Gradient

by Anders Cahill

  “Wait,” Saiara said. “All those things you told us, about being a baron and pauper. Were they true?”

  “Ah,” he said, chuckling. “There were days once, long ago, when such truths mattered to me. But the certainty of youth is a precious, fragile thing, and best you don’t trouble yourself with it. You’ll see.”

  “That’s not much of answer.”

  “I’m afraid not, lady Yta.” Mischief crinkled his eyes. “Now then, if you’ll pardon me, I must bid you both farewell. Tulburn Hall never sleeps, which is why it needs the great Baron Eyel Dunsemai to help it dream!” He raised his hand in the air with a flourish. “Are you coming, Cassiopeia?”

  “Not tonight, Eyel.”

  “Very well. Good night young travelers, and may the light of our fair suns always illumine your journey.” With that, he bounded up the steps of the amphitheater and disappeared into the night.

  “I must depart as well, Orenheliot,” said Cassiopeia after he was gone. She stood on her toes and kissed me on the cheek. “You did wonderfully, tonight,” she whispered. Then she tilted back to the flats of her feet, graceful as a dancer, and unclipped the necklace from behind her neck. She dangled the amulet towards me, and its cool blue color slowly faded to clear as it hung in the air.

  “I want you to have this,” Cassiopeia said.

  “I cannot-”

  “I insist,” she said. “It is my gift to you. You’ve earned it.”

  Before I could say otherwise, she took my hand and placed the amulet in it. It began to glow again, this time with a deep, bright purple, the color of orchids in bloom.

  “How does it do that?” I asked.

  “It is an aurastal. Another of Dunsemai’s creations. Its color reflects the state of whomever bears it. I do not know its inner workings, but I have found it to be a true and faithful mirror to my spirit.”

  “What does this color mean?” I said, holding up the purple amulet.

  “That the one you love most is near.” She looked at Saiara, who was watching us both with an incredulous expression. Cassiopeia smiled at her. “Keep this one close,” she said to her, patting my arm.

  I blushed.

  “Now, if you’ll both excuse me,” she said, bowing low. “It’s time I headed home. These performances do so drain my energy.”

  She turned and walked away.

  “Wait!” Saiara called.

  The actress stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

  “Dunsemai. Who is he, really? Why did he choose us for this?”

  “Who knows what makes beat the heart of Tulburn Hall?” she said. “Only the heart himself can answer that.” She raised her hand in the air. “Farewell, young ones, and do come back again!”

  “The heart?” I said, eyebrows raised in surprise.

  “Do you think…?” she replied, her eyes wide.

  “I saw him. In the simulation. He played the role of the eldest scholar of the people of Arculacthlon. He had access to their most ancient knowledge.”

  “That would be fine role for a heart to play, I think,” she said.

  We both stood in silence as night crept on, pondering Dunsemai’s true nature.

  “Whoever he is, I’m glad, at least, to know we did well.” I let the aurastal drop from my hand, dangling by its chain. It shone vibrant purple as I held it before my eyes, thinking on all that we’d just seen and done.

  “Oh, Orenheliot,” Saiara said in a breathy parody of Cassiopeia, leaning into me, stroking my arm like a fawning lover. “You did so wonderfully! Please take this gift. Oh, but you must. I do so insist!”

  I blushed again. “Well, you told me to follow my intuition!”

  She smirked.

  We both started laughing.

  “Take me home, Orenheliot,” she said, hooking her arm through mine. “You’re going to have to tell me everything.”

  11 Qualifiers

  A week after our mind-bending experience in Tulburn Hall, we joined thousands of others eager recruits for the academy’s qualifying orientation. On Forsara, in the womb of its ancient beauty, surrounded by so many peoples from across the galaxy, becoming a cadet in the Academy of the Fellowship felt like the pinnacle I had been climbing towards ever since I was a child. I was wet clay, ready for molding, dreaming of the day when I would be invited to take the oath of the covenant and become a fellow.

