“Elves!” spat the ogre.
“What is that?” asked Jack.
E’iouy had come up on the other side of him, and they all watched the white dot become a globe whose image shimmered in the desert heat, an aurora of faint colors swirling around it.
“The technical term for what you’re seeing is a spontaneous transdimensional aperture,” said A’eiio over the hiss and crackle emanating from the globe. “Common name, wormhole. In some galactic regions, the space-time fabric periodically weakens in spots, and allows these holes to just pop open.”
“And they’re holes to . . . where?”
“We don’t really know. Maybe to other regions of this universe; maybe to other connected universes . . . like a froth of soap bubbles. All we know is that more than a thousand years ago, a few races discovered how to use magnetic fields to capture them. Basically, they used gigantic shells to enclose them and the magnetic fields to hold them open. And, they found the same fields could guide them, so they could use them for transport through space. And those races taught those on the other side of the wormholes how to use them, as well. More and more races were connected. Now, there are fifty-three races in the transdimensional network, part of what we call the Alliance. We think there may be more races that we don’t know of yet.”
“You mean there may be other races you don’t know about coming through wormholes to our universe?”
A’eiio didn’t answer, but gave E’iouy a worried glance.
Jack realized there would be no answer, so he kept going. “And they can move through our space?”
“Yes, they are basically spaceships that aren’t affected by gravity or inertia; and they can transport matter, including living creatures, between worlds . . . or perhaps universes. The elves have proved to be the best pilots. They’re most adept at using magnetic fields to steer the holes through space on either side.”
The shimmering white globe descended close enough that Jack could see the small figures of elves within it. The globe settled to just above the desert floor. From a perfect sphere, one side began to flatten slightly. A ramp emerged from it, its edge settling into the dusty desert floor.
“They use the magnetic field also to temporarily flatten one side to become an entrance or exit,” explained A’eiio. “The only way to pass through a wormhole safely is directly perpendicular to the interdimensional plane. Otherwise, the hole would shred whatever it touched, like an infinitesimally sharp blade.”
Jack shivered, as an elf stepped carefully out of the hole and down the ramp to the ground. He wore a large medallion, whose surface was studded with colored buttons, and carried himself with authority—if that could be said of such a small, wizened creature.
“That’s a Warden,” said A’eiio. “They oversee all the Mythicals’ sentences, monitoring our conduct . . . and meting out punishment, if necessary.”
With the elf Warden watching, the ogre who greeted the wormhole was joined by four more of his hulking kin, and they began to haul large cylinders from the hole, arranging them in a line. The strange collection of Mythicals began to mill around the cylinders, opening them and removing cargo, carrying boxes and packages to the waiting vehicles.
“How ironic,” said Jack. “We’ve dreamed about aliens for decades, listened for signals from space, and they’ve been coming and going here the whole time. Amazing sight!”
“Well, Jack, you’re not just here to watch,” said A’eiio.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a decision I’m going to ask you to make. And in order to make it, you’ll need to go through this wormhole.”
• • •
Jack backed up to steady himself against the vehicle they’d arrived in, staring at the shimmering globe of the wormhole, trying to prevent himself from hyperventilating in anxiety. The ogres had finished unloading cargo, and now there emerged from the globe a line of Mythicals—fairies, ogres, werewolves, gnarled creatures that might be goblins, small, bearded men that were probably gnomes, red-eyed devilish-looking beasts that might be demons.
“New exiles,” said A’eiio. “Coming to serve their sentences.”
“I can tell,” answered Jack.
Even though many were creatures he had never seen before, he could tell they were downcast. They moved ploddingly, heads down, past the elf Warden.
They trudged to waiting vehicles, meeting others of their kind who presented them with the large canisters that must have held their flesh-suit disguises. The mournful procession ended, and the elf Warden standing beside the wormhole gestured impatiently for a happier group to come forward.
“These are free?” asked Jack.
