by YS Pascal
As Zygfed’s soldiers, our duty was to make sure that wouldn’t happen. We gathered on the bridge again to strategize our next move.
“With a whole universe here to enjoy, why would Benedict want to go to another brane?” sighed Suthsi.
“What if,” I posited, “that brane, Brane 5, holds keys to knowledge and technology that Benedict could use to come back and undermine or overthrow the Omega Archon?”
Suthsi nodded. “I see your—his—point”
“Benedict and His Highness are at war,” Sestei reflected. “Perhaps he believes that he can also marshal allies from another brane.”
“Exactly,” said Matshi. “Otherwise the Omega Archon should be happy to be well rid of Benedict. Or any of, uh, them. The Andarts, I mean.”
“Interdimensional travel would violate one the most basic Zygfed commandments,” Suthsi continued. “Then why would His Highness have forbidden it if it was a good thing?”
“Because what’s good for the Omega Archon may not be the good for His subjects,” returned Eikhus, rolling his eyes.
Suthsi shivered and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Sacrilege?”
“No, Suthsi, pragmatism,” sighed Spud. “But no one can force you to eat the apple. It’s Benedict’s choice to leave this, this Garden—and his alone.”
“And it’s His Highness’ choice to fight to keep Benedict from achieving that goal,” added Eikhus. “With Zygint. With us.”
“So it’s a standoff,” Matshi announced. “And we’re right in the thick of it. Just the way I like it.”
Nephil Stratum chuckled. “Hardly an even match, Matshi. In any case,” she added. “I would like to think we were on the side of the angels. So, let’s go fight for our king.”
“We’re not exactly angels, present company excepted,” teased Eikhus. “More like minions for hire, really. But, yeah. I agree. It’s time we go to the source.”
“So where is Benedict reputed to be?” Pallas asked.
Nephil Stratum broke off another tuft and brought out the sparkling multihedron gem once again. When the sparkles dissolved, we saw another holo of Benedict, this time sitting at a desk facing … Fahrquardt.
“I know where he is!” I cried, “I’ve been there! HDfiftysomething.”
“And that is where exactly?” Eikhus asked.
“Contact metrics are coming up,” I said, running my fingers over nav holos. “It’s in Galaxy M82, only 2.6 hours away.”
Chapter 19
Lucifer
We agreed that Setsei and Suthsi would join Nephil Stratum and Eikhus back on the Nautilus. Matshi, Sarion, and the Megarans would stay with me and Spud and our prisoners on the Sportstar as we led the way towards the sibling galaxies of M81 and 82.
I decided to be proactive this time and I commed the Gliesers for travel authorization before we reached the Zygfed border at the edge of the Milky Way, so they wouldn’t think there was anything fishy (pun intended) about our quest. In fact, not only were they more supportive, but Captain Pesci even told us to comm him if we needed any help from his schools. I guess following procedures sometimes has its benefits. I should try it more often.
We had a relatively uneventful flight to M82. Eikhus’s ship was not as fast as the Sportstar, so it took us about three hours to arrive near HD5924. We warped down in invisible-ized mode, worried that our approach would otherwise be challenged by guard buoys or an E-shield.
But, it wasn’t. To our surprise, the gates of the spaceport below opened to welcome us. We paused just outside apogee to regroup, cryptocomming to each others’ ships via holos.
“This doesn’t smell right,” Matshi said, confirming my own suspicions.
“I agree,” Eikhus responded. “It could be a trap.”
“They probably are aware that we have Burr and the Ursans,” Spud assumed logically. “The minute we enter, they shall overwhelm us, rescue their people, and—”
“And bears,” Sarion inserted, earning Spud’s glare.
“You’re a genius!” I said to Sarion, earning everyone’s astonishment. I turned to Eikhus. “Have we been scanned?”
He checked his data. “Yes.”
“Okay,” I suggested, “how about if one ship does go in, Matshi driving, with Burr and the Ursans.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Suthsi said sarcastically. “Then we have to go rescue Matshi?”
“No,” I explained, “We’ll be supporting Matshi. Spud, me, and Pallas—disguised as Burr and the Ursans.”
