A Shrouded World 7

by Mark Tufo

  Mike and I are positioned away from the wall so we can get good angles down the passage. Huffing and puffing, BT finally emerges. The moment he clears it and stumbles next to Trip, the tunnel vanishes, the wall again becoming solid. I rise to walk toward the middle, the tunnel again forming. Taking a step back, it disappears. Apparently, even we have some impact on the points, but perhaps not to the extent that Trip does.

  I get back into position, anticipating the reformation of the passage when the whistlers draw close enough. After several minutes pass, long enough for the whistlers to have closed the distance, I look over to Mike. He shrugs; he doesn’t know why the entryway hasn’t reformed either.

  Now that leaves us with a dilemma. Should we trust that they can’t enter the main compound and leave the entrance uncovered, or should we remain here? One of us won’t be able to hold off the whistlers, and we can’t very well let Trip and BT explore the interior alone. God knows where Trip will end up or what he’ll do, and BT won’t be able to defend him should something or someone threaten. If we lose the crazy man, we’d be screwed and possibly stuck here forever.

  “What do you think?” Mike asks several minutes later.

  “If it was going to materialize,” I say, referring to the tunnel, “it should have done so already. I say we risk it.”

  “I agree,” Mike responds.

  Rising, we turn toward the interior. The tall crystal pillars are evenly spaced around the perimeter, one at each corner with two additional ones on each side. The beams they emit, angling up to meet in the middle, make a very faint high-pitched keening. The sound is a muffled version of a finger running around the wet rim of a crystal glass.

  The patterns of light running through the clear platform change directions as they head for one pillar or another, their light amplified at the base and then shoot upward through the middle as if refracted then refocused. Standing in the center of the interior, directly under where the beams meet overhead, is a tall, square, marbled structure. Fluted columns hold an overhang above gold double entry doors. The more I see of the place, the more I become convinced the descriptions of Heaven are of this place, someone either shown a vision or somehow transported here. The only thing missing are angels plucking harps and floating around on clouds. Well, and the strangely-shaped creatures sometimes described to inhabit heaven. Perhaps those await us inside.

  No matter what we find inside, we’ll still have to contend with the whistlers to get out of here as the portals seem to open at the edge of the platform. That means having to run the gauntlet in order to leave. I’m sure they’re not going to just snap their fingers and say they gave it their best shot. They’ll wait around for us to leave. But, that’s something to worry about later.

  As we walk past the crystal columns, there aren’t any more of the pulsing lights. The entire way to the building is now clear space. The beams had provided a semblance of perspective. Without them, it’s more disorienting—like walking on air—and I don’t have an idea of where each step will come down. We walk across the open area like a bunch of drunks, lurching forward as some of our steps come up short. And then there are times when we expect the floor to be further away and the jarring sends us stumbling. It honestly looks like we’re part of the Ministry of Silly Walks. Only Trip seems unaffected as he strolls along perfectly normally, whistling and trailing clouds of smoke.

  As we draw closer to the entryway, the bottom of the building offers a perspective that was lacking and our steps smooth out. Nearing, the golden doors swing open of their own accord. I’m not able to see the interior due to a translucent wall looking much like a wall of glass bricks or thick bathroom windows. Everything behind is blurred to the point that I can’t make out what may be beyond.

  Mike and I pause in front. To step into the unknown isn’t really a question; what to do with Trip is the reason for the hesitation. Should we leave him outside as we scout the interior, possibly leaving him at the mercy of the whistlers, should the tunnel again appear with our leaving the courtyard? Or would it be a greater risk with him proceeding with us? With the Overseers controlling the worlds, there’s a good chance of them being inside. To me, the odds seem about even. No one appeared when we entered this control point. It could be that there’s not a warning issued when someone opens or enters a portal.

  Mike and I discuss it and come to the conclusion that the whistlers are a known threat. The tunnel could open and the creatures be on Trip in a matter of moments while we’re clearing the interior. Mike and I step through first with BT and Trip following. As we pass through the glass opening, I expect to feel a hint of cold or some kind of change, but it’s like it isn’t there. One moment, there’s a huge blur and the next, the interior takes on definition.

