I would have expected Rax to comment on their strange behavior, but the crystal had fallen silent again.
A small part of me realized this was yet another manifestation of the knife. I wondered then if Sand had realized the full power of the blade. I was beginning to doubt it. This was much more than a knife. I had a distinct feeling that the weapon was in actuality an entity, a power that could take over its host.
In our dimension, warriors picked up and used swords. I was beginning to believe that in the other dimension, swords caused warriors to pick them up and then obey the swords’ directions. It was bass-ackwards, as some folks say.
Yet, if that was the case, the aliens from the other side had already made their invasion in the form of the knife. In some manner, Sand had kept it contained all these centuries. If I were right about this, why would the knife want to stop Beran from opening the portal?
At that point, I could hear silent laugher. I know that’s paradoxical, but there it was. I heard the laughter. It was mocking and arrogant—and it vanished almost as soon as I recognized it.
As I walked amidst the prone Tosks, I stopped, scanning them. I seemed to view them with new eyes, with new senses.
“You,” I said in a strange voice. I pointed the knife at the biggest Tosk.
He began to tremble more than the others.
“You are the leader,” I said.
The giant creature cringed.
“Stand,” I ordered.
With reluctance, the Tosk stood, keeping its wolfish head bowed in fear and submission to me.
“Pick up your weapon,” I said.
The creature seemed to fight the command. Finally, though, as if overcome by the knife’s will, the Tosk took up the carbine.
“Order the others to do likewise,” I said.
The chieftain delayed for too long. Before I could stop myself—or stop the command of the knife to my body—I stepped up to the chieftain and drove the knife into the creature’s chest.
It howled in despair as it shrank before me. Finally, a husk of itself, a skin-bag of bones and fur, it collapsed onto the floor.
I felt power flood into me. I also felt my will recede as the knife began to exert greater control over me.
“I am the One,” I said in a vibrating, commanding voice. “You are the Many. You will serve me, or I will feed off each of you as I’ve fed off your chieftain.”
The Tosks quailed in misery.
“Stand,” I said.
It seemed as if they tried, but they could not.
Something in me became enraged. I began to slaughter the fools, as they were unable to rise and defend themselves. I drank the essence of their spirits as I wielded the terrible knife from the other side of reality. The power or entity of the blade grew in me. I felt like a giant among pygmies.
I could have used the Tosks in slaying Beran, but they had resisted my will. They had resisted due to their love for Beran.
As I rose from the last husk of a Tosk, I frowned. The Tosks loved Beran? It was the love of a people for a good king. Why hadn’t I realized this before? No, no, no, my self told myself. That wasn’t right. It was the love of a dog for its master.
I grinned, nodding. I could well understand that. I would make the universe kneel in obedience to me. I would slay Beran, take care of Sand and wait for the Galactic Guard dreadnought to arrive in our Solar System. I would gain command of the mighty warship and use it as my focal point. I would soon rule the Galactic Guard and use their soldiers as my conqueror’s edge.
With a laugh, a mocking sound not unlike the silent laughter earlier, I strode to the floaters.
The small part of Logan the ex-Marine strove for control of my own body. I realized with sick loathing that the blade in my right hand controlled the physical part of me.
The knife’s name was…was…I couldn’t quite sense it.
I, or the knife, approached the floaters. Could it use one to fly down the correct tunnel to reach Beran?
The me—the Logan essence—played dumb. I didn’t have a clue as how to fly a floater.
The blade entity seemed to accept that. Using my eyes, it scanned the three tunnel entrances. Then, sensing Beran down the middle tunnel, the entity moved us toward our ultimate destiny.
-48-
The knife and I both learned something interesting. As I marched in darkness under the earth, the gross sense of power started trickling away. Maybe it was the freezing cold under here. Maybe it was the darkness and the fact that we stumbled along in confusion. Maybe the laws of this reality were different from that of home.
I shook my head, and I realized that the Logan part of me was slowly reasserting itself. This was the home reality, not the other place. The strength the knife had stolen from the Tosks seemed to be transitory. The knife entity had known that, it was simply surprised at the swiftness of the passage. It didn’t mean the knife lacked any of its unusual powers, just that it couldn’t suppress my essence as it could when it first fed off the essence of the Tosks.
I shook my head and realized I had a huge dilemma coming up. While the power drained faster than normal here—in our dimension—I sensed that the knife would have to dominate me only a few more times before it forever took control of the Logan part that remained. The trouble was that I didn’t know if that would happen after one more take-over, or if it might be three or some other number more.
That left me in a grave dilemma. Should I dare to use the knife again in order to stop Beran? If the knife took charge, wouldn’t it simply open the portal on its own and summon its terrible brothers to our reality?
I heard the silent mockery again. The knife realized that I needed its help. But the knife also needed me.
Wrong, the thing seemed to say. I can use whoever picks me up.
“Yeah?” I asked aloud. “And who’s going to pick you up if we’re buried deep under the ice and rocks in Antarctica?”
I could feel the knife entity thinking about that, working it over. Finally, it began making grandiose promises: You will rule as a god.
