The Last Cycle

by A. R. Knight

  We walk back to the lift we came in, the silver one that’s supposedly able to traverse most of the Meridia. The red panel’s still there, still locked. I try tapping at it, but there’s no response. Malo works his bar on the lift doors, but gets nothing more than a few scratches on the smooth surface.

  “You have two choices humans,” Ferrolite says as I try a more blunt method, banging my bar to no effect. “Either accept my offer, or rot here until someone cares enough to send guards to finish you off.”

  “I don’t think we’re getting through here,” Malo says to me. “At least, not with force.”

  “Then let’s look around,” I reply. “There has to be some way out.”

  So we commence the search. I look around terminals, press buttons on the ones I can find, and even take a brief detour in the Cache only to find that the Meridia exists as nothing more than a vague notion. The Sevora, apparently, never managed to get a spy in here. I should have exchanged my Cache for a new one on Kolas’ ship, but then, looking at the deep emerald bracelet, I’d be leaving a piece of this whole journey behind.

  Meridia’s levels aren’t small - each one is only a little smaller than a section on a Sevora seed ship, or almost the size of my own village. Even so, it becomes clear pretty quickly that we’re not going to find an exit. All the terminals are secured or confusing, the four lifts refuse to open, and beyond the forest of tubes, there’s not a single answer for our problem. Other than the one Ferrolite constantly pushes into our ears.

  “You have no other choice!” Ferrolite states, and I’m getting impressed by the sheer number of ways it’s demanded we listen to it.

  “Why do you care?” I say. “Is your reputation that important to you?”

  “It’s all we have! The Chorus members are slotted by their contributions to the Amigga species - so I need this. I need your oath. And you need it too, humans. Your species needs our protection, our technology.” Ferrolite’s tone doesn’t change, not quite, but its tactics shift all the same. “Aren’t you tired of this? All these strange things, these fights, this destruction. You’ve already cleansed your past of its unwanted origins. Take your victory and go home.”

  Malo catches my eye and he does look tired. I’m sure I’m no treat either, coated with sweat from running through this station, tired and sore. The thought of waking up to a cool ocean breeze, watching Ignos - I refuse to combine that terrible Amigga, that terrible Sevora, with the god of my tribe - rise over the horizon... maybe it’s worth saying yes one more time. I’ve just been in the deepest despair I’ve ever felt, and here’s a rope to climb out of it.

  “You’ll let us leave? Unharmed?” I ask.

  “Yes. It wouldn’t be right to murder an Ambassador. Even your, er, adventures can be excused as a primitive species frightened by this pesky insurgent attack,” Ferrolite’s cooing now, at least as much as its synthetic voice allows it. “A simple recording. We can dispense with the ceremony as the Chorus has mostly departed the Meridia. I’ll even have a shuttle waiting to get you out of here as soon as we’re done.”

  Malo’s watching me. Waiting. Opinions hide behind that set face but he’s playing the soldier again, waiting for his commander to say what she thinks first.

  “Then tell us where to go, Ferrolite. I’ll do it.”

  The Amigga doesn’t respond with words. Instead, our chosen lift lights up, and those doors open. Waiting for us.

  “It’ll kill us when you’re done,” Malo whispers as we start to move towards the lift. “You know it’s a trick.”

  The old me might have argued with Malo then, might have said something about how Ferrolite just gave us all the reasons why it wouldn’t do that. Instead, though, I agree. “You’re probably right, but what choice do we have?” I gesture at the tubes standing around us. “Do you see what they’re doing here? Making more species?”

  “So?”

  “It doesn’t matter what we do,” I continue. “Whether we make it out of here or not, the Chorus will keep going until those familiars we saw on Cobalt or something like them supplants every other species. We might as well try to enjoy the time we have until that happens.”

  Malo laughs. It’s a quirky, heartless, head-shaking laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “Kaishi, what do you think we’ve been doing? All this time in this tower?”

  “What?”

