This was the ancient city of Dokan.
The view panned left, wavering unsteadily, and settled on four beings gathered in an alleyway. Kenon recognized two of them immediately: Avhelliss Demor, and the dancer called Linadi Voskois. The other two were still too blurry to identify, but they were much too small to be Drahkori.
Parker squinted at the figures in anticipation as the image gradually came into focus. When they did, his jaw dropped. “Oh my god,” he gasped. “Are those humans?”
There was no doubt. One was a fair-skinned woman with braided hair, and the other was a bearded man wearing brass goggles on his head. Both were dressed in drab apparel, and looked as though they had just crawled out of a mineshaft.
Doramire stirred once more.I cannot tell you of the tragedies that occurred that day,he said, his words burdened by a heavy sorrow. But . . . I can show you.
Again, the image shifted. As ripples washed over the peaceful city, dusk fell upon the land. Scorch marks appeared in the sandstone roads, some ending in spatters of blue or maroon. The faceless townspeople vanished, leaving grimy footprints in their wake, and smoke billowed all around.
Amber formations erupted from the docking station, swallowing the building whole and forever trapping anyone inside. The very thought made Kenon’s hair stand on end. But lurking in the shadows was something far more disturbing.
Creatures scoured the ruins for survivors. For prey. They scrabbled about on crooked limbs, dragging smoldering corpses from the ruins. One clambered onto a crumbling rampart, its hardened flesh oozing viscous black fluid, and loosed an ear-splitting shriek.
The ripples continued onward, surging toward the horizon. They splashed up from the ground, rucked the smog-choked sky, and illuminated a colossal structure looming in orbit. Its gentle curve glowed, swathed in blue light.
Kenon’s eyes widened.
Calypsis.
Devoid of landmass, devoid of water, fiery lines traced geometric patterns in the weapon’s shell. Silver plates slid over its surface, withdrawing from what would become the southern pole to reveal a cannon’s maw.
It was preparing to fire.
Just as a particle flare erupted from the planet’s crust, a collection of distorted pictures sailed across the walls. Human bodies piled outside a desert city, iron-clad warriors battling Nepheran legionnaires. A myriad of faces—both familiar and unknown—interspersed with glimpses of amber and scarlet waves.
Then they slowed, and a new stream began to play. However, unlike the others, Kenon knew these moments well.
The footage rolling out before him showed an unlikely group of humans and Drocain traversing Calypsis’ transport tunnels. Echo and Alpha Team. Dr. Chambers. Captain Nicholas and his marines, Levian ‘Nher and the warriors from the settlement in the mountains . . .
Doramire spoke again. For once, his voice did not resonate within the young warrior’s skull. It emanated from a concealed source, reverberating around the room as though he were standing right here alongside the team.
“You were not the first to embark on this journey,” he said. “But you will be the last.”
Jhiral pivoted on her toes. “Is that . . .?”
“Doramire,” Kenon replied. “These are his memories!”
The old vykord must have been watching them through Calypsis’ surveillance systems all this time. And if he was capable of that, perhaps he was also the one controlling the doors—altering their paths, guiding their way.
The projections started to withdraw from the walls, sinking back toward the center of the room. The colorful swirls turned to light and took to the air, coming together to form a glowing cylinder above the floor.
And just like that, the room was returned to its reflective white sheen. The only evidence that remained of what had taken place here were the dumbstruck expressions plastered on Echo Team’s faces.
Jhiral shook her head. “If those . . . memories are correct, that means the Nephera unleashed Calypsis on Dyre eons ago. That could very well have been what created the Deadlands. But if that is true, how are we here?”
“Something must have stopped them,” Alana surmised.
“And that is precisely what we must do again.” Tearing his gaze from the blank walls, Kenon looked over his teammates. “We should be nearing the first teleportation gate. I suspect the High Lord will be waiting for us there.”
“Well, let’s not keep him.” Jenkinson waved his hand as he marched out of the room. “Come on, people, we’ve got a galaxy to save.”
