by PJ McDermott
A flicker of doubt crossed Vogel’s face.
The four soldiers seized the opportunity to flee the room.
Markhov spoke urgently. “Hickory, the sword! It’s our only chance.”
Vogel growled. He sprang forward, weapon in hand, and pointed it at the Teacher. “So, you desire the sword? You will not have it!”
Hickory leaped between them and swung her blade at the Bikashi. Vogel met it with equal force, and the sword shattered in her hand. Hickory gasped. When she’d fought Sequana, her own blade had remained whole, but the Pharlaxian hadn’t the strength of the Bikashi. She drew her dagger and lunged at Vogel. He weaved to one side, grasped her arm and sent her flying across the floor. Her head slammed into the wall, and she lay there, stunned.
“Thurle,” said the Teacher, “help her.”
The lieutenant hesitated. He stared first at Hickory, then the Teacher, and finally at the Bikashi. His face twisted with fear at what he saw. Vogel’s usually stolid face was set in a wild grin, his slit mouth curved almost to his ears, and his eyes reflected a mad light. He cackled, and it sounded like the braying of a yarrak. Thurle squealed and fell to the floor, then crawled across to Hickory. Muttering and mumbling incomprehensibly, he shook her shoulder, his eyes fixed on the Bikashi all the while.
“You dare defy me?” roared Vogel. He planted one foot in front of the other and leaned towards the Teacher.
“The world is in peril. I do not expect you to comprehend—I barely understand it myself—but the sword and I have some role to play in preventing this disaster. You must surrender it to me.”
Vogel laughed incredulously. He raised the sword and pointed it at the Teacher. “No, I will not give up my sword. It is mine by right.”
The Teacher advanced a few feet. “You found the sword lying in the mud where the Riv-Amok dropped it. You did nothing to earn it, but the sword used you to come to this place at this time. You must release it to me.” He reached out as if to take the blade and Vogel sprang back.
Kar moved his hand to the left, and the sword followed. He moved his hand to the right and the sword tracked the movement like a mesmerized snake.
Vogel grasped the hilt with both hands but could not control the weapon. “Is this some conjurer’s trick?” he growled, breathing heavily.
“Give the sword to me freely, and I promise I will help you leave Prosperine.”
“No!” Vogel wrenched the sword away, then yelled in pain as the hilt abruptly became too hot to hold.
The Teacher raised his hand, and the sword flew into his palm. The blade glowed and resonated, emitting a high-pitched note.
“Damn you,” said Vogel, wrapping his scorched hands in his armpits. What kind of being are you, that this weapon obeys your command?”
“As well ask what kind of weapon is this that exercises a free will,” said the Teacher. “Our futures are linked, that’s all you need know. Will you submit to my authority?”
Vogel’s eyes were wide, he cast his eyes around and picked up a sword lying on the floor where a soldier had dropped it. “One sword will be as good as another for you,” he said moving forward.
Thurle rose from the floor like a spirit rising from its grave. He picked up his sword and advanced silently towards the two protagonists. Closing in on Vogel, he thrust the blade into his back, forcing it inwards and upwards, and then pulling it out, bloodied and free.
A surprised look appeared on Vogel’s face, and he turned and smiled weakly at the naur. Thurle rammed the sword deeply into his gut and twisted.
Vogel’s eyes opened wide. He wrapped his hands around the traitor’s neck and squeezed. “I am not so easy to kill, kinslayer.”
Triple Alpha
Hickory pushed herself to her feet and staggered over to the two enemies. One look was sufficient. Thurle’s hand still gripped the hilt of the sword that protruded from Vogel’s heart. His eyes bulged, staring into the hellish grin of his opponent whose hands were locked around his throat. Hickory knelt on one knee and checked their pulses to make sure. “Both dead,” she said.
Markhov pulled himself to his feet. “We must hurry. There are fifteen minutes left on the clock. That’s ninety seconds within the machine. If there’s to be any chance we have to link now!” He stared at Kar-sèr-Sephiryth.
The Teacher held the sword with both hands in front of him and a pearl-white glow spread from the sword to enclose him.
