The Rift Coda

by Amy S. Foster

  I grab my binoculars, as I suppose the others do as well, to get a better look at what’s going on. I expect a bunch of furry soldiers decked out in uniforms and practicing maneuvers. Once again, though, what I see is very different. Yes, there are Orsaline Citadels here, but there is a bustling market outside the giant wall. Normal citizens and families are walking in and out of the ornately carved gate. Farther off in the distance, I see the unmistakable green glow of a Rift. This is not a military instillation. This is a true compound. This is the epicenter of their lives, like a medieval fortress. My guess is that the base is the village, and the thousands of Orsalines who live here are connected to the altered Roones in a way that no other race is.

  I’m well aware that I don’t have to point this out. My fellow comrades have eyes. “We might as well go down and take a look, see if there’s anything that Sidra might be able to use,” I suggest. There is just the faintest rustle as the other three collect themselves and prepare to walk down the sharply inclined path to the stronghold.

  I take the lead while Levi holds up the rear with the Faida between us. As we descend, Orsalines begin to pass us. The four of us dance delicately away, making sure to remain unseen and holding our bodies precariously downwind so that, hopefully, they won’t sniff us out, either—though who knows if their sense of smell is as acute as that of actual bears. It’s not anything we read in the intel.

  When we get to the compound proper, it is a bustling place. Vendors, hawking their wares from shoddy wooden stalls, range from butchers to leather smiths and even yarn brokers, selling dyed bulky skeins on fat colorful cones. We enter the gates easily. There are no checkpoints and no security. The large courtyard is surrounded by squat buildings. Children (or cubs I guess?) run in and out of open doorways ducking under laundry lines hung from stone posts. They all live here together. In a fortress. It would be pretty hard to kidnap any of them without drawing attention certainly.

  “Stay here,” I whisper. “I’m going to go inside and check out one of these houses.” I nimbly creep ten feet ahead and slip inside an open door. There is a female Orsaline decked out in what may be a dress but could also just be a bunch of draped fabric under a leather apron. Bears in clothes. Jesus. It’s so weird. She is chopping meat with a giant cleaver on a large table. I look around the room. There is a fire, some fairly substantial wooden chairs, and a couple pallets for sleeping. I don’t even want to think about the bathroom situation here.

  There are a few small windows with warped and bubbled glass. What there is not is any kind of technology. I don’t see a TV, a radio, a phone, an oven (though I see a kind of giant black monstrosity that must be a stove). The Orsalines are barely out of the Dark Ages, which is probably exactly where the altered Roones want them.

  I walk out of the house and join the others. Before I can suggest that we make our way inside the actual Citadel facility, I hear a series of bells and chimes. The bells are coming from high atop several of the long, rectangular towers. The chimes are being hit by Orsalines wearing long robes, their claws lightly clanging on cymbals and gongs as they walk. Every Orsaline around me—the tiny cubs, the grizzled elderly, the round-shouldered females carrying buckets and baskets—get on their knees. As if that wasn’t bizarre enough, there is a faint whirring sound, like a clock unwinding. Each stone pillar has a panel that flips over to reveal a screen. All along the high wall, panels flip as well, revealing the same.

  And then, the monitors blip into life and an image of a Roone with her arms outstretched appears. She is gold—not golden or honey colored, but actually made of gold. I suppose it makes sense, gold is an ore. Her bald head shines, the light perfectly reflecting off it from different angles so it gives the appearance of a crown made of prisms and stars. She is dressed entirely in black, with a high-collared robe that’s wide and curved. It’s basically your average Disney villain attire. But I can see how the black would look more dramatic set against the gold as opposed to virginal white.

  Still, it’s basic.

  She is wearing a mask of benevolence and kindness, slowly craning her neck from one side to another, her mouth agape as if she is breathing in the love of her people and exhaling virtue and mercy in return. From my vantage, she’s about as believable as one of the bachelorettes playing the part of the Virgin Mary in community theater.