Their feet carried them out of the archives, across another frightfully narrow bridge, and into a series of lofty walkways whose walls stretched to unseen heights. Down here, in the belly of the beast, the sounds of laboring machinery were deafening.
The floor trembled and groaned. Great pistons pumped overhead, and air whooshed somewhere high above. The weapon’s mechanical heartbeat followed Echo Team long after they had moved on.
Despite being sandwiched between two ice-encrusted caverns, a lukewarm draft rushed to meet them when they entered the next room.
Rusty water trickled down the ramparts, pooling in the corners. Moss sprouted at the edge of the puddles, struggling to survive amidst the grit and grime on the metal floor. It was a wonder any vegetation had managed to grow down here at all, yet even strings of ivy had worked their way in through the cracks.
Jhiral regarded the fractured ceiling with unease. “Is this it?”
“Apparently,” Jenkinson said, the faint outline of a screen shining through his opaque visor. “According to the coordinates Doctor Chambers gave us, the gate should be right here.”
Parker took a gander at the decrepit room, unimpressed. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t see anything that looks even remotely like the entrance to a wormhole. Are you sure those numbers are accurate?”
“As accurate as they’re gonna get.”
“Why neglect one of the gates, though? They’re the fastest mode of travel, and there were only a few on the map. You’d think they would put more effort into the upkeep.”
Carter scoffed. “Maybe they’re understaffed.”
While the rest of the team contemplated the possibility that they were in the wrong area, Kenon walked to the far end of the room, where some of the larger streams had collected in a shallow depression. There was something engraved in the wall above it, concealed beneath the ivy. He swept the shriveled vines away to reveal the symbol.
Corroded from years of neglect, many of the lines had begun to fade. Kenon dragged his claw along the metal, retracing the old etchings until he had rebuilt the image in his head. From what he gathered, the elliptical lines came together to form a star.
No—not a star, he realized. A portal.
This was the gate they had been searching for.
I can teleport you to the antechamber from here, Doramire said, confirming the young warrior’s assumption. And so, child . . . I am afraid this is where you and your comrades must part ways.
The only response that went through Kenon’s skull was a resounding no. He had been preparing for this moment since they left Dyre, agonizing over it every step of the way. It was an unfortunate inevitability, and one he had accepted up to this point.
Yet, now that he was here, he felt woefully unprepared.
He wanted more time. Another day, another hour . . .
Kenon turned to face his teammates, a lump in his throat. They were watching him expectantly, waiting for him to tell them where to go next. When he said nothing, Lieutenant Jenkinson let out a huff.
“Please don’t tell me this is a dead end,” he groaned.
“Quite the opposite, actually.”
That lit a few hopeful sparks amidst the team. They lifted their chins a little higher, eager to start the next leg of their mission—everyone except for Alana, who was shaking her head from side to side. She had picked up on his hesitation and realized he was stalling.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she asked,
to which the rest of their expressions fell blank. Jhiral’s lips parted like she wanted to speak but could not find her words.
Kenon met Alana’s glare and nodded.
“You lied to me.”
“I made a promise I could not keep,” he said. “You insisted on looking for an alternative, and though I wish there was one, I know there is not. From the beginning, this is how our journey was meant to end.”
“Nothing is set in stone. We haven’t even made it to the core yet!”
Every word cut into Kenon like a dagger, and the crack in her voice only twisted each one deeper. But no amount of pleading could stop him. For the simple fact was: this was the only way.
He cast his eyes to the floor. “. . . I’m sorry.”
————
As Kenon backed into the depression, a spiral of light sprang from the water, coiled up around his legs, and engulfed his entire body. It glowed brighter and brighter with every rotation, too fast for Echo Team’s visors to adjust. They raised their arms to shield themselves from the flare.
When the light died, Kenon was gone.
Alana stormed over to the depression. She studied the ground where the warrior had stood just seconds ago, then stepped into the pool. Nothing moved, nothing changed. Why wouldn’t the gate accept her?