  One of the things I notice first is that the floor is see-through, like the platform outside the building. Overhead is open to the heavens, the bands of light from the pillars streaming across to meet in the middle. In the center is a concave table, similar to the one at the waypoint. Instead of a hologram hovering above the table, there’s some kind of artifact floating, slowly rotating inside a field of white light. The tabletop is brightly lit and there’s an Overseer leaning over it with its hands grasping he edges, staring down at whatever is displayed on its surface. Two others are poised near control panels with screens positioned above each one. As we enter, three Overseer heads swivel in our direction.

  Several things happen at once. Trip immediately falls to the ground, passing out. Soft snores come from his collapsed body. Mike and I both raise our carbines, and the room comes alive from the sound of our single shots. The creatures extend their arms as bullets smack into their heads. The two at the panels are stilled as bullets hit the exact spots that can stun them. As I move my barrel toward the third, near the table in the middle, agony strikes inside my head.

  The pain is so intense that I can’t do anything but squeeze my eyes closed, feeling like my skull is about to explode from the pressure. Blood should be pouring from my eyes, ears, and sinuses, and there’s nothing but a searing field of white in my mind. Through it all, I feel my carbine tug against its lanyard as it falls from hands.

  Going to my knees, I grasp my head as if that will hold it together. I’m vaguely aware of another pull at my belt, unsure what additional measures the non-stunned Overseer is taking. With the intense agony, I barely hear a series of cracking sounds. I think it’s my braincase breaking from the pressure. I fall forward on my face as the pain suddenly vanishes.

  Looking up, I see BT holding my sidearm, which is quivering in his shaking hand. Turning, I see the Overseer in the middle, stunned and not moving. The others are beginning to stir, and I grab for my carbine. Aiming, I place another round on one’s forehead, the creature’s movement stills. Mike adds another shot to the one next to it. BT turns and offers me the handgun.

  “No, you keep that. Nicely done,” I state, the memory of the pain still with me. “Were you not affected?”

  “With what? I saw you and Mike drop to your knees and grab your heads. The one in the middle had a beam of light on you two, so I took your pistol and shot him,” BT replies.

  “It’s not a pistol, but again, good job,” I say.

  “I guess they didn’t see him as a threat,” Mike adds.

  Trip is still curled up on the floor, snoring softly. The field holding whatever was floating over the table is gone, the relic now sitting at the bottom of the bowl. With Mike and BT covering the Overseers, I rush quickly to the creatures and move them so they’re side by side.

  “If they move, hit them in the head right here,” I tell BT, pointing. “Don’t fire. A ricochet is likely to hit us. Just smack them really hard.”

  This is my chance to closely examine the Overseers and try to come up with a way to deal with them on a more permanent basis. Clad entirely in black, each one is about eight or nine feet tall, facial features seeming too small for their thin heads—the ears, eyes, nose, and mouth all seem many sizes too smal
l. There isn’t a touch of visible hair anywhere on them. I ask Mike to come over and keep an aim on one as I lower it to the floor. The Overseer is rigid in its stunned condition, so it mostly falls over like a tall fence post. We lower the other two as well; that will make it easier to keep them stunned.

  BT leans over and gives the two Overseers solid thumps when they twitch. They both fold back into stillness. It would be easy to set up angles and just fire when they moved, but I’m worried about two things. The first is that any ricochet might damage the equipment in the room, and the second is for ammo conservation. We have the whistlers outside to deal with, so we can’t empty what we have on these three. I remember Mike saying Trip told him that they couldn’t be shot, but that they weren’t immortal either. So, there has to be a way to take them out.

  I peel back the black clothing, which is really more of a long robe. The skin is smooth without a trace of hair. There aren’t any nipples or belly button, and the creature seems asexual; there aren’t organs like we humans have. There’s no external orifice at all which, to me, means they don’t eat or drink in the manner we do. That also means that their internal structure must be completely different as well. If they don’t eat or drink, which is only an assumption, then why do they have mouths? I haven’t heard any of them I’ve encountered utter a single sound. Seeing the sensory organs are small in perspective to their head size, perhaps something left over as their species progressed? Or maybe they serve some other purpose. None of them shows signs of breathing, no rise or fall of its chest.