“Yes,” said A’eiio. “Some have been here for many decades. Now they’re going home.”
The freed Mythicals stepped eagerly forward, babbling in their native languages—a cacophony of alien noise to Jack’s ears—and stepping lightly up to the wormhole.
One by one, they mounted the ramp into the hole, and the elf Warden reached into a cylindrical trunk and drew out a crystal skull, which shimmered in the light.
“What are those?” asked Jack.
“Long, long ago, the custom became to bestow upon a freed Mythical a symbol of the end of their time on your planet. A crystal skull was decided on. It symbolizes the Mythicals’ efforts to adapt to the planet’s most advanced species.”
“Well, it seems a little weird, but—” Jack started to say, but realized that now the wizened little elf Warden was waving at him!
“You can go through now,” said A’eiio softly. “Another Warden will be waiting for you on the other side. You’ll go through a series of wormholes in transit to our planet.” She said the last words with a subtle catch in her voice.
“You’re not coming with me?”
“No.” Now her face grew somber. “I’m under sentence,” she said, her voice tinged with melancholy longing. “I can’t go back.”
“Well, I just can’t go without you,” he said. “And I still don’t understand why . . . what this decision is I have to make.”
“Just go.” A’eiio voice failed her, and tears rolled down her alabaster cheeks. E’iouy saw her grief and stepped forward, putting his arm around her and helping her away from the portal that could take her home.
The ogre tromped forward and grabbed his shoulder, shoving him forward, and growling, “You must go. They cannot stay on the surface.”
He allowed himself to be manhandled up the ramp and through the shimmering hole. He found himself in a huge, white chamber, whose smooth interior surface was studded with metal probes. There, a helmeted elf dressed in what he took to be a spacesuit poked unceremoniously at him, shoving him toward an airlock door. He obediently stepped through, and chattering in screechy elvish, the elf swung the door shut behind him and locked it.
He was just beginning to suffer a combined fit of jitters and claustrophobia when the other airlock opened to reveal an elderly fairy waiting for him. The fairy’s naked, pale flesh was sagging and wrinkled, his silver hair sparse, his sapphire eyes slightly dimmed with age. A gold chain with a large medallion hung around his neck. His wings—not as crystal clear as the other fairies Jack had encountered, were fluttering open and closed. This fairy, he guessed, was a bit perturbed at the process of traversing wormholes.
“I am . . .” He began to introduce himself, but instead of a spoken name, he sang a brief melodic phrase. “I am a Warden, and I will guide you.”
“Thank you, but can you tell me what this is for? Why I’m doing this?”
The Warden sang another melody, presumably a name. “She will discuss everything with you. Come with me.”
They had emerged into a chamber that was apparently a control room for the wormhole. An elf stood before a console festooned with a glittering array of colored lights, each emblazoned with other alien symbols. Floating above the console was a large, translucent, three-dimensional map of interconnected colored spheres, with a small whiter sphere a
t its center.
Jack followed the elderly fairy out of the control room, and to Jack’s stunned surprise, into a vast hangar-like building lined with rows of house-sized white spheres like the one from which they had emerged. They were on another planet!
The fairy walked slightly unsteadily ahead of him, Jack guessed because he was not used to walking. Indeed, overhead, fairies flitted past, easily sailing along in the warm, humid air. Jack and the Warden passed a steady stream of various Mythical species wheeling cargo cylinders, and entering and leaving the control rooms of the spheres.
“This terminal houses wormholes that connect to planets with oxygen atmospheres like yours and ours,” said the Warden. “There are other such terminals that house wormholes to planets whose atmospheres would be deadly to those of us who breathe oxygen. Here we are.”
They reached a sphere with an inscription above its hatch that was an array of graceful symbols, none of which resembled letters. Entering the control room, the Warden consulted with an elf who stood before the wormhole’s console. The elf touched several of the control panel lights, and the hatch door unlatched with a metallic clang and swung ponderously open. The elf twittered to them with seeming annoyance.