“Take me too,” she hissed at the water. “Please.”
The gate ignored her request.
She pounded her fist on the wall and shouted, “Take me!”
And the gate complied.
Another glowing cyclone erupted from the floor. Alana went to leap out of the way—only to discover that her feet were glued to the spot. Alana twisted to look over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of her teammates just before the flare engulfed them all.
A brief feeling of weightlessness washed over her, as if gravity itself had given out. Then it came rushing back, the world reappeared, and she collapsed upon a rubberized floor.
Alana propped herself up on her elbows, every inch of her body tingling. She lifted her head to see where the gate had spat them out, and met the baffled gray stare of Admiral Anderson.
Echo Team had landed on Houston.
The frigate’s AI, Alice, materialized above the console beside Anderson. “Sir, you need to take a look at this. I just detected multiple slipspace ruptures . . . inside the ship . . .” She trailed off on a note of uncertainty, watching as the soldiers picked themselves up off the floor.
Jenkinson offered a weak salute. “That would be us.”
At a wave from the Admiral, the bridge crew ceased their gawking and returned to their terminals. Anderson then rose from his command chair and approached the team. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
While Jenkinson started to explain the teleportation gate, Alana rushed down the steps to the observation deck and pressed her palms against the viewport window. Past the debris, past the starfighters and battling ships, lay Calypsis. A portion of its shield wavered where a generator spire should have stood.
That must have been the one Levian destroyed.
“But what are you doing here?” Anderson interrupted Lieutenant Jenkinson with a flourish of his arms, not so much interested in how they got aboard his ship, but rather why they were on it and not inside the planet anymore. “Did we lose?” he pressed. “Did the mission fail?”
“No, not yet.” Alana replied. “Kenon’s still down there.”
Chapter
——THIRTY-TWO——
September 15, 2442 (Earth Calendar) / Antechamber, Internal Network, planet Calypsis
A spark interrupted the stillness. Buzzing sounds penetrated Kenon’s skull, spreading throughout his body until every fiber of his being quivered in harmony, and for a moment, he found himself suspended in a whirling funnel of light.
When the funnel evaporated, he fell several meters before collapsing upon an unseen floor. Waves of dizziness washed over him. He clamped his jaws shut, waited for them to pass, and rose shakily to his feet.
Colorful stars winked all around. To the right, the wisps of a radiant nebula embraced a world he did not recognize. Patches of brown and gray covered its mottled surface, gleaming like great sheets of ice. Two enormous rings rotated in its orbit—not rings of space debris, but rather enormous structures built around the planet.
Kenon twisted about. “What is this place?” he wondered aloud.
There were no visible ramparts in sight. No walls, no ceiling. Even the floor beneath him was invisible, save for a brief rippling effect that flared underfoot when he shifted his weight. Obviously he hadn’t been cast into the depths of space. That could only mean this was some kind of elaborate holographic star chart.
The antechamber, Doramire replied. This is where the weapon’s targets are chosen.
As the young warrior opened his mouth to inquire about the map’s current location, the sound of armored feet fell upon his ears. He spun on his toes, whipped out his longbow. Its limbs unfurled in his grasp and snapped into place.
A figure emerged from the nebula. Lanky arms swung at his sides, equipped with crystalline blades. His slender form was adorned in silver armor similar to the suit E’ly had worn. But his was smoother, rounder, and deeply tarnished by the scars of a war long passed.
Light streamed across his helmet, highlighting its seams. It split into multiple pieces and receded into the collar of his harness, unveiling an equally battle-worn face.
This was the Nepheran High Lord, the Seeker of Solace.
Kenon took an involuntary step back. “Sol D’Vare.”
The alien’s thin lips curled into an unsettling smile. “At long last, we meet.” There was an eerie calmness about the way he spoke, an unnatural quality that unnerved Kenon. “When I discovered you were aboard the shuttle I cast into Charon Four, I was sure you had perished. It brings me great pleasure to see that I was wrong.”