  “This is us! Ever since I’ve met you, it’s been one adventure after another. We’ve nearly died a dozen times, should have died a dozen more. We’re battered, bruised, but we’re still here.” Malo points his finger at me. “From the moment we get out of danger, you’re itching to throw us right back. I see your eyes, hear your shouts when we’re in the worst of it. You’re a soldier, Kaishi. A fighter queen, a spear-wielding huntress of the Solare.”

  It’s the longest speech I’ve ever heard Malo give. What’s more, he’s speaking in his own language, the words of Damantum, the Charre. The words no Amigga can understand, a creation wholly of humans. And it gives me an idea.

  “So you’re saying we ought to keep this going?” I reply when Malo pauses in his parade of names. “That if we’re going to walk into Ferrolite’s trap, it’s because that’s who we are?”

  “I’m saying we’re fighters, Kaishi. We’ll get Viera and that strange thing, T’Oli, back. Then, we’ll tear this whole place down.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Malo, you’ve lost it. But I think I like this new you.”

  “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  I will, because as the lift doors shut behind us, I’m sure we won’t last long.

  18 Meridia

  Plummets of an impossible range and speed are nothing new to Sax - any given assault might require the dive-bombing insertion of the Oratus and his team in conditions ranging from adverse to apocalyptic. What he’s not used to, what has his stomach feeling like a flitting feather as the lift shoots down, is the solitude. Outside of these four walls there’s a mission going on; his pair is fighting for her life, for their galaxy, and Sax doesn’t know when he rockets past her level on what might be Meridia’s sole whole-tower lift, but he feels the separation all the same.

  And devours it. Banishes it into the churn of other sensations as Aspicis’ exacts a stronger pull on his descending body. From the outer edges of the atmosphere to, soon, the ground beneath the surface. The lift itself is pressurized, those doors sealing tighter as the implications of Sax’s command get relayed through the lift’s systems and refined into a strict set of actions meant to ensure Sax doesn’t burst like an over-filled balloon as his trip commences.

  Doesn’t mean Sax feels nothing. Doesn’t mean he’s not distinctly aware of his talons resting harder on the floor, or of the vague remnants of nutrient goop searching for a way up and out his throat.

  He keeps it down.

  Eventually the lift settles into place and a light tone announces they’ve reached level zero. Sax is pretty certain he’s underground. The lift begins a steamy, noisy decompression that has Sax’s tiny ear holes pop as thicker air floods in through the lift’s loosening doors. The decompression takes time, but this is one thing Sax doesn’t want to rush: he’s seen what happens when you break the pressure apart on a ship.

  It’s the only time he’s felt pity for the Flaum crew ordered to clean up the mess.

  When the doors do open, the lift barks a snappy order for Sax to leave, “There are others requesting service. Please depart.”

  The Chorus. Always ready to sacrifice politeness for efficiency. This time, though, Sax agrees - no reason to wait in that lift any more. Not when he can step out into a space unique from the rest of the Meridia.

  None of the steel walls or austere, industrialized floors present themselves to Sax as he steps out of the lift. Level Zero starts with a cavernous entry, one that makes clear this isn’t just another part of the tower. Sax sees a showcase of glittering rock formations; various blacks, deep browns, and yellows. The stones are smoothed and refined, spiking up and down from
floor and ceiling, or clustered together in stacks so constructed as to make clear their origins in a planner’s scheme and not natural processes. Sparkles glint out from everywhere, and at first Sax thinks the twinkles are a decorative touch, but a close inspection of a jagged mustard-yellow boulder to his right makes clear those bits are circuits. Transistors. The insides of a machine.

  If confronting this strange place were to give Sax the urge to flea, the lift gives him no time to act on it. As soon as Sax’s tail leaves the traveling cube’s confines, its doors snap shut and the lift disappears. The sound pulls Sax’s eye towards the transport and he notices there’s no panel here. No way he can see to call the lift back.

  Which means he’s stuck. Kah, or maybe the First Chair, tricked him. Sent him down here where Sax wouldn’t be able to do anything. The realization trickles through Sax’s nerves, maturing into a fine hot anger. One that he takes out on that same mustard stone. The first strike with a foreclaw tears through the yellow like fine paper, and the second, his left midclaw following in with razor points slashing, draws sparks and smoke and... something else.