  “All hail to the gods of Roone,” the Orsalines begin to say in unison. Their paws reach up to the heaven beseeching, their furry bodies swaying to and fro. “We freely offer up our lives to you in return for your many blessings.”

  Seriously?

  I have seen many people at prayer, but this is different. This is primal ecstasy. These aren’t just people reciting an allegiance by rote and memory. These Orsalines believe they are in the presence of the divine. “We serve you, the makers of the world, willingly with all that we have, in blood and bone. Amen.” I think it’s amen. It could be hallelujah. It could be something else entirely. There is no direct translation.

  The bells and chimes ring once more, and the Orsalines rise and once again begin to go about their business.

  “We can’t leave without a full sweep, which means we need to get inside the main building,” Navaa’s voice faintly whispers in our ears. I look around and find a tiny alleyway that leads to a narrow strip between the buildings and the wall.

  “Follow me. Let’s hold hands and we can all walk together. It’s a straight shot to where I’m thinking.” At that, fingers grapple around my wrist until they find my own. It’s Arif. Once that’s done, I direct us all to this small, secluded space.

  “All right, if we do this, we’re going all in. That building is going to be packed with Orsalines and Roones, which means we can’t risk being separated,” I tell them all.

  “So what do you propose?” Navaa asks haughtily. “You told us these suits would ensure our ability to do that very thing.”

  “They can, we just need to adjust the strategy,” I tell her firmly. “Doe, program the sensuits to look like Orsaline Citadels.”

  Like rain on a chalked sidewalk, the sensuits dissolve and re-form around our bodies and over our faces.

  “Okay,” Levi says while checking out his newly padded arms and paws. Having the sensuits cover our faces is not ideal, but it’s not horrible. Not as horrible as having to be a bear. Of all the animals I could turn into . . . bears. I hate them. They serve no purpose other than to kill campers and terrify hikers.

  I do begin to notice little things. We aren’t all the same color for starters. Navaa is a deep chocolate brown, Levi is gray with flecks of ashy blond. Arif is sable black, and my fur is russet colored. We are all wearing a uniform (slate gray) and our triad patches are hunter green with the Orsaline letters (made of slanting lines and dashes) KDR. An acronym that most likely stands for Soldiers of God. Subtle.

  There are no female Citadels on this Earth, so I remind Navaa to walk heavy, heel to toe.

  “Not to sound racist, if that even applies here, but are we just assuming that all these bears kinda look alike and they won’t notice four strangers?” Levi questions.

  “Oh, I’m sure they can distinguish each other, if not by sight then scent . . . maybe. Smarter not to take any chances, which is why we should cover ourselves a little with dust and dirt,” I tell him as I bend down and begin to scratch away at the hard earth beneath us so I can get a few handfuls, sorry, pawfuls, and pat myself all over. Thankfully, even though I now have basically two oven mitts for hands, at least the Orsalines have thumbs, or more accurately, two bonus digits so we can hold on to something—like a gun. “There are six Rift sites here and I’m sure they get transferred from time to time. I don’t need to tell you all to just keep your eyes forward and walk like you belong. We’ll be fine, and if we aren’t, we run. At worst they’ll assume we’re maybe the one percent of Orsalines who don’t believe in this bullshit. They won’t know we’re humans. Or Faida.”

  “That’s fine, but”—Arif says as he begins to rub his b
ack on the dirty wall behind us—“we have no idea where to look once we’re inside. We cannot ask.”

  “No. But Doe can. Doe,” I say out loud, “hack into the altered Roones’ system. We’ll need directions and access once we get there.”

  I can see Navaa’s eyes roll just the tiniest bit even through the thick mass of her facial hair.

  “I believe you rely entirely too much on your jewelry, Ryn Whittaker,” she tells me disapprovingly. At that I just shrug, my large hairy shoulders lurching up and then back down again with about as much grace as you’d expect from an indifferent bear.

  “Walk straight into the main building,” Doe says through our earpieces. “There is a common room and then a hallway; go left there.”