“Kar, what’s happening?” Hickory could hardly speak. Fear and awe competed for dominance on her face.
“He’s going through some sort of transfiguration. The sword is changing him. He’s becoming something different…something more.” Markhov stared in fascination. “Teacher, Teacher! Can you hear me? The sword. We must take it to the machine.”
*
Kar-sèr-Sephiryth heard the sword whisper, and its words took root in his mind and grew. The sword sang to him of deeds past, both great and small; of the death of the traitor, Sequana, and of the will of Connat-sèra-Haagar, who remained true to herself until the end.
Many heroes had held the sword for a time since its birth in the forge of the Segniori, and the sword spoke with pride of them all. It murmured of political treachery and intrigue, of mystery, of light and darkness. It spoke of the Segniori and the utopia they had created, of the Braxit who foresaw the danger, of the Avrachi who built first the Arks and then molded the sword, and of the Cruvet who breathed life into it.
The sword spoke of Saarg, the greatest warrior of all, and of the Wargus who came from the stars to enslave the Segniori. It told of the last battle of the Segniori when Saarg and his soldiers overthrew the Wargus and cast them out, only to witness the inevitable slow death of his race.
And then the sword sang of the path of the Teacher, of his genetic links with the Cruvet. It told him about the expansion of Prosperine’s sun and its consequences, and Kar-sèr-Sephiryth realized that the professor was right. The Avanauri were regressing. Inevitably sliding towards barbarism. But every millennium, one like him would be born—a reversion to a branch of the Segniori. The last before him had been Connat.
The sword’s song became urgent, it’s message imperative. It needed his mobility, his strength. He felt it tremble in his hand. He and the sword must become as one. This was his destiny.
Hickory. You must take your father and leave this place. Go quickly. There are but a few minutes left before this world is destroyed. The Sword and I will do what must be done.
Hickory’s mind was in turmoil. She felt frightened and vulnerable, incapable of leaving this alien that she had come to love. Kar…
She felt the rough hands of Professor Markhov grasp her arms and drag her from the chamber. She fought to stay, but he was too strong for her. Hickory, my daughter. You must leave him. You cannot sacrifice yourself. You have friends, people who love you, depend on you. Come…
She struggled to be free, and then the Teacher spoke again. Do not be concerned, Hickory. My part in the story is almost at an end, but the story will continue, and you have a vital role to play. Be at peace and know I will be with you always.
Hickory slumped limply into the professor’s arms, and he carried her out of the Ark.
*
In the middle of the black room, the Teacher thrust the sword upwards, piercing the roof. Flashes of ultraviolet light sparked and crackled across the ceiling. The eruption of power increased in intensity, and the sword attracted it like a lightning rod. The bright luminescent wall rotated slowly at first, then grew in speed until the colors merged and white light filled the room. At the same time, a high-pitched whine increased in frequency until it became inaudible.
The Teacher’s last coherent thought, before the agony began, was that the sword could not defuse the bomb. But he felt no regret; he understood, at last, his purpose.
Bolts of energy surged through the sword and into the Teacher from a dozen places on the control panel. The spiritual essence of life in the Teacher and in the sword glowed incand
escently. The atomic structures of their entire beings came apart for a fraction of a second before they bonded in a new configuration, fused into a new being that knew instantly what was required. Gliding to the control panel, it brought the engines to life.
*
The rocket engines of the Ark erupted into flame and clouds of white smoke. The ship trembled as it separated from the seabed. The three-tiered spaceship emerged from the sea, trailing water and steam. It climbed into the sky and accelerated, gradually at first, then faster as it exited the atmosphere.
From the safety of the shuttle, Hickory, Jess and Gareth, Markhov and the Admiral watched until the craft became only a fiery streak. Hickory turned away, her tears blinding her. She couldn’t watch. The sword had proven to be the key, but not in the way they had surmised. A flash lit up the sky. She felt Gareth and Jess approach on either side and put their arms around her. She could hold her tears no longer. Her shoulders shook, and she hid her face in her hands. The Teacher was gone, unquestionably dead. She wondered, in the final moment before his life was extinguished, whether he felt any regret. She wiped the tears from her face and breathed in deeply. Kar had done what he had been born to do. There would have been no regrets.