“That makes no sense,” I said. “I’ll be your puppet. Heck! I might not even be me anymore. The part of me that is Logan will disappear.”
No. You will remain as my tool.
“What?” I shouted.
That was incorrect. You will—
I scowled thunderously as I strove to ignore its words. I sensed its growing unease with me. I had a far stronger will than seemed natural to it. In the entity’s reality, creatures did not possess such willpower. It was having a difficult time understanding where I gained the ability to resist its mental domination.
It wasn’t easy, but the longer I wandered in the freezing darkness, the less I heard the whispering promises. Finally, the voice was gone, leaving me alone under the earth. Had the entity picked the right tunnel? I didn’t sense any warmth anywhere.
I took out Rax, fiddling with the metal sheathing. “Wake up, Rax,” I said. “I need some help here.”
There was nothing. The knife must be short-circuiting something in Rax. I wondered about the sentient crystal then. Could the Polarion that had long ago created the Starcore really have been the one to give the Rax crystals their intelligence? Had the original story I’d heard about the Rax System been wrong in that regard? Maybe Rax was more like the other-dimensional beings than he was like us, but softened in some manner by our dimensional reality.
I considered that and other things, becoming sleepy after a time, but doggedly continuing to trudge through the stygian underworld. I’d been down here far too long and must have already walked fifteen miles or more. Finally, though, I saw light flickering far ahead.
Hope surged anew. I increased my pace. It was then I discovered that the tunnel walls weren’t rocky here, they were steel or some other kind of metal. I had to be in an ancient tunnel system first created by the Polarions.
I shook my head as I realized that I’d followed the ancient way. Our galaxy’s super-beings had forge
d a path to a rip into a different reality. What had they been thinking? Had a sense of adventure driven them, or had they simply sought greater knowledge or power?
I shrugged. The reason didn’t matter. The truth was that a pygmy of an Earthling—good old me—was taking their terrible path to try to prevent their folly from entering our reality. I suppose the truth was that the greater the being, the greater his stupidity when it went bad.
A bad dog wasn’t nearly as deadly as a bad man. A bad dog could go around killing people, maybe racking up four or five kills before everyone was out hunting it down. A bad man, though, especially one who was charismatic, could end up killing millions by his evil. Mao, Stalin and Hitler proved that.
The Polarions were supposed to have been proto-gods. Thus, their turning bad could theoretically kill a galaxy.
“Rax,” I said, shaking the crystal. “Can’t you wake up?”
I waited, expecting him to say something. He didn’t. I’d put the knife in its scabbard when it had lost its hold over me. Now, I heard a distant sibilant whispering in my mind that was too low to make sense.
I readjusted the knife-belt. I told myself what a fool I’d been to leave all the beam carbines behind with the dead Tosks. I should have taken two carbines at least. I hadn’t, though. I had the other-dimensional knife, my wits and a growing determination to make Beran see reason.
I heard a whirring sound, and the brightness over there increased sharply. Had the Antaran turned on the chronowarp? Was I going to be close but too late?
A feeling of terrible urgency struck, awakening the knife’s whispery mocking laughter once again.
With a curse, I put my head down and broke into a tired, staggering sprint, hoping to get to the portal in time to stop a galaxy-wide disaster.
-49-
Interestingly enough, the light came from a parked floater. Like bright headlights, the floater’s various lamps were focused to light up a particular area.
The chamber I entered was vast. It felt like a cathedral, with arched ribbing almost higher than the lamplight could reach. Along the sides were banks of what I took to be ancient machinery. Some of the machines whirred. Some had lights that ran through various sequences. A few were screens, showing a bizarre world of seemingly spongy soil with occasional vents hissing heat waves. There were drifting fogs, some of them mere tendrils, and I saw grotesque shimmering metal stanchions or statues. By grotesque, I mean like the twisted metal statues I’d seen at our local university, forms without meaning made by people who seemed to despise the good old values.
Newer machines stood to the side of the vast chamber. Various beings studied the controls of that machine, adjusting, tapping and checking with each other while speaking softly. They were smaller versions of Beran. By that, I mean each was a little shorter than me, although each was skinny like the Antaran. They all had Beran’s long-faced features, all were male and each wore a metallic-seeming suit similar to Beran’s.
“Are they your sons?” I asked.
Beran stood before what seemed like a large square entrance in a wall. You could have driven a bulldozer through the opening. The square outline of it shimmered with pulsating power. The square itself was fuzzy like a bad TV connection. I had no doubt that was the Polarion Portal, which was much smaller than I’d anticipated, having expected something that would accommodate a spaceship.
I glanced around but couldn’t see a chronowarp anywhere. Maybe it was in an engine room or with whatever powered the portal.
At my question, Beran had turned toward me. The tall Antaran had the rod attached to his right thigh over his customary metallic uniform, but he also had a golden circuit around his head. I had no doubt that the golden circuit supplied him with extra power or abilities.
I did not see any Tosks in evidence.
The sons of Beran—if that’s what they were—looked up at me and then went back to work. None of them reached for a weapon. They were too intent upon their machine and its controls.