  At that, our misfit team trods ahead. I concentrate on my gait, copying the others I see around me. There is a slight waddle to the way they walk, though their arms and legs are more proportionate than the bears on our Earth. Still, I move forward, trying to imagine a giant beach ball between my legs. Civilians nod at us as we pass, some even bow. I think the Citadels here have a pretty high opinion of themselves, so I don’t acknowledge any of this. Instead I wonder how it is that my life could have taken such a turn that I’ve become Winnie-the-Pooh with two guns strapped to my thighs.

  We pass other Citadel Orsalines who are standing sentry at the entry of the main building. There is a slight nod for these, my fellow soldiers, but no words. Thankfully, the Orsalines are not big on talking. Plenty more Citadels are inside, some standing guard, some training in one of two giant rings. I sneak a peek at their fighting up close. There is a lot of lunging and squeezing and roaring, as we figured. They are faster than I thought, though, and that is something to be wary of.

  When we get to the hallway, Doe instructs us to pass all the other doors and head to the very last one at the end. This is apparently where all the electronic signals are coming from. There is precious little in the way of security around here, no eye scans or elevators. No one, even in this section, is using any kind of electronics to monitor anything. What there is are two burly-looking Orsaline Citadels parked right in front of the door that we apparently need to get through.

  “Can you and Arif distract them?” I ask Levi. “Just long enough for us to take a look?”

  “Roger that,” he answers. Levi marches straight up to them and we follow, matching Levi’s short, but confident stride. “You two,” he half snarls in their direction. “There was a happening among the civilians. The captain asked for you specifically. Come with us, these other two will take your place.”

  Now, if this was any other Earth, I am sure something more detailed would have been required. “A happening” is a pretty lame way of describing much of anything, but there is not an Orsaline word for skirmish, incident, or unrest.

  Still, because the Orsalines are stupid and cannot imagine anything of real consequence occurring with their benevolent gods protecting them, the two follow Arif and Levi down the hallway without question.

  As soon as they disappear, I gently pull down on the handle of the door, fully expecting it to be locked. It’s not. Maybe it’s not such a surprise after all, considering that the altered Roones have this race so stymied that all they would need to do is say, “Don’t open this door unless it’s a total, absolute emergency,” and the Orsalines would obediently comply.

  I open the door just a fraction, wide enough so that both Navaa and I can get a look at what’s going on. Inside this room, the altered Roones are running the show like every other command center I’ve seen on various Citadel Earths so far. There are monitors, computers, keyboards. The altered Roones walk purposely around talking to one another or on their comm devices. There is a large monitor showing the actual Rift and the Orsalines scattered around it, waiting for activity. While I am sure the Roones send things through once in a while for the Orsalines to get some practice in, they run an entirely different kind of show here. The Orsalines are not elite. They don’t have to know strategy or stealthy tactics. They are buckshot from a sawed-off shotgun. They are useful for aiming and shooting, regardless of who or what they hit, but little else.

  I know this because there is not a single Orsaline in the room. This whole place is like Oz and the altered Roones keep themselves safely tucked away behind the curtain. I hear someone coming and quickly and quietly close the door. I turn, ready to fight, puffing out my barreled chest, but it is only Arif and Levi.

  “Let’s go,” Levi says hurriedly. “The other two went in search of their commander. They didn’t seem all that bothered that we go with them.”

  The four of us make our way quickly down the hallway and through the melee of the large entryway. We walk in two columns out the large doorway. Before we can make it down the stone steps, though, one of the Orsaline guards actually speaks to us.

  “I do not know you. Where did you come from?” the Citadel demands in a voice that is as booming as it is gravelly. Now they want to ask questions? Right when we’re about to get out of here? Typical. I say nothing, as I am a female and there’s no way I could even remotely sound like one of them.

  “We just arrived. From the Sand Rift,” Levi responds accordingly.

  The Orsaline eyes us up and down. I’m sure he senses there is something not quite right about us, but he could never imagine what we are or that we—even as actual Orsalines—would have the balls to impersonate Citadels. He gives us a kind of head check, a thrust that must mean we are free to go about our business.