  I poke and prod with the dull bayonet, but can’t penetrate their skin no matter how hard I press. The skin bends inward when I press, but it doesn’t break or scratch. There’s no mark when I pull the blade away. I try the eye sockets and ears with the same results. It’s a little odd to have the Overseer’s eyes follow me as I conduct the examination. It’s stunned, but the eyes are very active. I would expect to see anger or hatred in them, but it appears to be merely curious.

  That expression changes as I pry its lips apart and poke the end of the bayonet into its mouth. I notice it and poke the tongue lolling near the back of its throat. Even though the blade was dulled by our excavation, it still slices through the tender skin. A thin stream of light leaks out, looking like mist.

  Now, that’s intriguing, I think, rising.

  Mike thumps the Overseer hard with the butt of his carbine when it twitches, followed by two more hard smacks from behind as BT keeps the others stunned. I take my carbine and place the barrel between the Overseer’s lips.

  “What are you doing?” Mike asks, taking a step back.

  “Testing something,” I answer.

  “You know that bullet has to go somewhere, right?! I mean, if it comes bouncing back out, you could shoot your eye out,” Mike says. “Or mine.”

  “I’m not Ralphie,” I reply. “But yeah, you might want to take another step back.”

  Angling the barrel and wincing as I squeeze the trigger, I fire. A spray of that misting light streams out of the Overseer’s mouth and nose. Thankfully, the round doesn’t exit and carom around the room. Instead, I see bumps rise and fall in rapid succession up and down its body, the bullet apparently ricocheting inside the Overseer. The foggy light pours out from the mouth and nose, and the eyes go opaque. The floor flashes white and the Overseer vanishes.

  “Fuck me!” Mike exclaims, jumping back from the flash.

  “I guess that answers the question of how to take care of them. We have to shoot them in the mouth,” I say.

  “That’s requires championship level shooting, especially if there’s any distance involved. And I’m not on that caliber,” Mike says.

  “Neither am I, but at least we know there’s a way.”

  “What about these two?” BT asks.

  Now, here comes the tricky part with regards to moral implications. The one was kind of an experiment, but now we know what will happen. The other two are at our mercy, and taking them out while incapacitated is kind of like killing someone who’s surrendered. I have no doubt that the two Overseers will squish us like bugs if we let them recover, but I don’t like having to kill them like this, either. However, I conclude there isn’t much choice. If we let them go, they’ll hunt us down, especially now that they know we have a way of killing them. I’m kind of surprised Kalandar didn’t clue us in on this, but perhaps he didn’t know. After all, he has much different forms of attack that don’t exactly fit in one’s mouth.

  “Shoot them,” I say.

  “I’m not doing it,” BT replies, backing away.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I respond, stepping up to the Overseers.

  I place my barrel inside the first one’s mouth and fire. Light again blossoms from the creature, followed by a flash of light from the floor as it disappears. I take out the third in the same manner. I don’t know if the creatures are linked to one another like some kind of hive mind, but if they are, we may receive company soon. If not that, then they’ll hunt us down if they find out we killed three of them. I can’t imagine they’ll much like anyone knowing they can be beat.

  The whistlers haven’t stormed in, so the assumption is that the gateway won’t open for them. Mike and BT head outside to verify, returning to say that the interior courtyard is empty. We may have a little time to search the panels and find out some information. That’s the one thing we’re missing: we’re building a puzzle with only half the pieces.

  The most intriguing thing in the room to me is the device that is again spinning over the table. It’s in the shape of an ankh, a cross with an oval loop on top. It’s shiny gray and less than a foot tall with shapes and figures etched down both sides and around the circle. The smell of pot wafts around the room, a sign that Trip has awakened from his fainting spell.

