by Aleks Canard
Who or what created these “men” was a total mystery to Altayr. He doubted that they were born in a conventional way. Then again, maybe there was a world where people as powerful as the Illusionist and the Bad Man were nothing out of the ordinary.
The sorcerer shook that thought. If he was right, and the mirrors could open the Betwixt, countless more “Gauthiers” could spill out.
Ah, the unknown.
Equal parts wonder and fear.
Shake well and serve.
4
Alone Again
Nadira Vega hadn’t been pleased with Trix’s results.
Her annoyance was evident in that the conversation didn’t last long. She wanted Trix to obtain the second mirror, dash any excuses, damn it. It had been shortly after Nadira hung up that Altayr’s message came through.
The sorcerer had been successful in striking a deal with Faedra. He said that he would communicate with Trix any way he could when the time was right. She didn’t message him back, just in case Faedra had teleported to him already.
Valentine called Serena. Told her to prepare the Red Queen near the Rose Vale Transfer.
The Fox left Xardiassant’s atmosphere. Punched it to hyperspace. Trix and Valentine talked about old times. They avoided anything to do with the current situation. Both of them understood that it would be resolved soon enough. Then it would be discussed with relief instead of apprehension.
That was assuming they emerged victorious.
Trix knew that it would be one on one when she challenged Gauthier. There’d be no help to call upon. The thought made her feel numb. She had many friends. All of them would kill for her. Would die for her. In her mind’s dark corners, where bad thoughts let themselves in, she dreaded the day her friends would die. Especially if they did so for her. That was not something she wanted.
Trix saw that the Red Queen was already waiting when she reached Valentine’s specified coordinates. Serena began the docking procedure.
Valentine and Trix waited in the airlock.
‘Farewell, dickhead,’ Trix said.
‘Your words pluck my heartstrings,’ Valentine said, embracing Trix. She hugged him back. Valentine kissed her on the cheek. ‘When you face your past down there, face it with the full force of your future. The one which is filled with innumerable joys and triumphs. Show it that you’re not afraid. No longer are you the little girl who was banished, but the warrior victorious. No one is braver than you, my darling friend.’
Sometimes, whether Trix admitted it or not, Valentine could be poetic. She felt tears swell, like an orchestra approaching crescendo. She silenced them with the wipe of her hand.
‘A better writer I could find on any street, but a better friend there is none.’
‘Well, I don’t know about any street. That would depend on the city. Don’t make me revoke my words, machina.’
‘You can’t. They’re already in my head.’
‘They do stick around, don’t they?’
‘Endlessly so.’
‘What did Eisenheim mean when he said you’ve seen the end? And you mentioned a prism?’
‘Once this is over, I’ll tell you in painstaking detail of which you seem to love.’
‘Over whiskey I hope.’
‘Count on it.’
The Fox and the Red Queen had successfully docked. Valentine saluted Trix in his typical fashion. It kind of looked like he was taking off an invisible hat.
‘You’re flirting with death. Don’t go home with him.’
Trix nodded. ‘Not even if he pays for dinner.’
Valentine boarded his ship with one last smile. Trix went back inside. Serena’s voice came over the Fox’s PA system.
‘Trix, we’re cleared and ready to launch. We’ll await your signal before moving to assist.’
‘Copy that, Serena. Don’t let Valentine convince you to go anywhere else. Not even on a liquor run. He’s a target until Nadira has what she wants.’
‘Ha, he can certainly try. Adios, and buena suerte.’
The communication ended. Trix’s ship felt empty. Ghost-like. The Red Queen peeled away, headed for a predesignated area of space one light minute away from Zilvia. There was nothing else around. The chances of them being discovered were minimal.
Trix sat in her pilot’s chair. One hand was on the yokes. The other on the thrusters. Her fingers hovered over the button combination to enter hyperspace. Sif appeared on the command console. Wirelessly transmitted from Trix’s comms gauntlet. She leaned against the windshield.
‘You know, I’ve never been to Zilvia.’
