He searched for the Hlokou, but saw nothing. Averik was wrapped in a thin cloth, his spacesuit and weapon gone. Thin tubes dangled from his body. There were no restraints, but he lacked the energy to sit. For the first time in many years, Averik had not dreamed. “How—how long have I been out? What have you—what happened?”
“You have been unconscious for more than forty-eight hours of your clock after you initiated the ritual of the LifeSource. It is altering your chemical makeup, changing your whole. We must cleanse your body and neutralize all toxins in your organs in preparation for the final stage. All is as it must be. Now you will rest again.”
The light faded. What have I done? Averik needed to explore his environment, find a route of escape, but the pull of sleep was too strong.
He awoke the second time in a different room. Several Hlokou-hai were present, monitoring his body. “You are nearly ready,” said one. “You will feast, and drink again from the well. Then you shall be immortalized.”
Averik sat up and waited for his head to stop spinning. He reached for one of the Hlokou-hai, who helped him to his feet.
“It is time to return you to the altar.”
They passed in silence through nondescript corridors. After some time, Averik heard a steady humming. At a side chamber, the droning increased. Averik stopped.
Three groups of seven Hlokou-hai rested with their backs on cone-shaped stones inside the chamber. In each group, the heads of the Hlokou-hai touched at the top of the cone. Their eyes were closed, their jaws fluttered up and down, their humming incessant.
Averik looked to one of his companions. Before he could ask, the Hlokou spoke. “They are transmitting. Projecting images and messages across the universe. This is why you dreamed of the LifeSource. This is how you came to sense Kardr and how you knew which Time Lapse and Time Canal would transport you here. Our planet and moon are masked from all astronomers and distant life seekers, even those on our home planet, yet we are still able to transmit our presence.”
“Kardr is masked, even from your home planet?”
“Our home planet has meant nothing to us for several memories. Orpole’s sun is dying and our original race is likely dead.”
“Wouldn’t they have moved to another planet or even to this moon? Why not let them know you’re here?” He tilted his head in confusion. “How could your race be dead? Aren’t they all immortal?”
“They were simple mortals, as were we at the time. Our original race was never receptive to our experiments and our quest for athanasia. We designed neural robotic systems and crafted a brilliant plan, fusing our bodies with the neuralbots you see within us. It began with only a willing few. I was one of the first. Once we were grafted with their souls and under the control of our steward neuralbots, we understood the plan had come not from ourselves, but from the neuralbots, and we had no freewill to stop the experiment.”
Averik stood motionless in front of the transmitting station. “How many of you were created?”
The Hlokou turned toward Averik. “We forced more of our original kind into the experiment, swelling our numbers to fifty, then one hundred. Our original race feared us, shunned us as we relinquished our mortal selves to our experiment. We could not be stopped, even by ourselves. We grew to two hundred, two hundred fifty. That is when we were forced from our home planet, sent across the galaxies with a small crew of wardens on a ship programmed for Kadr, to serve our term of eternal imprisonment. I believe we, the Hlokou-hai, were forgotten after a hundred generations and we have no use for our original race. They would not save us, and we have no desire to save them.” The Hlokou stared with unfocused eyes. “Kardr belongs only to us. We shall remain here, frozen in orbit, and honor the pact.”
“If your Orpole race is dying or dead, I don’t understand why a pact matters.”
“The pact was not with our original race.”
The Hlokou continued beyond the transmission room. “The messages can never stop, but only the most receptive will hear us. The satisfied, the complacent, will have no use for them, and the transmissions will pass through their minds unnoticed, at most a dream forgotten at sunrise. A being like you, one who seeks limitless power and absolute control, and who has spent much time contemplating everlasting life, will attract and absorb our message.”
Averik nodded and followed the Hlokou. “The weak have no comprehension of the LifeSource and no use for it. Others like me, from across the universe, will achieve infinite lives. Our authority and power will expand each year. I will be a sovereign. I will be immortal, like a god.” His voice turned to a whisper as he spoke to himself. “No, not like a god—a true god. Unrestrained. I will have anything I want. Anything. On my planet or any other.”