  “Where…where are the Overseers?” he asks.

  I reach for the ankh as Mike replies, “Dead…I think.”

  “How did you…Oh look, a key,” Trip says. “Uh, Yack…” he continues as my hand passes through the light surrounding the device.

  I grab hold of it. Yeah, sometimes I can’t help myself with shiny things. A jolt powers through my body, every muscle, tendon, and ligament electrified. I feel my hairs stand on end over my entire body. Ever touched a live 110-volt house wire? Well, multiply that tenfold. The light of the table winks out as I’m blown back across the room, hitting the floor hard and skidding. I feel tingles of electricity spasm through my body, eventually fading as I gather my senses back together.

  I hear the clunk of the ankh falling to the table as I start to rise. The first thing I check is the front of my fatigues because I swear I heard, yes, heard, my bladder emptying. They’re dry, but I’m thinking the blast of electricity could have dried up the wet spot instantaneously. I almost expect to see steam rising.

  “Well, I won’t do that twice,” I say, coming to my feet, facing the open mouths of my companions.

  “I could have told you that was going to happen,” Trip comments.

  “Why didn’t you?” I query.

  “You grabbed it before I had a chance,” he responds.

  “Fair,” I reply, heading back to the table.

  “So, you said this is a key? What does it do?” Mike asks.

  “Keys open things, Ponch.”

  “What does this one open?”

  Trip mashes the end of his joint, putting it out. He then walks to the table and picks up the object and closes his eyes. I hear him gasp and he opens them, the bloodshot eyes gone. In their place is the very rare, alert Trip.

  “This is a relic key. There’s only one in existence that I know of,” he says.

  “So, what does a relic key do?” Mike inquires.

  “All kinds of things, Ponch. It can divert or restore power, change landscapes, and more. It’s kind of like having a master key.”

  “I’m guessing out of all us here, you’re the only one who can use it?” Mike questions.

  “Well, to some degree, so can J
ack now,” Trip says.

  “Wait, what?!” I exclaim.

  I’m already visualizing taking the thing and returning to my home world. After sending Mike and BT back first.

  “Yeah, you grabbed it while it was powered up. So, you now have a form of control over and with it.”

  “Can you power it back up so Mike can have that ability as well?” I ask.

  “And go through what you did? No thanks, I’m good,” Mike responds.

  “Ah, come on. You only piss and shit yourself. It’s not that bad,” I say.

  Mike sniffs. “Did you shit yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Did you piss yourself?”

  “That’s up for debate, but I don’t think so.”

  “Then why would you say that I would?” Mike questions.

  I shrug.

  “Fuck you, Jack. Trip, power up this thing.”

  “Are you sure, Mike?”

  “Yes I’m fucking sure!”

  Trip lays his hands on the table. After a moment, it lights up as before and he places the ankh in the air. A beam rises from the bowl and surrounds the device. It then slowly begins rotating, and the ray vanishes, leaving the relic suspended in a halo of light. Staring at me with a hard expression, Mike reaches toward the device and closes his hand around it. His countenance changes in a split-second as he’s catapulted across the room. He lays flat for a few moments then rises to a sitting position, shaking his head.

  “I think I pissed myself,” he says. “No shit, though.” He’s staring at the ceiling. “Well, not a lot anyway.”

  “What happened, Ponch? One moment you were standing next to me and the next, you’re over there,” Trip says, his moment of sanity having passed.

  “I fell,” Mike says.

  “You fell sideways?”

  “Yeah, I fell sideways.”

  “That reminds me of the time I was flying in a DC-14. I woke up and had to go to the bathroom. The door said emergency exit; it was an emergency and things had to exit. I guess a lot of people had to go as well because they were fighting me for the door. Luckily, I made it first and opened it. It wasn’t like any bathroom I’d ever been in because it pulled me into it. It was super windy, and I had to hang on to the doorway for the rest of the flight. I went and was air-dried in just moments. I didn’t know they had amenities like that on those early airliners. I almost fell sideways then, so I know how that kind of thing can go,” Trip says.