Footwizard

by Terry Mancour

  All turned to black, and I could not feel my body; indeed, I could not feel my mind. An abject numbness washed over me as my reality was invaded by a Presence.

  Despite my lack of other sensation, I could feel the mind of Szal wash its consciousness over me in an appraising manner. It was a terrifying thing, as the utter indifference of the entity gave me no illusions about its desires. It did not care if I lived or died. It had no more empathy for me than I had for an ant. It merely wanted what I had, and it was going to take it from me whether I wanted to participate or not.

  I indulged in a moment of sheer terror as I felt the mind of the Yith envelop mine like a cloak of darkness. There was no malevolence in the act, just as a farmer feels no hatred toward the chicken he decapitates for dinner. I was a subject to Szal, nothing more. A thing to be probed and examined and stared at for what little information I could provide.

  But when faced with the naked mind of a powerful intelligence like that, you cannot help but indulge in a little terror. I may have been screaming, for all I knew – it actually sounded like a pretty good idea. But there was no sound. I could not scream. For I had no mouth. Nor any other body. At the first touch of the Yith’s devouring mind, I was ripped entirely away from my body and hurled into the depths of madness.

  Panic was meaningless, at that point. No struggle I could manage would be meaningful against the sheer power of the Yith. I tried desperately to keep my questions in mind, how to save the world, how to make more snowstone, how to persevere in the face of a hopeless situation and preserve our world. Perhaps I had some success.

  But the touch of Szal’s mind to my own was such a complete violation of my soul that it was difficult to consider anything else important. As his mental tendrils enwrapped my mind, for the briefest second, I knew his thoughts – his utter contempt for me and my entire race – nay, my entire world. His utter indifference to its survival. His insatiable curiosity and desperate seeking throughout the universe. And, just as oblivion set in, I sensed a fear about him, or something akin to fear.

  Describing the torrent of memories and emotions that weren’t my own is difficult. To be yourself, and then to be torn apart and stuffed into another’s mind and memory is more than disconcerting, it’s staggering to the psyche.

  But as the first impression from the mind of the Yith encompassed me, I knew I had no choice. I was a passive player in this macabre rite. And I began to suspect I had made a mistake. Time had no meaning here, and I realized that it had very little meaning to Szal. It was like falling down an endless pit, until you blinked your nonexistent eyes and were suddenly . . . someone else.

  And then I was not me anymore. I was Tuaa Folauga.

  The triple suns burned into the scorched sands that stretched endlessly into the distance, as I experienced another world for the first time.

  Two of the suns were yellow, though of two different sizes, while the third was a foreboding red and larger than its mates. I glanced at the triangle they made before turning back to my friend, who had traveled a long way to see me.

  “The war is over,” he told me, and I knew his name was Tuaa Fouvale. I knew he was my friend, a relation, and my military commander. He looked completely human, though he lacked a beard, and he had very fine facial features. He wore a kind of red armor that was segmented like an insect’s, a broad helmet under one arm. “I just received the message. The Paranchek attack has overwhelmed our masters. They are all but extinct, by now. The entire forward line is gone,” he said, a pained look on his face. “Folauga, the war is over,” he repeated. “This outpost will be overrun in weeks. We have lost. The Orion Empire is victorious.”

  I stared back at him with casual indifference. I had no real loyalty to those creatures who I owed my allegiance to by long tradition and code. I fought their wars not because I was loyal, but because I wanted vengeance. Their destruction did not concern me. I had suffered loss beyond any affection I had towards my masters.

  “It matters not,” he said, sharply. “Win or lose, it matters not.”

  “It does,” his friend insisted, laying his helmet on the table of the outpost next to his weapon. “Folauga, it really does. We have to make a decision: we either stay here and surrender to the Paranchek, or we retreat, withdraw, and find a new life elsewhere.”