  Hot, red.

  Blood?

  Sax stares at the stone, at what’s seeping from his slash and draining to the ground around his talons.

  “Are you quite finished?” says the skittering voice of a female Flaum.

  Sax turns and sees a golden - too golden to be natural - furred Flaum standing, paws clasped, in front of one of the three hollowed, arching exits from the entry chamber. Her eyes, which should be black and beady, look at Sax like flashing jade, and it takes the Oratus a moment to realize her pupils are ringed by glowing implants. That realization draws Sax into a closer inspection, and he picks out, nestled in the Flaum’s fur, plenty more baubles peeking from those blonde threads.

  “An ordinary Flaum? This deep in the Meridia?” the Flaum speaks again. “Even an ignorant Oratus like yourself should know better. Your species is smarter than this.”

  Sax doesn’t know what the Flaum’s talking about, so he bets on his two strengths: claws, and threats.

  “I need to make sure my pair isn’t trapped,” Sax hisses, dripping as much menace as he can into the words. “You’re going to help me, or I’ll carve you up right here.”

  “And then what?” the Flaum replies. “You’ll drink up the blood? Oratus, I allowed you to come this far, and I didn’t do that so you could threaten me.”

  Sax tilts his head. Blinks. The Flaum allowed Sax?

  Rather than explaining, the Flaum guesses Sax’s question, turns and strides away through the earth-toned, Chorus-crafted cave. Sax takes one more look at the slashed yellow, at the visible, wounded red-brown flesh weaving between the copper and silver circuitry. Wires poke out and vanish, and the whole thing seems to pulse to the beat of some far off heart. Ideas come and go as Sax starts off after the Flaum, all coming to rest on a singular suspicion.

  Following the Flaum brings Sax into vast room, one whose base extends deeper into a machine-made basin. The same collection of rocks cluster the space, towering on top of one another and dangling down from above like bright spears. In the center, resting in a raised, golden cradle, is that suspicion.

  The Amigga is massive. Easily as tall as Sax and wider still. Its skin is layered in wrinkles, and a pair of other Flaum climb over it as Sax sees the creature, each one wiping ointments or sloughing off blackened, dead parts of its flesh. Unlike other Amigga Sax has seen in this state, this one hasn’t spread its tendrils all around, but looks instead to be funneling them through its massive pedestal. The rock Sax slashed back near the lifts, the pulsing piece? It all comes back here.

  But to be this large? To have grown its actual body through this much space? Sax can’t comprehend how old this Amigga must be. Dalachite, back on Cobalt, had been cycles old and still only managed a few meters of growth; thin tendrils connecting to terminals to give it control of its station. This one, this one...

  “Old enough,” the golden Flaum next to Sax says. “Numbers become meaningless when you’ve lived so long. Knowledge, wisdom. Those are better markers of experience.”

  “If you’re so old, and wise, then why did you bring me here?” Sax asks. “What can an Oratus tell you that you don’t already know?”

  The baubles on the golden Flaum show their purpose now. Amigga are experts at twisting minds, but direct control, that takes some assistance. Dalachite learned that the hard way when Coorvin shook loose of its influence on Cobalt. This one here is taking no chances - the golden Flaum is as locked into the Amigga as any Sevora host would be.

  “It’s not what you can tell me that matters, but what you can do for me.” The great Amigga in the center, with those pair of Flaums scrubbing it, quivers. “Like all Amigga, I am dependent on others for my own survival. A mistake we made cycles ago, when we believed what the Sevora could do would be easy to transfer. It turns out without direct control, a subject asserts its own will quite quickly.” The golden Flaum keeps her claws clasped while she speaks for her master, green eyes staring at Sax. “Yet these Flaum will not outlive me. I will need assistance, eventually. Assistance I no longer think the Chorus will provide.”

  “You don’t believe in the Chorus anymore?”

  “They are a bunch of squabbling children. They’ve seen so little, and believe they know so much,” the Amigga continues. “I, on the other hand, have witnessed the birth of real civilization. I have helped it grow through so many trials. I would not see it die because a group of Amigga believe they are better than every other thing in our galaxy.”