They rounded a corner. A line of pods began along one wall. As before, the darkened glass didn’t allow a clear view of what lay inside. “These pods were lined up near the bottom of the ramp where you brought me in. Now I notice they also go into some of the side corridors. If this is where you sleep, why so many? There are two hundred forty-nine of you, but there are many more pods.”
“First you must eat, and drink again from the well to complete the ritual. Then you shall have answers.”
Impatience mixed with uncertainty inside Averik. “I want to see the well. And where is my spacecraft? My space gear? Once the ritual is complete and I’ve drunk the LifeSource again, I must start my voyage back to Vel to begin my reign.”
“We are studying your spacecraft. Even with as much as we know, we are always curious to see others’ technology. We also adapt the materials from your craft for our own uses. That is part of your payment.”
Averik shook his head. “No. Take me to it. I need to know it’s safe.”
“It is not necessary, and it is too far from where we are. The LifeSource is our focus. We are nearly back at the altar.”
The din of the gathered crowd grew louder as they approached the massive room. The altar and the ockniq obelisk waited for them. Adrenaline pulsed through Averik’s body. The anger that had started to build inside him dissipated. He was a breath away from immortality. Upon completing the ritual, he would locate his ship. Before lifting off, he would destroy the well. The Hlokou-hai would not be able to stop him or follow him off the moon. He would be the last of the immortals.
The Hlokou-hai seated him at the table and placed a tray of food before him. He recognized nothing, but a Hlokou said, “We know these foods are similar to what you would find on your home planet. You must eat a final meal and nourish your body before drinking from the well again.”
Another Hlokou placed the chalice next to the tray of food. Averik ate quickly, anticipating his reward. With the last bit of food, his eyelids drooped, his mind drifted, and his vision narrowed until all he saw was the chalice as the chanting began anew. Immortality.
With unsteady hands, he raised the cup to his lips and drank before collapsing.
Four Hlokou-hai wheeled him on a thin stone slab while another directed their movements. Averik recognized them as the same five who had met the Tachyon shuttle when it landed just days ago. They moved through a side corridor, pods lining both walls. Averik was strapped to the slab, though it wasn’t necessary. His mind was clear, but paralysis immobilized his body.
They halted near the end of the corridor. Several Hlokou-hai lay in a dormant state on tables along the back wall. Each had a tube running from its abdomen to a large polished machine in the corner. “Our regeneration room,” said the lead Hlokou.
“Space gear,” said Averik. His speech was slurred. He tried to lift his arm but failed. “Want spacesuit.”
“There will be no need. Even if you tried to leave Kardr, your spacecraft would not be able to penetrate the shield on its attempted departure. Once here, all physical things remain here.”
The Hlokou opened the lid of the last pod along the wall on Averik’s right and without effort, lifted a withered, pale birdlike being. Thick liquid dripped from the creature. Lines and hos
es ran from its body back into the pod. Its few remaining talons were broken and misshapen. The only sign it was still alive was the sorrow expressed in its open eyes.
“This is a Wrivvot, a race from a planet your kind has not yet discovered. Its name is immortalized on the great ockniq obelisk. It is no longer producing for us and once we remove it from its pod, it will die.” The Hlokou returned the Wrivvot to the pod and closed the lid.
“Wait—that’s what’s in…?” It took all of Averik’s strength to speak. His voice was hoarse. “Full of…Wrivvots? Don’t…understand. Why?”
“Not only Wrivvots. Nearly every race in the universe is represented here. An endless line of self-serving creatures seeking eternal life and power.”
Averik’s voice faded to a whisper. “I—I don’t understand.” Fear flooded his mind. “You…deceived, called to me…promised…eternal life.”
“We deceived no one. We told of our immortality, but you heard what you craved. We promised only that you would be immortalized on Kardr. Did you not understand that the well of eternity and the LifeSource are two different things? The liquid from the well detoxified and prepared you for the LifeSource. These pods,” the Hlokou gently waved an arm down the line, “are our LifeSource. We are the unfortunate immortals. The neuralbot soul inside of each of us that forces us to keep it alive makes us so. You are a replacement for the oldest of these creatures, the one who is no longer useful. For us to continue living, we require such things as the blood, the stem cells, the macromolecules of younger living beings. Despite all you recalled from your dreams, you had no clear image of us. Even when you finally met us, we did not appear exactly as you thought we would. We are perpetually changing, continually evolving, almost shape-shifting. Our appearance alters based on the most recent, strongest nucleic acids that we are harvesting when we attach ourselves to the LifeSource in our regeneration phase.”