  “Where in the galaxy are the Lyran peoples going to be able to go?” he scoffed. “Before the war I scanned the skies from one end of the galaxy to the other. What corner of it would offer to shelter us against the Orions? The Empire will hunt us down, if that is what they wish.”

  “The Orion’s issue was with our masters, not us,” argued Fouvale. “We were merely their soldiery. Even if they do take issue with our service, there is time, yet, which may allow us to flee.”

  “Flee? To where?” I asked, skeptically. “If there is a safe place for us in this galaxy, I haven’t discovered it.”

  “There’s Maldek,” he insisted. “They will take us in. They will give us purpose.”

  “Maldek?” I – that is, Folauga – scoffed. “They’re Orions! The enemy!”

  “They are not the Empire, they are rebel Orions, and they have repudiated their cousins’ rule for generations,” he said, shaking his head. “Do not let your enmity for the Orions steal away your hope for the future,” he counseled me, as he took a seat on the command stool. With a wave of his hand, a report of the situation out in the sandy wastes was revealed to him. “While the Paranchek finish hunting down our masters, we have an opportunity to withdraw in good order. A very brief opportunity, before they turn their attention to us.”

  “Withdraw? To Maldek? To what purpose?” Folauga asked, skeptically.

  “To find a purpose,” argued his friend, tiredly. “We cannot preserve our masters’ regency by ourselves, nor should we. It is not our affair. But if we escape and find shelter with the few great houses on Maldek, perhaps we can escape the Empire’s notice until they forget about us.”

  “They don’t give a damn about us, any more than our masters did,” he said, shaking my head. Fouvale was a friend, but he was a hopeful fool. I loved him like a brother but even I could see that. “We were tools of their rule, nothing more.”

  “And now we will be considered rebels to the Orion Empire,” argued Fouvale. “Unless we take service with another faction. One sympathetic to Lyrans.”

  “You honestly think they’re sympathetic?” Folauga said, shaking my head sadly. “They’re just looking for cheap mercenaries.”

  “And we are looking for sanctuary!” Fouvale insisted. “They might take us and our families. Negotiations have already begun. The unit commander received a report this morning.”

  “There is no sanctuary from the Orions, particularly not with other Orions. How long until the Empire turns its attention to Maldek? What of Draconia?” I asked, referring to another powerful empire that spanned the galaxy.

  “Maldek could offer us a second chance,” Fouvale insisted. “For the entire Lyran people. It’s half-way across the galaxy from the war. It would give us time to rebuild. It would give us a home. For now,” he urged.

  “They would give us the opportunity to die gloriously for Maldek,” countered Folauga, cynically.

  “They are currently at peace,” countered Fouvale. “It could be generations before we’re called into their military service. You would have the opportunity to return to your research, my friend. Consider that.”

  “I gave up on research the day the Morlanthan fleet incinerated my home and my family,” I sneered. “I have no vocation but vengeance, now.”

  “A vengeance you will never see,” sighed the commander. “You were a brilliant scientist. It is a crime that you were forced into battle.”

  “I’ve become proficient at battle,” Folauga reminded him. Indeed, for nine long years, I knew, Folauga had practiced the arts of war on a half-dozen different worlds. He had slain Orions and their client races with grim determination, in his grief.

  The dimensional
science and the study of quantum mechanics were nothing but an idle intellectual curiosity, now, one that he indulged in only to while away the hours spent patrolling, or on guard duty. The mysteries of the universe were nothing now that his family no longer waited for him at home. Home was a crater, now.

  “But that is not what you were destined for!” argued Fouvale. “Maldek is a big planet, and two of its moons are inhabitable. There is plenty of room for us, there. The word has already come down from Command to all surviving ships and all remaining bases: we are to gather at the fortress at Bevony and make the trip to Maldek from there. In two months,” he added. “It is hoped that we can slip away before the Empire finishes slaughtering our masters and sends the Morlanthans or the Paranchek against us. Maldek offers us sanctuary,” he pleaded. “They have invited the entire Lyran people.”