  Excitement and nervous energy filled the auditorium. There were countless rumors surrounding the qualifiers, but none of us knew for sure what we would face today. A man stepped up to the rostrum at the heart of the open-air auditorium. A heavy chain of circular, metallic rings hanging from his neck glinted in the evening sunlight. He stood, staring out at the assembled crowd, waiting, saying nothing. As more and more of us noticed his presence, the idle chatter fell silent, like a blanket falling over the gathering.

  When it was quiet enough for me to hear the breathing of those seated around me, the man nodded. “I am Calder Kol,” he said. “The academy’s pausha. Welcome. You all know why you are here, but you do not yet know for what. You will find out soon enough.

  “During the qualifiers today, each of you will face a challenge designed to test your character, your creativity, and your resilience. The path ahead will be perilous. If you succeed, you will gain admittance to the academy. If you do not, it merely means you have a different path to walk. Do not despair at that. Each of you has demonstrated great potential. You come to us with the accolades of paushas and dalas from across the Fellowship, and it may even be that your path leads back to the academy at some point in the future. Know that, whatever comes next, your service to the galaxy has not gone unnoticed.

  “For those of you who pledge the academy, you will no longer be just a citizen of the galaxy. You must prepare to become one of its humble stewards. You will learn what we have to teach you, and when you are ready, you will take the covenant. Then you will go where you are needed most.

  “This lineage of service stretches all the way back to the Scions of Eledar, the first peoples of Forsara who opened our way to the stars. Alone, each one of us is a mere spark of awareness in the vast darkness. Together we are the greatest star ever formed, burning eternal, spreading light to the furthest reaches, bringing hope to all humankind.”

  With that, he lifted his hands, palms up, towards the silver-purple sky. We all stood, raising our chest and eyes, lifting our voices as one to sing the wordless universal, the long tone that transcends all languages and serves as a symbol of our shared light. The sound was incredible, so many voices from all over the universe, ringing together; like nothing I’d ever heard before.

  When the moment passed, a great silence descended over the auditorium. I looked back down to the rostrum. Pausha Calder Kol was gone, and a small, orderly group of people was filing out into the center of the assembly, spreading out through the crowd. Each one of them wore a bronze pendant above their white robes, two rings interlocking, clasped above their hearts; the sigil of the Fellowship, worn in a way that marked them as our drumons. Our teachers.

  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could see that they were assigning people to groups. Eventually, one approached me. He had a kind face. Warm, brown eyes and caramel skin, weathered with age. His hair was cropped close to his head, graying at the temples.

  An orb the size of my fist floated in the air near his head. It looked like the disembodied eyeball of a large humanoid robot, with a lens embedded on the surface of the sphere. I glanced at it. The lens made a quiet whirring sound, and the blue light in its center dilated.

  The drumon touched my arm. “Greetings, Oren,” he said. “I am Vizia. This,” he pointed to the orb, “is Randall. You will be part of our cohort. Please join cluster seven.” He pointed towards a group of three other recruits standing towards the front. I nodded to Vizia, then made my way over to the group.

  When I saw her face, my heart leapt.

  Saiara.

  We smiled at each other, and she lowered her h
ead in a small, simple bow. I returned the gesture, resisting the urge to kiss her, here in front of everyone.

  “Ensign Siris,” a familiar voice said.

  I turned. Qurth Foli stood next to me. “It seems we have been brought together again,” he said. “A great fortune.”

  “Qurth! Eledar’s breath, my friend.” I grasped him by the shoulders, pulling him towards me for a big hug. He stiffened in my arms, and I remembered that the people of Arborea were uncomfortable with public displays of affection.

  “Sorry, Qurth,” I said, letting him go. “I forgot myself. It’s wonderful to see you.”

  He gave me an awkward pat on the arm. “I, too, am most excited see you, ensign Siris. To be here with you both brings me much joy.”

  “You all know each other?”

  Qurth turned to our fourth member. “Yes, ensign Doba,” he said. “The three of us served together on the voyager Transcendence.”

