by B. J. Keeton
“Yeah,” she said. “Thing’s got a grip, doesn't he?”
“He does,” Chuckie affirmed.
“So what now?” Saryn asked.
Ceril held tightly to Chuckie's legs. He wasn’t technically being held, so he could potentially let go and escape to rendezvous with Harlo and Swinton. He looked down, and they had climbed even higher into the air. “Chuckie, how are your legs?”
“Have to say they’ve been better, boss.”
“Sorry,” Ceril said, and he meant it. Sorry, yes, but not sorry enough to risk breaking half the bones in his body as he fell.
“You got a plan?” asked Saryn.
Ceril looked in the direction in which they were being flown. “Well, we're heading back to the mountains. I figure once there's ground close enough beneath me, I'll drop.”
“About time,” Chuckie said.
Ceril ignored him and continued. “Do you have a gun?”
Saryn shook her head.
“A weapon of any kind?”
Another negative.
“Okay, then,” Ceril said, “Chuckie will take his and shoot both of the angels out of the air, yours first and then his.”
“Angels?” Chuckie asked. “They're angels? What kind of angels kidnap people like this?”
“Who knows?” Ceril said. “We can figure out a name for them later. Anyway, are you good with the plan, Chuckie? I drop, you shoot Saryn’s angel, then yours?”
“Yeah. Sure am.”
“Are you?” he asked Saryn.
She said, “Chuckie, just make sure there’s ground close beneath me, okay?”
“You got it.”
The rest of their flight was spent in silence that was eventually broken by gunshots.
***
Swinton and Harlo ran as hard as they could, but they weren't fast enough to keep up with the flyers. Between the muddy ground and the tall grass, they stumbled along and were barely able to keep Ceril and the others in view as their captors flew them toward the mountains. Swinton and Harlo kept running, though. And despite not technically having any soldier training, Harlo had been a health nut most of her life, which let her keep up with Swinton fairly easily.
By the time the pair heard the gunshots, the mountains were towering in front of them. They both stopped in their tracks at the sound.
Harlo said, “Well, that can mean one of two things. They're either okay and working their way back to us. Or they’re not, and we have to keep going after them. I prefer the first scenario, but either way, I think we should head that direction. At least meet them in the middle.”
“Yeah,” Swinton said, “that sounds good. It’s probably going to be night soon, and we really shouldn't be out in the open after dark. At least we know the mountains have places we can hide and sleep. We should keep going.”
“Let’s just hope they don’t miss us on their way back through while we’re hiding and sleeping.”
“Can’t think like that, doc. Let’s go.”
By nightfall, they had heard no more gunshots, which was a good thing, but they had also not seen their teammates, which was bad. They had not been accosted by flying kidnappers anymore, either, so Harlo considered them to be ahead for the moment.
It wasn’t hard for them to find a decently covered spot where they could sleep for the night. When they stopped and decided to camp, Swinton looked at Harlo and said, “We'll find them tomorrow.”
She mumbled a vague response. If they're not dead already, she thought.
“It's probably not safe to have a fire tonight,” he told her.
“You're right. There's no telling what would find us in the dark if those things could find us during the day.”
“Well,” Swinton offered, “we were in the middle of a purple field. We kind of stuck out.”
“That we did,” Harlo said. She didn't feel like much conversation, but it seemed like he did.
“Where do you think they are?” Swinton asked. He tried not to shiver as he put his back to one of the outcropping's walls.
“Somewhere above us, that way” she said and pointed. “I'm pretty sure they're alive. They have to be. Roman and the others wouldn't have sent us somewhere so dangerous that we'd have been killed on our first day there. I mean, I know I've heard the Rites are tough, but that's a little insane.”
“I don’t think they really knew that much about this place,” Swinton said. “All they told me was that our Rites were about to begin and that Ceril was in charge.”
“Which makes me think they knew where they were sending us, Swinton,” she said, a little annoyed. “How could they send us out to be tested if they weren’t sure about the test?”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “But still. The way the portal went out like it did. And this attack? And no panel to reopen the portal? I have a bad feeling about this.”
Harlo did, too, but she didn't want to say it. That might make it real. “I get that, Swinton. I do. But right now, we're just going on conjecture, and that's not good for anyone. We’ll drive ourselves crazy with a night full of what-ifs. The best thing we can do right now is get whatever sleep we can and head in the direction we think they’re in when we wake up.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you're right.”
I certainly hope I am, at least, she thought. “Good night, Swinton,” she said.
They both pulled their folded, foil blankets from their satchels and cowered beneath them, unsure of what to expect from the alien night.
Chapter sixteen
“Can I help you, sir?” asked a cheerful young lady. She sat behind a crescent-shaped desk immediately inside the front entrance of Ennd's Academy, as she manipulated data on a hologram that floated just in front of her. She did not stop as she spoke.
Damien looked around him. He was alone, so she had to be speaking to him. He had hoped to avoid entanglements entirely, and he had not been aware that a school would have a receptionist in the foyer. It almost felt like a business rather than an educational facility. He thought back to his time at the school, trying to remember just how things had worked, but he stopped when he realized more than a few years had passed. Traditions had likely changed since then.