Matshi grinned, and I saw a smile on Pallas’s face.
“You mean you’d Ergal your disguise to look like Burr and the Ursans?” Suthsi asked, confused.
Setsei frowned. “But wouldn’t they see that it’s just a disguise with their first NDNA scan?”
“Not if we mute into Burr and the Ursans down to our DNA,” I averred.
The Ytrans gasped. “You remember you just caught Hell for doing that. If the Omega Archon collars you this time …”
“Sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” I returned, seeing the looks on my cohorts’ faces. “This is Benedict we’re trying to stop.”
“She’s right,” Pallas said. “I’m in. I’ll be one of the Ursans.”
“I’ll pilot,” said Matshi.
I turned to Spud. “Do you want to go as Burr or an Ursan?”
He hesitated before answering. “No. I shall take my chances and go in as me. I am not willing to mute. Nor to face His Highness when the day is done.”
I was ready to try to convince him until our eyes met. I sighed and said, “Well, I hate to lose the intimidation factor that Matshi provides as our pilot, but how about you, Matshi, are you willing to be Burr or one of the bears?”
“Yes.” Matshi looked at Spud with obvious distaste and nodded. “I’ll take the risk. This is important.”
* * *
HD 5924—present day
Spud flew us in the Sportstar wordlessly. We had transferred the real Burr and the real Ursans over to Eikhus’s vessel under the Megarans’ guard. As soon as Pallas had returned, he, Matshi, and I had muted to look like our prisoners and so take their place. The tension was palpable and not just because we were entering Benedict’s lair. I took a walk on our bridge, trying to get comfortable in my hulking, furry body. I didn’t want Benedict’s men to identify me as an impostor with my first steps off our ship. Pallas seemed to be doing better as Plionarctos, barely stumbling as he got ready for the landing. Not much of a stretch from a bulky wrestler to a hulky bear, I thought, smiling.
I tried to slip Gary’s superErgal ring on “Agriarctos’s” fingers. Unfortunately, it didn’t even fit on my hefty pinky, so I reluctantly slipped it into a pocket of my tunic, where I could reach it quickly if needed.
Nav landed us gently in the spaceport hangar and, as soon as we opened our hatch, as expected, we were greeted by a contingent of armed Andarts.
At stun gunpoint, we were led from the hangar. We trudged down the drab corridor and into the tiny alcove for the requisite NDNA scan. Agriarctos, Agriarctos, I kept saying to myself this time, as the scanner baked my molecules, hoping that I would pass as the massive Ursan. To my relief, we all made it through the scan without being unmasked. The scan suite’s door opened to reveal the longer, equally gloomy hall, and we began our extended walk towards the massive central arena filled with spheres and domes that I had been dragged to a few days ago by Agriarct—me.
As the titanium portal opened, I put my paw up to shield my eyes from the blinding light. And—it wasn’t there! Instead, the vast space was dimly lit, and, almost empty. There were no strobing spheres to be seen in the atrium, and only three domes remained implanted on the cold, hard, floor. My jaw dropped.
“Where did all—?” I started before realizing that Agriarctos might know the answer. “Nothing,” I finished, as our escorts looked at me with curiosity.
We entered the domes through diffusion, as before. I took the l
ead through the membrane and hoped Matshi and Pallas would confidently follow. Spud reached out and, fascinated, palpated the dome wall for a few minutes before gliding through. Only one Andart entered with us, keeping his stun gun aimed at Spud.
To my dismay, the Andart led us to the office of our favorite Executive Coordinator of Strategic Initiatives and Outcomes Assessment. Fahrquardt, as pompous as ever, greeted us with a vicious grin.
“Number 4,” said the small man, puffing out his chest, to “Burr.” “I made it.”
Matshi glanced at me for help.
“Burr is not interested in playing childish competitive games with you, Fahrquardt,” I interjected. “We’re focused on our mission, and you should be, too.”
The chest un-puffed. Matshi’s—Burr’s--eyes twinkled.
