by Grant Fausey
“I’ll find Jake,” she told the machine, leaving the fighter to look after the Trods, Relix and Tee. There were living machines in every aspect of her life. They were symbionts in the truest sense of the word. She knew Brakka would return to her. The Firehawk was gone, destroyed in the harvesting of the past.
“Be ready when I call, old friend,” she persisted, determined not to undermine her own future, but rather maintain it. Crimson agreed with her. She knew her younger constituent would one day scream out of the sky on the wings of a Shadowrider, a lone warrior surging with adrenaline: master of her own universe. There was no choice but to wean herself of her companions, discard her own reality and possibly never see Commander Patton or Hudson Warner again. She would do whatever was necessary; even eliminate her beloved Indigo from history, if that was what was required of her. She had no choice. Whatever soulless venture lurked in the shadows of this alluring future, she would confront even the devil’s own blood; forge her own blade in the fires of Hell, if she had too. “How many times has it been now?” She asked herself. Her mind fluttered in the wake of the glittering brilliance of the convergence, illuminated in the aura of life. She was mere thought, purely energy: her image that of a beautiful young woman, a spiritual entity made of living light. Krydal stepped closer, heard the footsteps of another watching the past as the worlds converged around her. The future of her universe catching up to the future of her symbiont’s, each emerging in a cataclysm of events leading to a singularity of realities that not even she expected. Crimson’s eyes lit up with excitement. The screech of Brennan’s voice all too familiar, although she hadn’t heard it in an eternity.
“Jake––” she said in an afterthought. A glimmer of hope rattled her tempered old bones, a trickle of life flickering its way back into her heart as the sound of Brennan’s voice offered possibilities. “So this is the worlds beyond,” she said, her resilience echoing with the familiarity of her own thoughts. Her beloved was near; she could feel his presence. History was repeating itself, but in a slightly different way. Brennan took notice of the oddities, and was visibly distressed. His body and mind clearly experiencing both lives simultaneously. Memories collided in reference, his mind’s ability to decipher what exactly was happening to him on the verge of mental collapse. He was already dead in one universe, while in the other he now faced the probability of dying all over again.
“Clever those little nano-bastards, wouldn’t you say, Brennan?” asked the apparition, her image flickering within the electrical arcs of the convergence like some preverbal ghost. Brennan’s eyes went wide, his hands and knees scampering as he struggled not to piss his pants. His legs were gone, devoured by millions of microscopic miners attempting to reconstruct his body in the biomass at the heart of the abyss. It was the most satisfaction Crimson had felt in fifty-eight years. But it wasn’t real. It was only a premonition of things to come. She remembered the explosion of the Firehawk; the death of her crew, like it was yesterday. Yet, in one lifetime she had yet to explore the possibility. Indigo was once her host. Now, he was her adversary. If only she could get Brennan to admit what happened to Jake, everything would be perfect. She knew the question before she asked. Even the agenda was repeating itself!
“Awe,” she said with a smile. “That would be Malone and her cronies.” Crimson heard the footsteps of another, a member of the crew off the transport in orbit. The past had finally caught up to the future.
THIRTY-FIVE: Emergence
• • •
Krydal’s fighter shot from transit, a burning fireball of heated exhaust and scorched metal that erupted from the temporal vortex like volcanic rock, spewed from a pyroclastic cloud. Crimson adjusted the controls, banked the fighter dropping into the caldron of swirling clouds on a direct course to the mist line and the murky sunset. Her course was a direct route; she was on a collision course with the mountain fortress she referred to as the Mansion. Grathamar’s laboratory existed at the core of the temporal convergence. The experiment had already begun. The beauty of Myatek was being replaced with the desolate surface of Sodin. Only the flickering lights of the two-man transport stayed constant like an echo of the past. Dublex Bancore and his assistant, Travis Creed jetting along the banks of the Mannukan jungle, at high speed, their vehicle filled to the brim with supplies and excavation tools. Only this time, the two worlds were in metamorphosis, physically joined with one cosmos overlapping the other.