‘Are you excited?’
Sif looked out the windshield. Into the star ocean. ‘I think so.’
‘How is seeing a place in…’ Trix was looking for the right word. She wasn’t sure there was one. ‘… person different from seeing pictures?’
‘I can take firsthand scans, and when you use your helmet, I get a POV, as if I was really walking around. And now with your new neural sensors, I can see how I might experience them.’
‘Sif,’ Trix moved her face closer to the AI. There had been a time when Sif would only speak when spoken to, and never gave anything other than succinct answers. There was no humour. No flair. None of what Trix had come to expect from the AI. She’d begun noticing it more and more over the years. She’d been annoyed at first. But Trix had gotten used to it. Even come to like Sif’s banter. ‘Are you feeling alright?’
‘That’s just it. I don’t know if I’m feeling, or if my feelings are simulated.’
‘Is there any way I can help?’
‘You’re being awfully attentive. Did that last fight knock your head loose?’
‘You help me all the time. It’s only fair that I help you.’
‘Right now you worry about having your banishment lifted. From what files I’ve read on the Zilvian legal system, you’ll have to recount the events which led to your indiscretion, then justify your crimes.’
Trix was perfectly aware of Zilvia’s legal system. Sif had to know that. Her conclusion, which remained unvoiced, was that Sif had done research out of worry. There were robotic experiments taking place across the galaxy trying to create artificial human bodies. The idea was that consciousness could be downloaded into a computer, then transferred into a robotic body. Undying, impervious to every disease, stronger and faster. The problem wasn’t creating the robot. Mechs could be churned out like cheap plastic. Downloading consciousness was the issue. But here was Sif, housed in a computer chip. And she seemed to have more feelings than some people Trix had met.
Thinking of Sif helped keep her memories at bay as the machina punched it to hyperspace. Maybe if she could find Sif a body, the AI would be able to experience life like a person.
‘Here we go,’ said Sif as they approached Zilvia.
Trix sensed something in Sif’s voice.
She sounded anticipatory.
She also sounded fearful, but not for herself.
A Demon’s Appeal
1
Zilvia’s viridity astounded.
Its hues were like Jade Isles’ nebulas. No earth tones disrupted the enormous amounts of woodland. White and red deserts contrasted with green swathes making them appear even denser, lusher, than they already were. In a way, Zilvia bore many similarities to Earth as it may have been thousands of years ago. There were cities of course, but none were like Earthen metropolises. Blor’daeyn and Agius were towns in comparison.
Trix brought the ship into low orbit over Xifaw. Her scanners were already playing up. That was why so many wanted to tear down Xifaw Forest. Its spoils were unknown.
Sif opened a comms channel to Blor’daeyn’s one and only docking facility. For a moment, Trix forgot how to speak. They asked her for identification.
‘My name is Beatrix Westwood. I request the right to appeal my actions for which I was banished.’
The person on the other end was shocked. She knew of Beatrix Westwood. The white-haired demon ha
d been used as a scary story to frighten children into obedience ever since the Duskmere massacre. It was even more effective than tales of dryads abducting children.
‘One moment while your request is considered,’ the woman said. She contacted Blor’daeyn’s law courts on a private number. Fifty Zilvian years had to pass from the moment banishment was enacted before an appeal could be requested. A Zilvian year was nearly exactly the same as an Earth year. Both planets even shared a similar length day and night cycle. The only major difference was that a Zilvian calendar only had nine months.
All Zirean owned planets had calendars split into nine months. Other races whose calendars were either even numbered or divisible by five considered this stupid. Corrachs, for example, worked on a 10-month year, even though their years were shorter than most other planets. Every one hundred years, in celebration of 1000 months passing, all of Raursioc had a festival which lasted 10 days, or one Corrachian week.