She wondered about her future. Would she return to teaching at the Academy, or would she stay with the Corps? Whatever she chose to do, her life would never be the same again. She would do what she could to convince the Agency to find a solution to the problem of the Avanauri regression, but it wouldn’t surprise her if they tried to sweep it under the carpet. The IA would stoop to any level to ensure a continuous supply of crynidium.
She looked at the two men still watching the sky. Markhov now realized he was her father—a final gift from Kar. The other was her adoptive father. She hardly knew either. What were they staring at? Nothing could be left of the Ark.
“It can’t be!” Gareth’s face was flushed, and his eyes were full. He turned to Hickory. “Look, on the screen. The Ark is still there.”
Her heart felt like it would burst, such was the suddenness of the shift from despair to hope. She ran to Gareth’s side, followed by Jess, the admiral, and the professor.
“It’s still accelerating. The flash we saw must have been from the transition to near light speed. Zero point eight, now.”
“It’s heading for the sun,” said Gareth. “He’s going to crash the ship into the sun.”
Hickory felt the blood drain from her face. “Gareth, what’s the probable outcome of a PFB being detonated on the sun?”
They all looked at her, and Gareth turned to the screen, his fingers flying. “At that speed? I…I don’t know. The release of helium atoms would be enormous—”
Markhov broke in excitedly. “My God, it might be enough to create a helium flash.”
The admiral looked from one to the other. “Would someone explain in plain English?”
Markhov nodded to Gareth. “Go on, son. You spotted it first.”
Gareth swallowed, desperately trying to keep the smile off his face. “It’s due to something called the triple alpha process. If sufficient amounts of helium get dumped onto the sun’s core, it adds to the sun’s mass, causing it to heat up. If the core temperature rises sufficiently high, the helium nuclei will get enough kinetic energy to fuse together. In small stars like this one, the triple alpha process can initiate in a matter of minutes or hours. The reaction will quickly spread, and the sudden onset of helium core fusion is called the helium flash.”
“Gareth,” said Jess. “You’re being a nerd again. Get to the point, please.”
Gareth’s hands trembled. “Sorry. Getting a little overexcited here. The point is, this renewed helium burning can last hundreds of thousands of years.” He looked expectantly at Jess. “Mother! The helium burning causes the core to heat up, which causes the sun to shrink. Prosperine’s sun will become normal again for at least two hundred thousand years.”
Hickory turned to Markhov for confirmation.
“It’s true. Prosperine will become much more habitable. The Avanauri, the Erlachi, the primitives—all the different races will start to evolve normally.”
“And they’ll have a couple of hundred thousand years to plan their future survival,” said Jess, looking at her friend. “Do you think he knew?”
Hickory’s face shone. “I’m afraid we’ll have to wait for the answer to that question.”
The Teacher’s final words stirred in her.
Be at peace and know I will be with you always.
Dear Reader,
thank you for reading Prosperine. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it and I would be delighted if you were to spread the word and leave a review at your local online store.
PJ
About the Author
PJ McDermott lived in Scotland until he was twenty-five, working in factories, and on building sites, and earning pocket money as a performer on the folk club circuit and pub scene. As a mature-age student, he graduated with a Science degree from the University of Glasgow, met his future wife, and immigrated to Australia. He has two daughters and three seriously cheeky grandchildren.
More from PJ McDermott
Small Fish Big Fish: Coming of Age in Scotland.
The year is 1965. Sonny and Cher's I Got You Babe is number one on the charts; the first US combat troops have arrived in Vietnam, and American and Soviet astronauts are orbiting the Earth.
Seventeen-year-old Stephen McBride is struggling to find his place in this exciting world. Assailed by surging hormones, protective parents and imminent college exams, he's starting to question the existence of God and thinks some people are just plain evil.
Hope, loyalty, and courage are tested to the limit in this gripping psychological coming of age/murder mystery. Fans of Angel's Ashes, Jasper Jones, and Jimmy Barnes' Working Class Boy will love it.
Available in paperback, hardcover and eBook formats.