  The young man was thin, and his thick, scraggy tuft of dark hair and matching, bushy eyebrows made him look even thinner. “Transcendence,” he said. “That’s Darpausha’s command, right? She’s a legend.”

  “We’re lucky to have served with her,” I said. I held out my hand towards him. “Oren Siris. From the moon of Verygone.”

  He took my hand, and we touched fingers to wrist in the universal greeting. “Rowsemn Doba,” he said. “I’m from Cobalt Un Yor. Pleasure to meet you.”

  * * *

  “Come on then,” Viziadrumon said, his voice echoing around us. “Stop dawdling. It’s simple, really.”

  Vizia was not quite as kind as his face had first led me to believe. Before our qualifier began, other recruits in our larger cohort told us he was notorious for pushing students hard. In time, I would come to learn that few teachers could walk the line he did with such skill, driving you forward, pushing you past your limits, making you laugh the whole way. He was, in fact, one of the most beloved instructors in the academy. But at this particular moment, all we knew was that his judgment could make or break our chances at becoming cadets.

  He watched the four of us from his vantage point high above the simulated planet of Ourthian. At close orbit, the actual planet was located only twelve hundred and seven galactic minutes from Forsara. That proximity made it a convenient training ground. It had been so thoroughly studied and mapped that the simulated version was terribly accurate. Just as good as the real thing. Better, even.

  Because here, on the simulated Ourthian, Vizia could play god. The planet teetered right on the edge of that subtle line that spelled death for carbon-based life, and before we began, he told us he had developed twenty-nine different simulations based on its climate and geography. Each one was designed to make cadets intimately familiar with their own limitations, he said, and he was excited to share this one with us. On Forsara, the light of Appollion was cool and silver, but on Ourthian, it was piercing and hot. It was not impossible to survive on the planet, but it was a rugged, unforgiving place, and it never offered up its meager sustenance without extracting some blood tax in return.

  For this particular exercise, the four of us had been tasked with solving a puzzle: we had crash-landed inside of a canyon almost one hundred farfalls below sea level, and our oxygen was running out. We had to figure out how to convert the noxious ethanol and nitrates of the atmosphere into breathable air.

  If we managed that task, we then had to climb out from the canyon and make the crossing, on foot, from our downed recon dart to the research station on the southern shore of the nitrogen ocean. Our shipheart had been incapacitated in the simulated crash, and we were left to the mercy of our own meager intelligence and resources.

  It was not simple. Really.

  “The answer is there,” Vizia’s voice echoed again. “You’re running out of air.”

  “He’s enjoying this far too much,” I said.

  Rowsemn nodded. “The whole exercise would be much more authentic if we didn’t have him shouting down to us from above, like some sassy Ourthian deity.”

  Saiara snorted with laughter, but then she brought our focus back. “Gentlemen,” she said. “This simulation is as close to the real thing as it gets. We won’t actually die, of course, but we will get to feel our lungs wither if we don’t solve this problem. So please stop griping and help me.”

  “Ensign Yta is correct,” Qurth said. “Time is not ours to waste.”

  “Oren,” Saiara said. “When you were on the Arcturean moon, with Cere’s team, you breathed the air, right?”

  I nodded, unsure of where she was headed with this.

  “And yet here you are,” she said.

  “You’re right! It did not kill me. Are you-“

  “That’s right. Maybe you can climb out of this pit.”

  “Up to higher ground,” Qurth said, picking up the idea. “Where the air is not quite so fatally toxic.”

  “And then what?” Rowsemn said. “If you made it, you might be alive, but we would still be down here, minus one tank of oxygen, that much closer to failure.”

  “I could make the crossing to the research station and bring back help. You know how strong I am. In this lighter gravity, the passage would be even faster.”

  “But if you fail, it will be catastrophic and complete.”

  “Not if we three solve the puzzle of the air while ensign Siris is up above,” said Qurth.

  “Okay. So, now we can breathe. But Oren is up there, probably lost in a dust storm, with one tank of oxygen. We’ll have to go and rescue his sorrowful ass instead.”