After giving me a flickering glance, Beran turned back to the square portal, considering it. Finally, he faced his team, and asked them a rapid-fire question.
“Several more minutes,” one of them said.
Beran nodded and fully faced me. “Did you bring the knife?” he asked.
I nodded woodenly. This wasn’t what I’d expected. Well, the machinery and the portal seemed right. The Antaran’s attitude toward me seemed way off.
“Bring it here,” Beran ordered.
I walked as if to my doom. I couldn’t summon up a positive attitude this time, as I didn’t see a way out of this. If I drew the otherworldly dagger, it might be the last thing I ever did as a free-will agent. If I didn’t use the knife, Beran would certainly open the portal and doom us all.
“I see,” Beran said, while studying me. “You are not attempting fakery at the moment. You are deeply troubled. You always were an open book to me.”
I couldn’t even drum up a snappy reply. I studied him, and was shocked to see something other than his usual arrogance. I might have detected…fear in his eyes.
That revived me some. I mentally picked up my pace. “Beran,” I said. “I told you the truth earlier.”
“As far as you understand the truth,” he said.
“Yeah. I guess that’s right. I don’t know why Sand would lie to me, though.”
“There are a multitude of reasons why he might,” Beran said. “You told me yourself that Sand is a Polarion construct.”
“So?”
“The construct could actually be protecting his masters, not attempting to thwart them as he seemed to have told you.”
“Okay,” I said. “Look. You seem…worried.”
Beran glanced at his team. Maybe they were clones instead of sons. Each of them seemed so…Beran-like. But if they were clones, why were they all considerably shorter than him?
I almost laughed aloud. The reason for that seemed obvious. They were shorter because he’d made them inferior. This Antaran dominie had a complex. Whether it was an inferiority complex or a superiority one, I couldn’t tell.
“I used the knife, Beran. I slew your Tosks with it.”
He shook his head as he detached the rod from his thigh. “You shouldn’t have told me. Now, I must enact a punishment for your bloodlust.”
“Why do you think I told you?”
He paused, cocking his head. “That is an excellent question. Why did you tell me?”
“Sand gave me the weapon to slay you. The construct has been protecting the Earth and the galaxy for a long, long time.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m supposed to slay you because you know too much about all this. I’m also supposed to do it in order to keep you from opening the portal.”
“I have detected stubborn resistance to the portal’s opening,” Beran said. “That must come from the Great Machine. Perhaps I must destroy it and Sand before I can proceed.”
I shook my head. “Don’t you understand? I’m here to stop that.”
A smirk stole over his features. “Just you?”
“No,” I said, while hitching up my parka. “I have this.” I indicated the sheathed knife.
“While I have this,” Beran said, raising the rod, “and this.” The blue nimbus force field switched on, surrounding his form. “If that proves inadequate,” he said as if from far away, “I also have them.”
Several of the clones raised beam pistols, although none as yet aimed them at me.
“To tell you the truth, Beran, I’d rather persuade you than attempt to fight you.”
“You are thereby showing a modicum of wisdom,” Beran said, “as you cannot defeat me. The problem with your tactic is that you will also prove unable to persuade me. My mind is made up, Logan, although perhaps there is some truth in what you say.”
“Then stop this madness,” I pleaded.
Beran shook his head. “I cannot stop. This is the end to a lengthy quest started decades ago. In fact, I
have worked a lifetime to reach this point. I understand more than you think. I know the Polarions made a grievous error. Nonetheless, I must test myself against them and learn their wisdom.”
“Their wisdom proved to be folly,” I said. “It led them to their doom. Do you want to go to your doom and prove that folly has guided you all this time?”
“Your question answers itself. I am Beran. I am supreme in this reality. Now, I will learn ancient Polarion wisdom and gain the power of that dimension.”
“The risks—”
“Are exactly what I crave,” Beran said, interrupting me. “Don’t you understand? I’m bored by our reality. That boredom has driven me to supreme daring. In fact, my daring is legendary. I am the one.”
The word “one” startled me, as that was what the knife had said about itself.
“Pride goes before a fall,” I quoted.
“Ambition is the mother of greatness,” he countered.
“Why won’t you listen to reason?”
Beran glanced at his team, pointing at them.
The clones of Beran began to work in earnest, tapping, studying and manipulating their controls.
Power glowed on the outline of the portal. The fuzziness of the insides began to shift and change. Slowly, I perceived another reality matching that shown on the screens. The portal was opening.
“No!” I shouted, gripping the knife’s handle. “I will not permit this.”
Beran whirled around and aimed the rod at me as a milky beam rayed from the weapon. I froze, unable to move, but able to breathe, see, smell and hear with perfect clarity.
At the same time, the portal became sharper.
“Logan, Logan,” Beran said. “I have a much greater understanding of what you’re carrying than you realize. I wanted you to bring the knife. In fact, I engineered the situation with Sand so the construct would feel compelled to give you the weapon.”
I stared at Beran, unable to even glare at him.
“Did you truly believe that your Guard ship’s approach would remain unknown to me?” Beran shook his head. “How simple and predictable you really are.”
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