“Yes, my dear,” he said in his most grandfatherly tone. “My nephew attends the school, and I was hoping to surprise him. I missed his birthday and wanted to give him his present and maybe share a meal with him.”
The receptionist smiled. Her brown hair was cut in a bob that framed her face so that when she smiled—as she was paid to do—there was no visible cheek. Her face was all smile, all the time. “Of course, sir. What's your nephew's name? I'll be able to summon him to the front for you.”
Damn, Damien thought. He couldn't use Ceril. It would be obvious that he was lying if he did. What was that friend of his? Were they the same age? Would he even be here anymore? He couldn’t remember the boy’s name, but he had to give her a name.
“Sir?” she asked. Her voice was still cheerful, but it held a note of suspicion.
The old man just stood still. He didn't move. He knew he could use his old age as a crutch in situations like this, but he had to make sure it seemed real and not put-on.
“Sir?” she asked again. “Your nephew’s name?” She continued to work with the hologram while she waited.
Swarley! he thought. He shook his head, like he clearing his mind. “Sorry, what was that? Must've had one of my spells. Sometimes I just lose track of myself, young lady,” he said with a small chuckle.
“I asked your nephew's name. The one you came to see?” She was still suspicious.
“Oh, Swarley. Swarley Dann,” he said confidently. “I'm sorry about that. Must have been a little odd to see all my lights go dim for a moment there. At least they didn’t go out completely, right?”
She smiled more broadly now, a real smile. Or as real as hers ever was. “No, sir. Not at all. But I am afraid,” she continued “that Mr. Dann is unavailable right now. It is the end of the semester, and he is a
Phase III student preparing to leave the Academy soon. He’s testing, and I am not allowed to interrupt. His tests are on a rigid schedule.”
Well isn't that some timing, Damien thought to himself. “Oh,” he said out loud. “Well, can I wait for him? Will he be available at all?”
“Yes, sir. He should be finished in just a few hours.”
“That’s wonderful,” he said. “Is there somewhere I can wait for him?”
“Of course. Let me get you a visitor's pass.” Her hands twisted and shoved away some of the data she had been playing with, minimizing it. She turned in her chair, and another hologram floated above the desk to her left. She inspected its contents. “It will grant you access to all the public areas of the Academy. I'm afraid that I cannot allow you into any of the Phase areas; those are for students and faculty only.”
“I understand that,” Damien said, but he thought, If you only knew, girl, who I am. Who I was.
She continued, “There is a very nice observation deck and several botanical terraces available for public use. I will send a message for Mr. Dann telling him that you’re here. He should get it when he finishes his exams for the day.” Her hands started moving things around on her holoscreen. “May I have your hand, sir?”
“My hand?”
“Yes, sir. Our visitor's pass is a molecular stamp we place on the back of your left hand. There are sensors in place throughout the school that will restrict your movements based on its signature. If you move out of the designated public areas, security will be notified, and you will be detained and removed from campus. We take the security of our students very seriously. I hope you understand.”
Now it was the old man's turn to smile. “Of course I do, my dear. There's a reason my family chose to send Swarley to Ennd's over another school.”
She beamed. “We do what we can. Your hand, then?”
“Could you tell me how this stamp works, exactly? It’s been a while since I’ve been here, and I’m not sure if I’ve ever had this done.”
“It’s very simple,” said the receptionist. “I will inject a trace amount of nanomachines into the outermost layers of your skin. Those nanites will broadcast a unique identification signal that contains your access permissions to the sensors around campus. They go dormant once you leave the boundaries of the academy, and they should work their way entirely out of your system within a week.”
“And they’re safe?”
“Completely, sir.”
Let’s hope so, Damien thought. For both our sakes. He placed his left hand on the counter in front of her, and she pulled a slender object from her desk. He made a show of grimacing as she placed the flat surface on his hand. When she removed it, no evidence remained that she had ever touched it.
“That it?” he asked.
“That's it,” she said. “Mr. Dann will be informed of your arrival. I hope you two have a wonderful celebration and that you enjoy your afternoon at Ennd's. If I may suggest, I do love the botanical terrace on the seventh floor, sir. The flowers are absolutely perfect this time of year.”
He smiled at her and rubbed the back of his hand. “I'll certainly do that. Thank you. Have a good one, now.”
“You, too, sir,” she said and went back to her duties manipulating something on the floating hologram above her desk.
Damien walked past her desk and down a curved corridor that eventually led to an elevator. He found this walk appropriately confining, but dwelt most on how there was not a single door or window between the receptionist and the elevator. It was almost like he was being herded and shut in by the Charons who ran the place.
He was not paying attention when he reached the elevator, but the doors slid open for him automatically. As he entered the shining, metal chamber, he looked for a panel or input device to get to where he was going. Instead, he was greeted by a hollow—if affectedly polite—voice.
“Hello, visitor! Welcome to Ennd's Academy. Your visitor's pass allows you access to the botanical terraces on floors three, five, and seven. You may also visit the dining hall on floor three and the observation deck on floor eleven. Where may I direct you?”