The Brakka Dragon Wing fighter was on descent, Bancore and Creed on approach, heading for the encampment on the other side of the mountain fortress, just beyond where Relix and Tee intersected Jerolda Manchi and his granddaughter. “Slow down, will you,” said Dublex Bancore, reminding Travis Creed he wanted to live. But Creed wasn’t interested; the faster he drove, the sooner he could pack up and get off-world. He no longer remembered why he volunteered for such a lousy expedition! Besides, he wasn’t in the mood to hear the professor’s bantering, and pushing the scientist into the pleated cushion seat was the highlight of his day.
“You’re here for the money,” said the professor. “Remember?”
They were both keeping a tight rein on the future, being corporate runners. “Awe shut up and hold on,” barked the archeologist. It was déjà vu. The truck bounced, sending a crate a half-meter into the air.
“Slow down, will you,” yelled Bancore, “before you get us both killed!”
“What the hell is that?” The vehicle roared to an abrupt halt. Travis Creed pointed to the edge of the forest, beyond the ruins. The shadowy impression of a mining rig slammed into the planet’s crust, deploying its linkage and triangular shaped supports to form the base of the structure in the ravine, its long metal fingers burrowing deep into the landscape like tentacles.
“Where did that thing come from?” The archeologist screamed, running headlong into a low hanging branch, damn near knocking him silly.
“You okay, professor?”
“Bloody Hell,” said the professor. “Where did that freak’n beam come from?”
“Beam…? What beam?”
“Believe me, its there!”
“Huh?” Travis backed up, jerked his hand away from the edge of the jungle. Bancore took a leap of faith. “You can’t be serious,” he whimpered. “You idiot! There’s no way to know what’s on the other side of that thing.”
“Aren’t you the tiniest bit curious?” echoed Bancore’s voice. He was somewhere on the other side of the portal.
“No!”
The professor extended a hand through the vortex, and his assistant abruptly found himself on the other side of the portal. “Professor?” Creed’s teeth were chattering. He had stepped across time and space in the span of a heartbeat with no recollection of the journey. Bancore was standing in the doorway of a dim, makeshift laboratory, at the far end of the room.
“Over here,” said Bancore. They were underground, not to far from the surface. “Watch out for the remains though. They’re a gooey mess! Decaying body parts I think.” Creed tripped over his own two feet, stepping over the residue of some failed experiment in the center of the floor. “Whatever it was it had happened recently,” said the professor.
“Ooh,” cringed Creed. It was like he had stepped over his own grave. The interior of the laboratory opened to into the inner workings of a much larger facility. The chamber was the size of a canyon, only much deeper. It was the archeological find of the century. The structure extended for as far as he could see, interwoven in vine like membranes that hinged on the floating biomass of an organism, the likes of which he remembered tale of, but had never seen before. The top of the chamber stretched above the biomass to a single light source at the top of the great machine.
“It’s some sort of mining operation,” said Creed. The rumble of machinery was louder, and more consistent. Rhythmic. As if it was alive. He could feel the vibrations. The professor gasped, he was holding the future in the palm of his hand.
“Wait professor!” Bancore skirted the ed
ge of a parapet a hundred meters or so, and stopped. They were deep inside the mountain fortress, where the giant mining rig punctured the catacombs.
“Where are you going?” asked Creed. There was a rolling thunder beneath his feet. Whatever was emerging from bowels of the operation was anyone’s guess. He knew of no truer balance than the realty of a life force drawn from the lifeblood of an inhuman soul. But it was a resounding horror that nearly consumed him. The shrill of a thousand composite alloy drills, delving into the depths of the planet’s core, the sound terrified him. He wondered what might be down there, held captive in the biomass. What could possibly thrive within the molten fabric of the mantle’s ore?
“They’re excavating the past,” surmised Bancore. “Erasing history itself.”