“Fortunately, we only have two transits to make to reach our system,” said the Warden, beckoning him to enter the airlock leading to the wormhole.
“Transits?” asked Jack, but the Warden merely smiled tolerantly.
Jack’s anxiety ebbed as the inner airlock door opened, and they made another transit through a wormhole, and through an airlock into another similar terminal, and then through yet another. As he transited, each terminal was clearly on another planet, the suffusing light yellower or bluer; the sounds strange to his ears, the aromas metallic or sweet or pungent.
“This transit takes us to our home,” announced the Warden finally, as they made their way across an expanse of black crystalline floor in another terminal to a waiting sphere. His wings grew still, seeming to relax as they entered the final wormhole chamber.
“Do you have to travel much?” Jack regretted the question the instant he asked it. It was stupid small talk, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Some journalist he was!
But the Warden nodded his head tolerantly. “Too much. The duties are not pleasant. But I have committed myself to them.” He moved quickly to the wormhole, from which shone a rich amber light, and stepped through. Jack followed.
They exited the airlock to find themselves in a soaring crystalline dome, bathed in that warm light. Overhead flitted hundreds of fairies—male and female, young and old, large and tiny—their glimmering wings reflecting the light in evanescent flashes. The dome was filled with the harmonious hum of vibrating wings, and with a musical counterpoint of the intricate, intertwining melodious polyphony of singing voices. He felt enveloped in a continual, rich symphony.
The air was warm and moist, and rich with a mélange of fragrant, spicy, and sweet smells that reminded him of a combination bakery and florist shop.
A flight of fairies sailed down, came lightly to rest in front of him, and began to sing to the Warden. He replied with a short melody and turned to Jack.
“We can only stay a brief while, but they want to show you where we live.”
Their wings folded, the fairies led Jack and the Warden to the dome entrance and outside it.
There, Jack looked out over a lush green landscape of rolling hills dotted with soaring clear crystal spires. The spires were adorned with translucent decks in colors of ruby, sapphire, emerald, amethyst, and citrine. Swirls of fairies landed and departed from the decks, swarming in a sky that was not the blue of the sky he knew, but an intense turquoise.
A silver airship the size of an ocean liner cruised silently overhead, slung beneath it a gleaming golden cargo carrier. On the ground, sleek translucent vehicles of different vivid hues glided along roads that appeared to be made of glass-smooth obsidian. They had no wheels, but floated just above the surface.
Peering upward at the vista, mouth agape, he had trouble catching his breath. He was feeling faint. He felt a steadying hand on his shoulder. It was the Warden.
“Take your time. Your race often has a moment of panic, or perhaps euphoria, or perhaps both, when they first arrive.”
“I . . . uh . . . I think—”
“And don’t try to talk. Just relax.”
A ground vehicle eased up to them, and the group boarded it and sat in backless chairs that enabled them to stretch out their wings. The driverless vehicle accelerated smoothly along the obsidian road toward the tallest of the crystal buildings.
They passed what appeared to be shopping stalls, made of shimmering glass and alive with fluttering fairy customers. They passed broad lawns, where teams of young fairies competed in aerial versions of the ball games he had played at home. They passed an arena, where perhaps a thousand fairies watched two naked fairies, closely embracing, performing intimate aerobatics. Their movements suggested a sexual tryst, but he couldn’t be sure. At one point loud, sing-song cheering rose from the audience.
Jack managed to recover himself from the panorama and revert to his journalist mode, but perhaps too eagerly. “Is this your only planet? Is this the biggest city? How many are you? What are your principal exports? How long do you live? What are—”
“Just savor the experience,” interrupted the Warden, patting his shoulder. “Just look, and listen, and smell, and taste, and feel. Just experience.”