Damien scowled. This was new. “Which floor is the Library on?”
“I am sorry, visitor,” the voice said. Damien thought he could hear actual apology in it. He hated technology so very much sometimes. “You are not authorized to visit the Library at this time. You have access to the botanical terraces on floors three, five, and seven. You may also visit the dining hall on floor three and the observation deck on floor eleven. Where may I direct you?”
The old man blinked. “Can you not even tell me which floor it's on?”
“I am sorry, visitor. That information is restricted due to your visitor's pass signature.”
The old man blinked. “Okay, no Library,” he said.
“No, visitor. I am sorry. You have access to the botanical terr—”
“I remember, thank you,” he snapped. “Take me to the botanical terrace on floor seven.” One was as good as another, and the girl out front had at least recommended that one.
“As you wish, visitor. I must say that you have made an excellent choice. The plants are flowering very well this year on floor seven. I am told that it certainly is a sight to see.”
Damien Vennar shuddered. He knew that he had no blood, that it had been replaced by an almost-living mass of machines that could adapt themselves to his mental command, but the idea of making small talk with a piece of software hit a little too close to why he left the order to begin with. That didn’t matter right now, though. He was playing the role of Swarley Dann's elderly uncle for the moment and not a disgruntled former Charon, so he put on a smile and responded to the disembodied elevator attendant.
“Thank you. I’ve heard that, too.”
The door behind him opened—the one opposite from where he entered the elevator—and the voice said, “We have reached the botanical terrace on floor seven, visitor. Please enjoy the rest of your time at Ennd's. Swarley Dann has been alerted to your presence and will join you as soon as he is able.”
Damien frowned and walked out of the elevator. He hoped he wouldn't hurt its feelings by not saying goodbye, but after a few hundred years of getting by with only the most essential technology, talking to an elevator about pretty flowers was not on his list of things to do before he died. The trip had also been extraordinarily quick; he had not even felt the elevator move. They had upgraded things more than a little since he left.
He heard the door shut behind him, but paid no attention. The foliage around him was mesmerizing. His retreat from the technomages had given him a much greater appreciation for the natural world, one he had tried to impart to Ceril over the years. He had kept the boy active in their garden, but he had also never allowed access to anything but the most necessary technology while the boy was at his house.
The receptionist and the elevator had both been correct: the seventh floor botanical terrace was breathtaking. In front of him, a tall retaining wall circled around the terrace and created a walkway between the various pods of plants. That wall was the only manmade object that Damien could see on the terrace. Each pod separated by the path contained a different type of flowering plant. To Damien’s direct left stood stumpy bushes with multicolored blooms along its surface. Some of the blooms were pastels, while others were bright primary colors. The contrast made him smile.
To his right, in the center of the terrace, was an extremely large, gnarled, purple tree, wrapped in vines. As he walked closer to it, blooms suddenly appeared on the vines. With every step he took, a new bloom appeared on the vines in front of him, and with every footfall, a new color. As he finally reached the pod’s retaining wall, he watched a rainbow of blossoms spring to life and spiral one by one up the length of the vines of the tree.
The plant looked familiar, but he knew that it wasn’t from Ternia. It was far too exotic, and its size was unnatural. Damien marveled at how brazen and crass someone would have to be
to try to enhance such natural perfection through genetic manipulation.
As he moved even closer, he leaned over the retaining wall toward the huge trunk, the rainbow flowers each became a sickly green color and grew larger to match the trunk of the tree. He didn’t like this tree, but he was enthralled by it.
With the exception of the tree, Damien liked what he saw. Another exotic plant a little way down path caught his attention, and he began to stroll around the terrace, eager to see what other floral delights the technomages had Conjured up since he had last been to the school.
***
“Gramps?”
Damien was stooping over the balcony edge. He enjoyed the view and the remarkably subtle fragrance all the flowers on the terrace created. He was contemplating how to mimic this paradise, when he heard the voice behind him.
“Gramps, is that you?” The voice was closer now.
Damien’s stomach sank.
Damien still leaned over the balcony railing. He was sure that it was Swarley behind him. He glanced up at the sun, and it had barely moved. Maybe an hour had passed, and he hadn’t even noticed. He was in a hurry, and he had stopped to literally smell the roses.
What the hell was wrong with him? Was he so far removed from who he had been?
Obviously.
Regardless, he had to do something—and fast—if he wanted to remain unnoticed by the higher-ups of the Academy. Swarley obviously recognized him. Despite feeling better than he had in years, Damien put on his best old man act and pushed himself slowly off the balcony's edge. He turned around to stand face to face with a black-haired young man with freckles and dark eyes (what an odd-looking boy, he thought). He stood a head taller than Damien and was thick all over his body, but not fat: well-muscled.
“What's that?” Damien said, as he turned. He lightly wiped his nose with his index finger and thumb.
Swarley eyed him carefully and said, “I was told that my uncle was here for a late birthday celebration. I had a message come through during my exams telling me that he would be on this terrace. My birthday just passed a few weeks ago, and I don’t have any uncles.”