  Without another word, we make our way quickly through the gate and to the path. From there, we get just far enough away to open a small Rift. We cuff back to ourselves before jumping into the onyx ocean of the Multiverse. We’ve learned what we needed to here.

  None of it looks good for us.

  Chapter 15

  We waste no time calling a war council when we return to the Faida Earth. I can’t help but touch my arms and run my palms down my thighs, thrilled with their hairlessness and the lack of padded bulk. For a few moments, we sit around the table in silence, fiddling with tablets and keeping our looks to objects as opposed to each other. No one wants to say what we all know to be true out loud. No one wants to name it and give it so much power.

  Finally, the tension gets to me and I speak up. “Look,” I tell the room solemnly. “It wasn’t a terrible idea. We were just doing due diligence. We knew—”

  “No,” Navaa snaps. “We thought. We did not know, not entirely until today. Bright Heavens, they have them all.” I know that Navaa isn’t just thinking of the Orsalines, but the Spiradael and the lost Daithi, not to mention the Settiku Hesh.

  “There was a chance,” I counter. “If there had been some Orsalines in that control room, we could have followed through on Sidra’s plan. How could we have known that they wouldn’t trust a single one of them with even a version of the truth?”

  “It would take weeks, if not months, to create an Orsaline cell. First we’d have to explain what a cell is. Then we’d have to help them understand basic physics. Then we’d have to prove that the altered Roones are not gods and at this point”—Navaa places a palm lightly on her forehead—“I’m not even totally convinced they aren’t considering what they’ve accomplished.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say firmly, planting both elbows on the table. “It’s settled. The Orsalines and Daithi are out. We have to go to the Akshaji. Immediately. We have the recon. We’ve done the research. I say we leave tomorrow.”

  “Agreed,” Levi announces. “The longer we wait, the greater the risk of exposure. Right now, the one thing we have going for us is that the altered Roones don’t know we’re working together. We think we’re screwed now, but if they find that out, it really is over.”

  “Can I just say something?” Ezra asks the room. “I know you all have a plan for Battle Ground and the other Rifts and it’s a good one, but it’s going to take time. We might not have enough of it. The altered Roones chose your planet because they knew that the
y could count on the world’s governments to keep the Rifts a secret. Right? So what if we took that advantage away from them? What if we exposed them?”

  “Like,” Levi begins with disdain, “put out a press release or something?”

  “Well,” Ezra runs a hand through his thick, brown hair, “yeah, I suppose that would work. We have the proof. It’s not like we couldn’t back up our claims.”

  More silence. More hangnail picking and side-eyeing at the conference table. “It’s not a terrible idea,” I offer congenially. I’m lying, though. It’s the dumbest plan ever. “But we can’t do that,” I tell him without even the barest hint of condescension. Regardless of what I think of the idea, it’s imperative, at all times that the humans show a united front. “It would be anarchy. Chaos. We may or may not help our cause, but it would force an international crisis and lives would be lost. Most of them civilian.”

  “And you don’t think that every human life is already in danger on your planet? After the Daithi . . .” Ezra’s voice trails off.

  “They killed the Daithi Citadels and the Faida spies,” I tell him resolutely. “They might be terrorizing the public at large, but they didn’t murder the villagers. If we leaked this story, we would lose control of it the second it came out. God knows the kind of havoc they could unleash into a population of confused humans. Right now, we stay the course. Henry’s plan is working. We don’t have a lot of time, you’re right about that. But chaos isn’t the right response to urgency. We just have to hope time doesn’t run out.”

  Ezra throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay,” he tells the room. His plan is logical . . . if there was no such thing as Rifts or Citadels.

  “I know where your head’s at Ezra,” I say in empathy. “You’ve handled this situation remarkably well, but think about it: you’re a genius, and your genius centers around accepting that scientific anomalies are possible. Not every human is built for understanding this situation.”