“Good golly,” Fahrquardt said smoothly, though his irritation was visible, “I haven’t offered you seats.” He waved an arm as his office expanded with seats for all of us, including the Andart.
“Burr” held up a hand. “We’ve come to see Benedict,” he said brusquely.
Fahrquardt’s face fell. “So, the rumors are true.”
Matshi stayed silent.
“You’ve brought the Somalderis,” continued Fahrquardt. A red flush rose from his neck to his oily pate. “Fiddlesticks! I had so hoped I’d be the one!” He pulled a paperweight from his suit pocket and threw it at me and my fellow Ursan Plionarctos.
We ducked and the missile hit the Andart in the head, causing a large gash that sprayed bright orange. Fahrquardt spun on his heel and re-entered his office, slamming the door. I saw Spud’s eyes narrow, just as “Burr” grab grabbed me and whispered, “Where’s Benedict’s office?”
I shook my head and turned to the Andart who had staunched his blood with an orange-drenched corner of his sleeve. He pulled his gun back out from under his armpit and aimed it at Spud once again.
“Do care for your wound; I can handle the gun,” I urged, as Agriarctos. “I will not let the Zygan escape.” I handed him a clean scrap of cloth that I tore from the lining of my tunic.
The Andart nodded and took the swatch, handing me his weapon for safekeeping as he daubed his oozing wound. After subtly changing the setting to stun, I pointed it at Spud and added, to the Andart’s delight, “Please, lead the way. You deserve the honor.”
We followed the Andart along a maze of corridors until we reached another membrane. And stopped. This membrane was bright green—I knew I hadn’t seen it the last time I was here. The Andart placed his free hand on the barrier, which bent and flexed under the pressure of his moving fingers.
I discreetly gestured to our group to hang loose; the Andart should know how to “unlock the door”. Sure enough, after a few seconds of the digital dialing, the membrane turned yellow and the Andart diffused through it easily with us in tow.
I was awestruck. Instead of another banal office hallway, we were instantly enveloped by a cocoon of beauty: a clear, blue sky, green trees with brightly colored fruits and fragrant flowers, soft grass, and crisp, clean air. For a brief moment, I felt like I was back home on our farm. I closed my mouth and tried to act nonchalant. Having spent most of the past two years in the dusty desert of LA or the disheartening darkness of space, I was relishing experiencing a few moments in this paradise.
My companions seemed equally impressed. The Andart turned to us and, in both Zygan and Ursan, urged us to keep up. We jogged forward, energized by the splendor of our surroundings. A few hundred feet beyond our entrance, around the curve of a rolling hill, we saw a lovely cottage. Spud blinked, his own mouth agape—perhaps due to a flash of memory of England. We walked up a floral rimmed cobblestone path to the cottage door, which opened by itself as we arrived.
Cautious, but curious, we followed the Andart into a large foyer and saw another door to our right open automatically to reveal a medium-sized den. Within it, a roaring fireplace crackled an invitation. As we stepped in, I noted that the walls were paneled with dark cherry wood, and that an entire section of the room held shelves and shelves of multi-colored books, many of which were classics of Cosmic literature.
Sitting surrounded by this library, behind a semi-circle of holos at a polished cherry desk, was Benedict himself, in a gray suit and gold tie, looking much like we had seen him in Nephil Stratum’s sparkling gem back in Matshi’s kalyvi. Benedict was slightly stooped and slightly balding. As slim as Spud and, standing up straight, just about his height, I’d guess.
The Andart’s blood had seeped through the cloth pressed against his wound, and a few drops landed on the lush burgundy carpet by our feet. Noting the Andart’s misfortune, Benedict put his stylus down and looked up sharply over his reading glasses. I thought I saw something flash in his eyes for a fraction of a second. He glanced at us, then turned back to the Andart.
“You may go,” he said quietly, with a tone that made me shiver under my fur.
The Andart flushed, and ran out of the cottage in hyperdrive.
Benedict looked directly at us now and, in the same tone, instructed, "Please sit.”