  “Sanctuary?” Folauga asked, sharply. “There is no sanctuary against the Empire, my friend. Only death and pain. Better to set course for a singularity and hope for a painless death than hide and wait for them to stretch their hand across the galaxy against us, some day.”

  “Is that what Anka would want you to do?” Fouvale asked, after a moment’s pause.

  “Anka and the children are dust,” Folauga said, bitterness overcoming him. “I am the last memory of them in the universe.”

  “They would want you to live,” his friend countered. “She would want you to live. Live and continue your research.”

  “No one cares about the dimensional effects of singularities,” scoffed Folauga. “Unless it can be turned into a weapon or a power source, our masters had no use for it. My theories mean nothing. My research means nothing.”

  “Before the attack on our home, you had nearly finished your work on masa radiation, did you not? The houses of Maldek might be very interested in such work. You could find patronage there. And get out of this hellish battlefield once and for all. You could start a new life. A life without masters.”

  “With new masters,” I corrected. “And new wars. Thus, has it been since we were spawned. Lyrans have never been more than tools for greater powers. Pawns and slaves, nothing more.”

  “This might be our chance to be something more,” argued Fouvale. “A new life on Maldek. Perhaps a new wife, a new family. You are still young. Kasha and I would be happy to sponsor you once we get there. You know she loves you like a brother.”

  The words felt empty and hollow in my ears. Fouvale’s pretty wife was kind and sympathetic, I knew, but she was ignorant of the pain in his heart. To even consider another marriage after the love he’d had for his own wife seemed entirely foreign to him. There was only Anka. And Anka was gone forever.

  He had not even considered returning to his studies once he’d learned of his family’s extermination. The complex intricacies of the quantum effects of stellar insecurities meant nothing, after they died. He had turned his mind to war and vengeance, and now that war was lost. Vengeance would never come. He could keep killing Orions and their minions for the rest of his life, and vengeance would never come. There was not enough retribution to salve the wound he felt in his heart over his wife and children. But he was content to keep fighting, keep killing, until he himself was killed or the suns grew cold.

  Yet, he knew what Anka would want him to do: put down his weapons and go to Maldek. To start a new life. To finish his research on singularities. To find peace in some tiny place in the galaxy untouched by the great wars that had dominated for hundreds of thousands of years. The Lyrans had fought on behalf of their masters for time out of mind, but this was a possibility, he knew, to escape the incessant wars and seek peace – if only for a few generations.

  “I will go,” he said with a tired sigh, as he stared at the fingers he was tapping on the table. “I have nowhere else to go.”

  And then I was someone else. Saram.

  Saram’s feminine fingertips flitted across the console as she called up the next portion of the lecture. She turned to the class and cleared her throat before speaking. She hesitated just a moment – the ocean, in the distance, beckoned to her on such a warm, sunny day. She so enjoyed the beaches that were tantalizingly close to her classroom, and it seemed a waste to spend such a glorious day inside.

  But duty was duty. The young must be taught. And many of them were as distracted by the allure of the seaside as she was. Galactic History was a dry subject, unless you were particularly passionate about the subject, and as enthusiastic about it as she was, even she could get bored. She thanked the Three that she was at the conclusion of the lecture.

  “When Maldek was destroyed, our ancestors had already formed the Lyran Commonwealth,” she said, as star maps and a barrage of images materialized in front of the class. “Indeed, most of our people colonized other systems entirely, and to this day there are many Lyran worlds, colonies and enclaves across the stars. This is just one of them.

  “We’ve maintained our independence from the greater powers, but that has come at a cost. Both the Orion Republic and the Draconia have been pressing the Commonwealth for nearly ten thousand years. And there are other powers that strive to conquer or destroy our people. Please review the reading and prepare a response for tomorrow’s discussion, beginning with the Maldek Rebellion and the recolonization of our world. Thank you, you are dismissed,” she concluded, receiving the polite applause that was customary after a lecture.