“That was you?”
“Indeed.”
Kenon furrowed his brow. “Why? Whether I was aboard the shuttle or not, why go to such drastic lengths to destroy something so insignificant?”
Sol halted beside the holographic planet and swept his hand over its barren surface. It shivered at his touch. “Admittedly, my hand wavered. After that incident, I even lost control over my own fleets, my own people . . . Then, something miraculous happened.” He broke away from the nebula. “We detected an anomaly—a burst of energy radiating from a pocket between space and time. In all my years, I have known only one race capable of manipulating the slipstream without the help of synthetic devices. And that was when it dawned on me: you were being protected by the spirit of a vykord. So, Valinquint, which of these supposed gods guides you now?”
Kenon turned slowly as the High Lord began to circle him. He didn’t dare take his aim off the alien—not even for a second. “Why do you want to know?” he demanded.
“Curiosity. Though, if I had to guess . . . is it Kin’Delor?”
That was no meager guess. By the look in his slanted eyes, the seeker already knew he was correct. But how? What gave it away?
As if he had read the young warrior’s mind, he continued.
“Of course, it has to be Kin’Delor. No other vykord could lead you here, for no other has set foot in these tunnels. Why, I believe he walked the very same path with your ancestor. Your former self.”
Something akin to panic sparked within Kenon, but the feeling was not his own. It was Doramire’s. What could the old vykord possibly be afraid of?
“Tell me, warrior,” Sol went on. “Do you think Avhelliss a hero? Can you recall the details of your previous life, or do you know only what that coward has told you?”
Do not be fooled, Doramire warned. He is trying to manipulate you.
“Avhelliss was a legend,” Kenon replied, choosing his words carefully. “I am aware his campaign against your kind was not clean, but the fact is, he was willing to do whatever was necessary in order to protect this galaxy. Whether that makes him a hero or not is a matt
er of opinion.”
A chuckle rattled in the High Lord’s throat. Then he stopped his pacing, his expression grew cold. “Wrong answer.” His body shifted—just the slightest change in posture, but a clear sign that he was about to attack.
Kenon couldn’t allow him the advantage of the first strike. He loosed his arrow, tracked its flight across the gap. It soared past the seeker’s head when he jumped aside, trailing ribbons of icy mist, and Kenon released three more arrows in quick succession.
Still, Sol was faster.
Engaging his cloaking device, he dove out of the salvo’s path and dissolved into nothingness. The arrows sliced the air where he had been seconds ago, and fizzled out somewhere in the distance.
Footfalls echoed from an indiscernible direction. Kenon spun in search of his opponent, watching for a quiver in the air or a ripple on the floor. But there was no indication as to where he had gone, and it would be nigh impossible to hit at an invisible target. Foolish even to try.
Slinging his bow over his shoulder, the young warrior ignited his energy blades—praying they had a sufficient amount of charge for one more fight. “You label Doramire a coward,” he called into the blackness, “yet you take to the shadows in combat. Show yourself! If you wish to take our galaxy, prove yourself worthy. Prove to me that you are capable!”
Something slammed into Kenon’s lower back. He whipped around, slashing madly at the emptiness. No connection.
Glowing glass flashed like lightning to his right, found the gap between his thigh and shin guard, and tore his knee open. Kenon suppressed a scream as searing pains lanced up his leg. It took all of his strength not to give in to his body’s will and crumple to the ground. He had to stay on his feet. To fall so easily would be to surrender.
“You would doom an entire species to extinction?” Sol’s voice resounded as if emanating from multiple speakers around the room.
“You leave me no choice,” Kenon snarled. “You seek to annihilate us—to commit genocide on a galactic scale. Whatever Avhelliss did, his crimes cannot possibly compare to yours! You have slaughtered millions, and fabricated stories to rally the humans and the Drocain to your side.”
The Calypsis Project Boxed Set (Books 1-2 - The Echo-Alpha Duology) Page 59