We sat. I noted that Spud had been using the intervening time to sniff around the room a bit, pausing momentarily at tomes by Plato, Dante, Quinn, and C. S. Lewis. He took a leather chair by the fireplace where he could watch both Benedict and the door clearly. Burr/Matshi grabbed the chair closest to Benedict and sat on the edge of its seat as if ready to pounce. Plionarctos/Pallas and I settled in on the floor, our backs protected, resting against the paneled walls.
Benedict studied Spud for a few minutes, then said, with a puzzling trace of irony, “Escott, eh? So it is.”
Benedict then leaned back in his executive armchair and eyed Burr. Matshi returned the steady gaze.
“I never thought you’d be the one,” Benedict said. “But, nicely done.”
“Thank you. My pleasure,” Burr/Matshi said broadly, before glancing at me for a second with a silent question.
I looked away. Benedict seemed to be observing us as intently as Spud usually does on a chase, and I didn’t want to raise any suspicions. In any case, I was just as puzzled by Benedict’s praise as Matshi. What had he done so “nicely”?
Suddenly, the ground shifted under me and I was knocked hard against the wall. A very strong earthquake was causing the house to shudder for what seemed like an eternity. I was thrown back on the carpet and struggled to keep from sliding on the floor. The weight of an elephant compressed my chest and made me gasp for breath. The intensity of the trembling (beyond my own, of course) soon diminished, but I continued to feel a strong vibration under my legs and trunk. I caught the eyes of Plionarctos/Pallas, who seemed equally disheveled by the quake. Matshi and Spud had chair arms to hold on to and were faring a bit better.
Finally, the vibration lessened and I was able to return to my sitting position and face our host.
“I am sorry,” Benedict began again, “but launch is always a little rough.”
Launch? I nodded, trying not to look confused.
“Just the dome, or the entire planet?” Spud asked.
“Very good, Escott, but it’s really not a planet,” was the response. “Just a very, very large ship.”
Matshi and I looked at each other. Of course! HDWhatever-it-was was a huge ship, Benedict’s mobile base. And now, it was on the move.
Spud was making some calculations with his Ergal. “I would estimate that our eventual target is a gravitational singularity in the most distal octant of M81.”
“A bit more proximal, but yes,” Benedict said with a hint of a smile. “Octant 6.”
“Now I have a question,” Benedict continued pleasantly, maintaining his steady gaze at us. “Why have you allowed Escott here to keep his Ergal?”
Oops.
“Burr” jumped in, angry. “These Andarts, they are worthless!” He turned in my direction and gestured for me to take it from Spud. “You see, it is always up to us to protect you from the Zygans.”
I took the Ergal and slipped it into the pocket of my tunic, adding dramatically, “Vigilance is a virtue.”
To my surprise, Benedict laughed. “Always alliterating, are you?”
“What do you mean?” I said, nervous.
“Really, Rush,” he returned. “A good disguise demands more than a change in appearance. I have studied you all. Alliteration is one of your tells.”
Oh, God.
Benedict then looked at Burr. “You … must be Matshi.” He smiled. “Ulenem spoke very highly of you.”
Matshi gritted his teeth and said nothing.
I inched my fingers toward my Ergal.
“Don’t,” Benedict snarled, “bother. I disabled all your Ergals when you arrived. Gary always kept me well updated on your equipment upgrades.”
I was ready to say something, but Benedict raised a hand. His voice was cold. “I know. You have been …very lucky.” Disturbingly, his tone seemed to imply a conscious use of the past tense.
“May I have the ring?” Benedict added, in a tone that made his request sound very much like an order.
I didn’t bother with the, “What ring?” If Benedict wasn’t bluffing, then the ring was useless to us. If he was bluffing, I now had a momentary opportunity to try to take the advantage. I shrugged, and casually reached into the pocket where I had secreted Gary’s ring, and, with a warning glance at Spud and Pallas, used my claw to activate it.
Instantly—nothing happened. Gary’s superErgal was dead. Annoyed, I pulled it out of my tunic and laid it sharply on Benedict’s desk.
Benedict smiled, and picked up the ring, slipping it onto his hand. “Nice to have it back again,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”