The Hlokou indicated the small disk and intake valve on its abdomen. “This is where we connect an artificial umbilical cord to our bodies to nourish and rejuvenate ourselves. Every two hundred days of our time, we rotate through the regeneration room, where we absorb the LifeSource, collected from the pods.”
“The chalice…” said Averik.
“The chalice contained liquid from the well of eternity, not the LifeSource. Do you understand? The LifeSource is created from every one of the creatures in these pods you see before you, though they grow old and weak because they are mortal. In my most recent regeneration, our freshest additions to the LifeSource were aquatic. Therefore, that had the strongest influence on my appearance. Others’ time in the regeneration room gave them reptilian characteristics. Still others have arthropod or humanoid qualities. After six memories, it has become difficult to define our original appearance. That matters not. Living beings, volunteers to Kardr, are what matter. We were very upset when you destroyed their blood and organs and killed your crew. We would have had four fresh creatures instead of just one, but we cannot cleanse toxins from destroyed organs or raise a dead body.”
“I…will not submit…will be eternal. Not part of…your…experiment.” Averik’s voice was barely audible.
“It is not an experiment, Averik. This is the LifeSource.” It pointed to the first pod along the wall opposite the Wrivvot. “That will be your pod where you will rest in amniotic fluid. Where you will exist for more than two thousand of your Vel years. We will continually harvest what we need from you. You ate enough to nourish your system and maintain life while your body adjusts to the amniotic bath and learns to absorb its nutrients. We must keep our prey alive until it no longer serves its purpose.”
Averik stared, unable to speak.
“Our original race banned us to this place because they feared our immortality and strength. They did not understand, as we did not understand, that our neuralbot souls forever need our organic bodies to house them for survival. Our bodies were not immortal, but our neuralbot souls had that potential. Had we only been imprisoned on our own planet and denied nourishment, we would have withered and died, taking the neuralbot souls with us to the grave. None of us understood this. Instead, our original race exiled us, cloaked us from the universe. Instead of allowing AI to control them, our original race controlled the AI and developed a way to keep us here, basing the barrier on the magnetosphere of this moon. They formulated a shield around Yeko and Kardr so we cannot leave, but they neglected to consider that the barrier does not stop others from entering. Even after six memories, we have been unable to break the shield. We exist forever in this unchanging world. The only thing that can leave Kardr is our transmissions, so we never cease our call for prey.
“You believed only the strongest were receptive to our transmissions. In truth only the weakest and most insecure are susceptible to the call of immortality and unrestrained power. When we were deposited on Kardr, the Hlokou who died gave its life to us as the original LifeSource, so that we might survive until the first of our alien quarry arrived.”
The Hlokou’s arms dangled limp at its sides. “We have no freewill. The neuralbots determined our course then and now. Our unwilling pact is with the neuralbot souls inside us, whether we desire to continue living or not.” It signaled the other Hlokou-hai to begin. “It is time to deposit you and prepare for our next arrival.”
The Hlokou-hai opened Averik’s waiting pod.
“Your genetics will live on inside of us.”
The Hlokou-hai lifted Averik from the stone slab.
“The Carvers will begin today to add your name to the ockniq obelisk, where it will remain until the death of the universe. Immortalized.”
The Hlokou-hai lowered Averik into the warm amniotic fluids.
“There is no physical pain for you. We have made certain of it.”
The Hlokou-hai attached collection lines to Averik’s limbs.
“But you will remain conscious, paralyzed, with eyes open the entire time. More than two thousand of your years. Like us, with our neuralbot masters, you shall begin to understand the notion of eternity.”
The pod closed above Averik. His green eyes turned dull as they stared through the dark glass. No sound came from his lips.
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Space Bound: A Dragon Soul Press Anthology Page 36