  I marveled at the elegance of the civilization I saw through Saram’s eyes, and knew at once she was a kind, gentle, intelligent woman, an educator. There was a beautiful harmony to the buildings in the distance, a complex mix of geometric shapes and bold statuary. The long, willowy trees in the distance were her favorites, as they grew along the boundary between the grassy part of the city and the sandy red beach . . . with the achingly blue sea beyond. It took me a moment to get a sense of her, and I struggled to understand what she was saying and thinking as I was still recovering from Folauga’s maudlin soul.

  Saram finished her work for the day early, due to a commitment related to her administrative duties. A very important one.

  One of the advantages of being a scholar at an academic academy in the capital was access to some of the luxuries a city with a starport could offer, delicacies from a hundred systems. One of the disadvantages was the additional duties her position commanded – such as meeting with a delegation of the Orion Republic when diplomatic ties between the two governments were strained.

  The threat of war had loomed over the planet for ten thousand years, and all too often the struggles between powers intruded into this system. Since the Lyran colonists had taken control over the native populations and developed a new civilization here, before Maldek’s tragic end, they had been able to fend off the interests of the greater civilizations in the galaxy. But that might be coming to an end, she knew.

  By the time she had gotten to the reception hall – late, as usual -- the other members of her delegation had arrived. Her dear friend and colleague, SSna’alek, was waiting impatiently by the buffet table, a couple of her fellow insectoid servants tending to the serving. Next to her was dour Lississix, a reptoid senior administrator with a reputation for having a dour disposition and a pessimistic outlook.

  Saram, you are late! SSna’alek said, telepathically. They have already left their ship! We have only moments! The insectoid instructor of chemistry always seemed to be shouting excitedly in her head.

  “We won’t have time to eat,” Lississix grumbled. “They will be here any second, and you know how they are about protocol.”

  “They’re here to discuss the hieroglyphs that have been waiting in the depths of a cave for more than a million years,” Saram said, evenly. “Their protocols will only delay their inspection.”

  “They will want to begin work at once,” Lississix agreed, his tongue flicking out of his wide mouth.

  It is an important discovery! the chemist declared, raising her thorax to emphasize her point. We cannot read it! Maybe they can!

&nbs
p; ‘Alek had been instrumental in establishing the date of the astonishing hieroglyphs. She felt invested in the process of their exploration. Her own people hadn’t even been here, a million years ago. But ‘Alek’s race had been skittering around the planet since there had been only one moon.

  There was a debate among scholars as to which had arrived here first – reptoids or insectoids. Galactic History demonstrated plenty of evidence for both. But this system had been crossed by various civilizations for millions of years. Remnants from long-dead empires dotted the galaxy with their passage; races conquered and colonized, developed, de-evolved, and their ignorant descendants persisted in the ruins.

  The Lyrans themselves had been bred or developed originally as a servitor race, eons ago. Since then, their humanoid form had split into thousands of varieties scattered across tens of thousands of star systems. So had the other basic biological forms, wherever they could find purchase. And then they evolved to the needs of their worlds and habitats into unique species.

  But that cycle of development and dispersion was fraught with hardship for the individuals involved – history was clear on that, Saram knew. The very nature of the infinite combinations of life in this galaxy, alone, produced constant conflict interrupted by brief epochs of relative peace.

  The great Orion Empire had once dominated a third of the galaxy; now the Orion Republic controlled less than a third of that, thanks to the rise of other empires. The Draconians were constantly ambitious to expand their ruthless control of everything they could. But a dozen other stellar civilizations also vied for control. Thus, it had been since the dawn of the universe, she guessed.

  But the Orions were special, to the Lyrans. Their polyglot republic was in an expansive mode, these last few centuries, and despite the threat of the Draconian war machine, they were pressing to resume control of the humanoids. That included even unimportant little worlds like hers.