No matter which way Blor’daeyn’s court sliced the time, they reached the same conclusion. Beatrix Westwood had waited more than the minimum duration to appeal her actions. One of the Feudal Lords had been present for the original sentence. He had seen Duskmere in the wake of Beatrix’s massacre. Fear had stolen over the town like a vampire in the night. Then that same fear which made people cower in their homes became a werewolf’s wild, rabid rage. They wanted the machina’s head. And her nikker fucking father. The whore enchantress if they could apprehend her as well.
From what the survivors said, the demon had fled into Xifaw to seek healing and sanctuary. But not for herself.
‘Your request for appeal has been approved,’ the woman said. ‘Please follow the coordinates I’ve sent to your ship. Upon landing, you’re to accompany the authorities to Blor’daeyn’s law courts. A private trial is already being assembled.’
Hmm, thought Trix. They don’t want me staying any longer than necessary. Works for me.
Trix pushed the Fox to ultrasonic, closing the gap to Zilvia’s atmosphere in seconds. She switched the shields to deal with constant friction. Engaged hypersonic. She had to come over the ocean, past Agius. Flying too low over Xifaw was inadvisable.
Trix was struck by crushing sentimentality when she approached Blor’daeyn. It had barely changed since she’d left. Beautiful geometric stonework, arched bridges crisscrossing over rivers, and curved glass buildings seamlessly integrated fairy tales with refined modern architecture. Sometimes Trix wondered if old stories about elves were really just visions of zireans across the stars. Their architecture was distinctive in its own right, but there were similarities that couldn’t be ignored. Unfortunately, “elf” had become a racist slur, much like “dwarf” had when referring to corrachs.
Funny old galaxy, really.
Blor’daeyn’s port was as far north as could be from Xifaw Forest while still being within the city walls. It was an enormous, multi-levelled hangar to accommodate freight, civilian, and military ships. Trix docked where her coordinates instructed. She powered down all systems. Locked each individual door. Didn’t want anyone poking around. Though she didn’t expect that would happen. Not in the VIP area.
‘Are they giving you special treatment?’
‘They’re hoping I don’t repeat what I did last time. They won’t become aggressive until I’m cuffed.’
‘Would they dare show any aggression?’
‘Not under normal circumstances, but anger does strange things to people’s minds.’
A sword entering a man’s sternum.
Blood.
Screaming. Begging.
Trix shook the image away. The time for reconciliation drew closer, though it was not yet upon her. Trix had been running from Duskmere since she left it. Some part of her thought that was why she cared too much, despite not wanting to. She was trying to ditch the guilt she’d been dragging around for decades. Her shoulders burned. Back twinged.
It was hard for Trix to say whether Duskmere’s Massacre was her heaviest piece of baggage. But it was among the most cumbersome.
‘You’ve never told me what happened here,’ Sif said as Trix walked to the cargo bay.
‘I’ve never wanted to talk about it. I still don’t.’
‘Zilvia’s legal records are sealed fairly tight. There’s a synopsis of your original case, but it’s basic.’
‘Are you trying to piss me off?’
‘I only bring it up because there’s a picture of you in the file. You looked so young.’
‘Sif, my face has hardly changed since I stopped being a child.’
‘Are you sure?’
Sif brought up Trix’s mugshot from that day during Earth Year 2727. It appeared above her comms gauntlet as a hologram. Trix didn’t recognise the person staring back at her. The sides of her head weren’t shaved back then. She wore it long and out, pushed to one side, braided on the opposite. It was a style favoured by dryads.
She also had far less scars. Both her ears were whole. Her scalp wasn’t clawed on one side. Hell, her face was so smooth back then she may as well have been a porcelain doll.
Then there were her eyes. They had seen more trauma than most her age, even then. But compared to the ones that stared back at her in the mirror now, they were greener than Zilvia’s forests.
Trix removed the image. She was grateful for the reminder. She’d felt like an adult back then. Worldly. Tough. The only outsider to have been trained by dryads, and bequeathed power by a superior primordial race. Now, perhaps for the first time, she realised that she’d only been a child, and as worldly as a shopping-mall information map.