The vehicle eased to a stop at the building entrance. Some of the fairies launched themselves aloft, flying upward to a high floor, but the Warden and another fairy shepherded him inside, to a transparent clylindrical elevator, whose doors closed. Jack noted that their fellow passengers were either frail, ancient fairies that had probably lost their ability to fly, or fairy mothers holding tiny infant versions of themselves, who had perhaps not gained the ability to loft to the heights necessary to reach upper floors.
The elevator accelerated skyward, soaring to the top of the dizzyingly tall spire. Slightly acrophobic from the rapid rise, Jack emerged to find the group that had accompanied them, and to his surprise, several men and women.
He was introduced to a trim, young woman named Zorah, a middle-aged man named Porter, and two middle-aged men, Anton and Ben. He found it difficult to concentrate on them, as he marveled at the apartment’s panoramic view, which showed miles of rolling forested hills, punctuated by spires. He could see in the distance a shining collection of the spires, of all shapes, like a gallery of crystal sculptures.
He managed to return his attention to the group, as Zorah shared that she and the others had decided not to become “Allies,” a designation that Jack immediately queried her about. But she fell mute, shaking her head and glancing at the fairies with a smile.
“We’ve been asked to answer any questions about our lives here,” she said. “But they’ve asked that they be allowed to explain everything to you later . . . not to prejudice your decision.”
He asked “what decision?” but none of them would say more, as they moved out onto the spacious balcony. They sat at tables made of a glimmering green crystal, perhaps emerald, and piled with foods he had never encountered. As they watched the fairies flitting through the turquoise sky, he was invited to eat. He steeled himself for the possibly unpleasant tastes of an alien world. But all the dishes were delicious—the orchid-like flowers tasted like crisp lettuce; the spiral-shaped green vegetable tasted like squash; the delicate meat in the steaming stew tasted like lobster. But these were only approximations. The foods all had an exotic flavor all their own.
The three told him of their lives among the fairies—of their comfort, the many kindnesses shown them, the many entertainments, their fulfilling jobs, and the contentment of their daily lives. They declared that their days were rich and fulfilling among a civilization at peace with itself and with its planet.
Finally, the Warden told Jack it was time for them to leave, as one of the
ir suns was setting, the other to rise after a few hours of night. The sunset revealed three moons, and the spires were illuminated in a rainbow of colors. They made their way back to the vast clear dome, now glowing in the night, that housed the wormhole chambers.
Jack was silent during the trip, but as they were about to enter the first wormhole transit back home, he balked.
“Look, this has been amazing,” he told the Warden. “Your planet is stunning, your race extraordinary. But now, will you please tell me what this is all about. Why have you brought me here?”
The Warden bowed his head, considering his question, then turned to regard him with a benign tolerance.
“Because this may become your home.”
• • •
“What if I try to escape?” asked Jack, as he sat across from A’eiio and E’iouy on the private jet flying them back to the capitol. Now, however, the two wore their flesh-suits, becoming Senator Deborah Bright and Marc Bright.
“We don’t kill people, if that’s what you’re thinking. What we’re offering you will be two perfectly benign choices.”
“But what if I don’t want either one? What if I try to escape?” he repeated.
“Let’s concentrate on your options. Let me explain your options.”
Jack leaned forward in the leather seat, his jaw set, impatiently awaiting an explanation. “One thing about our species,” he declared. “We can be pains in the ass. We don’t like being given options that are more like ultimatums.”
“You had a headache when you woke up in your apartment.”
“Yes?”
“Warren Lee, as you know him, implanted a coma chip at the base of your skull. It’s about the size of a grain of sand. Very benign. But it means you can’t escape.”
“A werewolf implanting a coma chip? Doesn’t sound benign.”
“It is. All of us have them. It enables the Wardens to pinpoint our locations. And should any of us . . . exiles or Allies . . . become unruly, they can trigger it to cause us to lapse into unconsciousness. You become very sleepy at first, so you can lie down without being hurt. Then you just go to sleep.”
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