had enough of the Romantican library. He entered the time machine and took hold of the crystals.
“It’s about time.” Odyon took shape right next to him.
The curator’s voice held fire and ice. “Have you been here the whole time?”
“No. I traveled as a beam of light through a windowpane and looked around the city of Roma. They have created a militia. A female fighting troop. They are busy competing against each other to prepare for your soldiers. If your troopers had been able to exit the library, they may have been able to take control of this city. I don’t believe you will come up against much resistance here that your soldiers cannot handle.
“I suggest we return to your library. Once again, I will turn into energy so I can merge with the pinp
oint you previously took us through. I believe it will take more than one trip to turn that tiny opening into a fully working portal. In the meantime, I will teach you the skills you’ll need to become a shapeshifter.”
Happy with Odyon’s explanation, Nero 51 thought about home as soon as the shapeshifter disappeared.
In the Juvenilia Town Square, the children sang, danced, and boasted about their team’s prowess on the Bullaroot field. In the center of the square, dozens of youngsters held the edge of a large trampoline-like net and bounced their friends into the air. Their squeals of delight were long and loud. But they were not unrivaled.
“Aaaeeeiiiyyy!” Not too far away, the youngsters who had been assigned cleanup duties panicked and bolted, not wanting to come face-to-face with a monster thought dead.
“Get the flamethrower,” Guffle yelled.
But Bungie didn’t budge. Instead, he appeared to be glued to the spot as he stared into the hollowed-out eyes of Mope 98.
The Terrorian said something unintelligible. Bungie remained paralyzed, his hand still held out flat like a sheet of paper.
Mope 98 turned and slowly moved away. He slipped into the water, and with what little strength he had remaining, propelled himself slowly to the center of the pond.
Guffle came running back with the flamethrower and lit the end.
Mope 98 pressed on his biometric band, releasing poison into his system. As he felt himself fading, he exhaled all his breath and sunk to the bottom of the pond.
Guffle and Bungie waited all night for the Terrorian to resurface, but he never did.
—LOI—
19
Jackson woke when he heard his bedroom door close. It was after two a.m. “Well, little brother, where have you been?”
“Having dinner with Brittany.”