  “The longer we debate, the less time we have,” I said, looking to Saiara.

  We sat in silence now, conserving our air, waiting for her to weigh in. Finally, she nodded. “I hear you, Rowsemn,” she said. “If we all stay here, sure, we have more oxygen, but if the extra time is still not enough to develop a breathing solution then we are definitively trapped. With Oren on advance, it gives us more options, at least. And, like he said, even if his oxygen runs out, maybe he can handle the air, at least for a short time.”

  “And you really think we can figure out our breathing problem with the time we’ll have left?”

  “I have an idea,” she said. “It will take all three of us working in unison, and even then, I am not sure.” She pointed at me. “He’s our contingency plan.”

  Rowsemn shook his head doubtfully, but he knew that he had been overruled. He gave up the debate, and he and Qurth got to work helping me into my exoskin. It would let me move quickly, even in the noxious atmosphere. But I gained speed and mobility at the sacrifice of capacity. The suit could only handle one tank of oxygen. Without the shipheart to modify the conversion filter, my air would not last long. Then I would be at the mercy of the atmosphere. A gamble. A big one.

  “He’s ready,” Rowsemn said, rapping his knuckles on the back of my helmet. A hollow thump resounded in my ears.

  “Good,” Saiara said, “we can’t waste any more time.” Her voice was distant and muffled. She looked at me. “Go, Oren.”

  I nodded and climbed into the airlock. Rowsemn sealed the doors. The air from the simulated alien world came rushing in.

  * * *

  I stood on the shores of the Ourthian ocean, looking out across the vast brown and green swirl of liquid, cresting and falling in strange, pointed waves. I wondered if the liquid nitrogen really flowed like that, or if my mind was playing more tricks. During my journey, as my oxygen slowly ran down, I’d discovered that the air of Ourthia had mild psychoactive qualities. I saw the sky melt into the soil, watched great figures move at the edge of my vision, and felt the ground stretched away from me, making every step a leap of faith. But I’d kept going, and my lungs had not failed me. Even though I was dizzy and disoriented, it emboldened me to know that I had not reached my limit yet.

  I turned and started towards the research station, stumbling a little. I instinctively stretched out my arms to help me balance and managed to keep my footing. I looked up and saw something c
oming towards me from the direction of the station. A shimmering figure. I squinted and waved my hands, trying to disperse the mirage, but it continued to flicker, just beyond my reach.

  Then, suddenly, the image resolved. It was not one figure, but two. Viziadrumon, with his familiar, Randall, scurrying along at his side.

  They were next to me. “That was a foolish risk,” Vizia said, hooking his arm under my shoulder to help me from falling.

  “I know,” I said leaning on him. “But they will be here soon, won’t they?”

  Randall chuckled, his small green head bobbing up and down. He was essentially a shipheart without a ship. A mobile intelligence that could interface with just about every system on Forsara. Right now, he was managing all of the parameters of the simulation, based on Vizia’s requests and specifications. Inside of the simulation, he appeared as this small humanoid with scaly, green skin.

  “What are you laughing at?” I said, grimacing at him.

  Randall looked up at me with his bright, golden eyes. His large, pointed ears wobbled on the side of his head. He didn’t say anything. He just grinned at me.

  I was going demand an answer, but as I took in air to speak, it made me cough instead. I covered my mouth with one hand, holding up an index finger with the other.

  Vizia patted me on the back. “You’re never going to win a jousting match with Randall, Oren, so don’t waste your breath.” He turned away from me. “Ah, look,” he pointed towards the horizon, “here they are now.”

  I followed his gesture with my eyes and saw three more figures, hazy with distance in the thick air. As they got closer, I could see that they weren’t wearing helmets. They walked strong, striding forward with purpose. They were breathing filtered air from this miserable planet!

  I laughed with pleasure and wonder at the sight, but it turned into another ragged cough, even worse than the last. I doubled over, holding my chest. My whole body felt as if it was being lanced with tiny needles. My chest was burning, and a sickening wheeze came with every breath.