Sif opened the loading ramp. Dock staff were already waiting with a police escort. The police were wearing full face helmets, combat vests, and were packing fully automatic, hybrid machine guns that fired plasma encased ballistic rounds. Highly effective for depleting shields. Useful for armour penetration too.
Trix considered all automatic weapons overkill, though they did have their uses sometimes. Her mind drifted back to escaping a dreadnought’s hangar using an HMG. Killing as many corrachs as she had with only her pistol would’ve been a challenge.
The Valkyrie held her arms out, ready to be cuffed. The policeman in charge lowered his helmet. He was zirean. Humans stuck to Agius. His accent was different to zireans who lived in Estreser. Most of Blor’daeyn was indicative of lowland zireans from Xardiassant’s eastern continents.
‘Your weapons first, machina.’
Trix didn’t argue. Didn’t have the time. She might’ve already been too late depending on Faedra’s plan. Trix unstrapped her sword, pistol, and utility cannon. Handed them to another officer who appeared to strain under the weight. Most people required two hands to carry her sword. It was a far cry from a rapier’s levity even with a charm to reduce its weight.
The main policeman cuffed Trix at the forearms. The cuffs were state of the art. An adamant-titanium alloy lined with haxabyr. They didn’t cuff her legs yet. They’d wait until she was in court, then shackle her to the stand. Despite the situation’s seriousness, she always found the way people cuffed her amusing. Leaving any two of a machina’s limbs free, even leaving one, meant that they could escape if they wanted.
Especially if they were an oni.
Trix was escorted to a cruiser. The policeman who had cuffed her seemed familiar.
‘You, officer, you were at Duskmere that day, weren’t you? You cuffed me in Blor’daeyn.’
‘I arrived after the incident, yes.’
‘I’ve forgotten your name.’
Trix was put into the cruiser’s holding cell. The pilot was already inside. They took off towards the court house at a pace faster than usually advised within city airspace. Blor’daeyn was in a hurry to be rid of her.
‘Zilvia has not forgotten yours, machina. Though most only call you the Demon of Duskmere.’
‘No apology I can give will erase what I’ve done.’
‘The dead do not wish to be raised.’
‘I kno
w.’
‘Only ghosts live in Duskmere now.’
‘The town was abandoned?’
‘You didn’t only kill the people who died that day. All who witnessed your atrocity lost part of themselves. The town was bereaved. Some wandered into Xifaw, paying no heed to the fiaeds’ warning arrows. After what they saw, they only had the energy to walk aimlessly, not even to kill themselves. You performed magic that day, machina. Terrible magic. You turned a town into ghosts.’
‘Your name’s Myven Daebas.’
‘Remembering my name doesn’t mean I think better of you.’
‘You don’t call me nikker. You’re answering my questions.’
‘I’m working. Things would be different were I to see you in the street. That is why this court proceeding will be private. Only a select few witnesses are being notified. Those who are still alive, and not too afraid to be in the same room as you.’
‘Then I appreciate your professionalism.’
There was silence. The other police officers were in the front. Trix was alone with Myven in the cruiser’s holding cell.
‘Does hatred keep the others away too?’
‘Fear keeps them away. They were but children when you were banished. They know only stories. This is a rare instance where I know the reality to be worse, and I only saw the aftermath.’
‘I don’t believe things would be different if you saw me in the street. You’re understanding.’
‘My mother said I was cursed with crippling empathy because I read too many stories as a child. You should be thankful for them, machina. They’re the reason I haven’t killed you.’
‘I’ll be sure to send the authors my regards.’
‘I think demon is a fitting descriptor for you, seeing you now, juxtaposed with my memories. In the stories of your people, demons were angels who fell. But I read them differently. The angels did not fall. They were pushed. I’m not saying you are innocent, machina. Though I can see that if I had been in your boots, I would’ve done the same. We’re hopeless beings, all. We only react based on our circumstances, for acting independently of them is a fantasy. Glorified animals, that’s all we are.’