“Then I think it’s time we go, professor.” Creed was right, of course. But something moved across the gantry, climbing toward them out of the eerie thunder that resounded in unison like millions of insect wings beating together: The industrial burrowing machines.
“Can’t argue with that,” answered Bancore. A light flickered behind the scientist. A half dozen, or so smaller plasma conduits lit up inside the creature’s cellular membrane, transmitting a high-pitched tone.
“What is that thing…?” asked Creed. “Some kind of miner?”
Bancore felt a brush of air. The archeologist hit the catwalk a meter or two behind his assistant, covered his ears and screamed. His body tingled, rushing with adrenaline. Creed spun around to face him, and gasped.
“I know this place,” screamed Bancore. “We’ve been here before.” Something was not right. “Bugs … get them off of me!”
“I hate bugs,” said Creed. It was like something out of a bad dream; he was covered in a hoard of microscopic pests, each one hell-bent on his destruction.
“Run,” shouted Bancore with his last dying breath. “They’re everywhere!”
Creed stared at the professor, helpless to save him. He took a step back, turned to run away fearing the professor’s fate.. The timescape changed right in front of him, as it was swept away like dust in the wind. His face went white as a ghost, his stomach tight with nerves. The professor panicked.
“Oh, my God,” he shouted. “They’re erasing us from history.”
Travis Creed took another step, the fate of the world upon his shoulders, his body drawn to the rage of a forfeited life. There was obviously something they missed in both universes!
THIRTY-SIX: The Beast Within
• • •
Krydal Starr shuddered in the wake of the distortion, her heart pounding at the slightest noise. All that mattered was that she was alive. She remembered the exodus, experiencing the altercation to her existence, reliving her life in the waves of time, only to escape death at the last possible second. Now, she was on her own; exposed to whatever godforsaken thing the industrials had bestowed upon her! She felt the ground trembled beneath her feet, rolling with the force of an earthquake strong enough to make her seek shelter. Her exoskeleton armor kept her grounded among the other rubble rats, Gilmar lizards, even Baknar tree bugs, misguided as they were. There wasn’t a Mannuka in sight. No large dragon scaled hybrid transit hounds either; nothing to interfere with her mission. Whatever that was; she had to find a way to set the timeline straight and quickly; otherwise, it was all down hill.
“You still hanging out with these losers?” Echoed a voice from out of nowhere, abruptly. A laser bolt sizzled past Krydal’s head, striking the roof of the alcove above her head. She smiled, spinning around to face her attacker. “Seems a shame to have to shoot you again.” The tingle of excitement ran along her arm to her fist.
“Don’t do me any favors,” said the old woman. Indigo stepped out of the shadows of one future into the dim light of another.
“You used to be one of the good guys, remember?” whispered Crimson.
“Still am …” whispered the voice in the wind. “One of the best.”
A little smirk crossed the old woman’s face, pride swelling in her heart. She remembered her beloved as if it was yesterday. Facing off against him, two spirits in the prowl of the night. There was a click…the hum of a weapon being primed. Unfamiliarity. The moment of reunion drained from between them…deformed in the essence of their demeanor. Lost to the wailing thought of a memory. They were always together, host and symbiont. They were rivals, and the world belonged to neither of them.
“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” asked the wildcat. There was something different in the voice. It wasn’t Indigo. At least, not the Indigo she knew. The old woman turned around slowly, staring down the barrel of a smoldering gun. Obviously, the weapon wasn’t the cause of her smile. The gun was aimed at her head; a pale, aging face hidden behind the mark nine cannon she had pointed at her head.
“Oops,” said the runner. “Didn’t see that one coming did you, old woman?”
“Watch who you’re calling old!” rebutted Crimson. “I’m on the verge of slipping into something new and shinny.” The runner nosed around, centering on his opponent’s weathered eyeballs. “I heard you panting a mile away, Rex,” said the old woman. “It wouldn’t be the first time I let someone like you live, so I could get the drop on them.”