  “You want us to survive and win,” Sax says.

  “Yes. I want you to work with me. You will need my help, and I have much to offer. Not least, the control of the Meridia. I have already proved my side - your forces make their way up with my help, and your small strike force of humans has been able to use the lifts with my aid as well.”

  “Humans?” Sax doesn’t understand.

  “Yes. Three of them. Marauding along the upper levels. I assumed, as they seem to be enemies of the Chorus, that they belonged to your side?”

  Unexpected allies, whomever they might be, ought to be used. So Sax firms up his gaze and offers an assenting nod.

  “Then you will agree to our deal? You will help me survive?”

  The thought of ceding any power to the Amigga makes Sax clinch his claws. They are fighting to get out of the Amiggas’ control, not merely switch which one pulls the strings. Yet, it’s clear Sax is going to be stuck down here if he doesn’t say yes, so that’s what he hisses in reply.

  “I assume, because of the effort the Chorus has gone through with you, you do have the power to make this promise?” The Amigga says. “If I find out you don’t, I will bring this tower down with all of you inside of it.”

  A threat. That’s a language Sax can understand. A clear, straight line between life and endless oblivion. It’s the same stance Sax would take, the same stance he’s about to take.

  “We fought against the Sevora for cycles,” Sax begins. “We fought them because of what they could do to species. Take their minds, reduce them to something other than themselves. I don’t really understand what you’re doing to these Flaum, but if we win, you’re going to release them.”

  The Amigga quivers again, this time violently enough to send the Flaum scampering down from the pedestal. “I cannot. They would have nothing left if I did. Their minds have been mine for so long, they would not know how to function.”

  “We will teach them.” Sax is as surprised as anyone to find the fire in his voice. But he’s been a captive long enough, he’s been on the receiving end of too many tortures to let this go. The entire reason for this resistance has been to free species from the clutches of others. No exceptions. “We will do what we have to, to help them. No more control. Any species that takes care of you will do so because they wish to, either because you pay them or persuade them.”

  “Then perhaps I’ll leave you here and strike a ne
w deal with whomever survives,” the Amigga replies. “Others will be more willing to negotiate, I’m sure.”

  “You said you are old, wise,” Sax replies. “You said you understood how civilization works. How can you claim that, and still rob these Flaum of their souls?”

  “Because from what I’ve seen, civilizations drive on necessity. Those who work hardest to get what they need survive and succeed. I need these Flaum, and I have taken them.”

  Sax opens his claws, sets them on the rocks nearby. Those yellow and black ones, juicy growths of the Amigga inside of them. “Then I’m doing what’s necessary. Help me stop the Chorus. Then you’ll survive. I promise.”

  The Amigga’s slow to respond. It keeps Sax waiting, guessing, wondering. The Oratus keeps his eyes turning, watching for blasts to the back, a sneak attack or some other deadly ambush. An Amigga’s caught him off guard before, not again. Not here, not now. Sax has no time to be stunned.

  “If you guarantee my survival, I can accept your terms,” the Amigga says finally, breaking Sax’s thought. “I will ensure the doors remain unlocked,” the Amigga twitches and the Flaum next to Sax pulls out a small handheld terminal. Powers it on and it sparks to life and shows a grainy image that resolves into clear clarity.

  “The lifts will come when called,” the Amigga says and in the picture, Bas and Evva climb into the frame, loping closer to a pair of lifts with a red panel looming in front of them. The Oratus pause for a moment, glance at each other, as other fighters sneak into the frame and exchange laser fire with something off-screen.

  The panel flips to green and both Bas and Evva, the pink and the red-black Oratus, stare at the sudden switch. Suspicious, as they ought to be, of any good fortune. It’s only after a staccato stitch of lasers crashes into the closed lift doors to their left that Bas slaps the panel and calls the lift.

  “Your friends will find the lifts take them to the safest routes. While those the Chorus uses will send them elsewhere or fail to operate at all. When the defense collapses, you will have control of the tower.”