“Right,” said the runner. “Admit it, you’re just getting too old for this type of work. Indigo would be disappointed!” The runner shivered at the thought, excited by the prospect. “Don’t you think it’s about time you retire?”
Crimson admitted the idea did sound appealing, but in the end, she still had one more job to do. “Getting the drop on me isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be,” she told the hybrid. “Sometimes it’s just a maneuver to get the drop on the other guy.”
“Oops…” whispered the old woman; her gun pointed directly at the runner’s head. Krydal swiped the gun from Rex’s hand in one swift movement.
Impressive, he thought, even if he didn’t hear the click of the plasma round entering the chamber.
“It doesn’t have to end this way!” she told Rex. The weapon in her other hand pressed hard against the engineer’s wrinkled forehead! “Why don’t we just take a step back, and breathe for a moment before we do something rash?”
“What’s the point of that?” asked Rex.
The scoundrel locked eyes with the old warrior. There was something he wasn’t telling her; something she needed to know. “We’re all gonna die anyway!” he said finally, admitting there was a bit more on his mind than a trip down memory lane.
“The future isn’t what it used to be, you know?”
“Right,” said Crimson. “But then you’re already dead. Isn’t that right, Rex?”
“Well…. sort of, I guess. I’m sorry to say my clone is dead. I believe one should never send himself to his own execution. It’s bad for business.” The old woman looked around quickly. She heard the name, but couldn’t place the face. She wondered to whom he was talking. There was no one else there. A sudden rush of air ended the standoff: the rumble of powerful engines passed overhead. The Tigress was landing in the valley just beyond the mountaintop fortress and it was all about to happen again.
“Looks like there’s a change in your travel plans, huh Rex?”
The symbiont noted the probability of getting out of this alive. The runner bolted, moving with resilience on the run. Laser bolts exploded, sending a mountain of rocks across the chiseled columns of the foyer. Krydal’s armor shifted into combat mode, transforming her to near invisibility. She moved across the platform with the wind. Trinod Rex scrambled across the laboratory floor, dodging a multitude of scattered debris, only to have reality shift right in front of him as he reached for the door. The air swirled into darkness, shattering his perception. He put one hand on the doorframe, studied himself, while he crossed both time and space with the other to find himself once again in a three piece business suit, exiting a transport sphere.
“No!” he screamed, his eyes wide. He was on Trithen, at the spaceport opposite the great hall o
f the Assembly. High noon. The streets were filled with patrons, businessmen and women going about their daily lives as if nothing had happened at all. But the young scientist knew different, the shock on his face told a story. Again, he was about to die.
• • •
Indigo climbed over the remnants of Bancore’s body, hell bent on reaching the surface portal. A moment of silence fell over the complex, shifting energies where they radiated between the universes. There was nothing he could do to help the genetics engineer. What was left of Rex was neither man nor beast, but rather the columniation of living matter and biomass. He had gotten his just deserves, as far as she was concerned. Death by his own handiwork seemed appropriate, one universe devouring the other. What happened before was happening again, but this time only one universe would survive.
“Jake––” screamed Krydal. The corporate liaison stepped between the freighter pilot and his intended destination, both hands in the air in front of him.
“Wait––” she said grabbing at his arms fighting to pull him back from the edge. But the pilot was out of sync. His past still hadn’t caught up with her present. She remembered the ride, her fancy footwork to keep the pilot interested.
“Where did he go?” asked Jake. The pilot jetted past her to see Renniska Brennan vanish, and did a three-sixty, wanting answers. “Where’s Brennan?” he asked, again. “Where did he go?”
“It’s okay,” said the corporate liaison. “There’s nothing to worry about.” The pilot overreacted to her explanation. There was plenty to worry about. As far as he was concerned, the cute corporate liaison wasn’t worth the parchment her computerized map was imprinted on. The past flashed in Indigo’s mind, he remembered the incident in minuet detail. The present, the past, even the future coalescing into a single memory. He coexisted in a transverse universe, aware of being in more than one place at a time.
