Sci-Fi Fantasy Collection (A Citizen Tale Books 1 & 2)

by S. K. Holder

  But in the back of his mind, he didn’t see the need to go anywhere. Always captivated by anything to do with the mind, he resolved to take the Avu’lore for himself. It would be an asset to his collection. He desired power. Knowledge was power. Wealth brought power to some degree; Odisiris was swamped with it. He needed an advantage. The Avu’lore had the potential to change his life. Of course, he would have to understand how it worked. He thought it might even help accelerate his research.

  He spent the next three hours in his lab fussing over his instruments and scolding his niece for trying to make conversation with the elderly Citizen in the bottom of the pit he had created for her. When Amelia had drifted off to sleep and the old woman had stopped moaning with the help of the sedative he had given her, Skelos left his laboratory and went in search of the cave where he had seen the Avu’lore. He couldn’t wait another day. He had to have it. The power had to be within the Avu’lore itself, not in the one who wielded it. He had no reason to be afraid. He had Citizen blood running through his veins; he needed to remember that. Since his fateful demonstration, he often second-guessed himself. He had managed to maintain the arrogance of his race. His confidence, however, came in waves of bold certainty, delusion, and doubt.

  He didn’t have voices to help him track down his prize, he had his memories and the scant markings he had made on the tunnels walls on his way back. As a child he became lost in the caves and spent hours in tears trying to find his way out. He had the fortitude to guarantee it didn’t happen again. There would be no frantic blubbing and panic. Not this time.

  He knew the gamble he was taking, leaving his laboratory unguarded twice, so soon after his arrival. He could bump into the Hooded Man and then what would become of him? I shall kill him if he challenges me or anyone else who dares to stand in my way.

  He always felt that his tongue was his secret weapon and that if he kept it wagging long enough, something of value was bound to slip out. But the temptation of the Avu’lore was too great.

  He found the back of the cave and clawed his way to the entrance by squeezing himself through a narrow rock way. There were no tunnels leading directly from the cave entrance, only a narrow shaft in the ground. The cave was abandoned. It was different from the others he had encountered. Newer or older, he couldn’t tell. Portions of the wall were covered in a green and orange fungi, and the ground was covered with what appeared to be sand, despite the fact that the nearest beach was a 1000 miles away. Skelos shone his night-light through it.

  Content that nothing was on its way up, he sprinted inside, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder. He stared at the pedestal where he had seen the demonstration and the spot where he had seen the Greasy-Haired One fall. He saw no blood. No signs of life.

  The Unmarked One had been teleported away. But where? And he had never seen a teleportation device mop up blood, not in his world, unless it was a new development he had not been made privy to. Such inventions would become known to the public once they had been fully tested. It was a good way to mop up, if you didn’t have a droid, or a pole with a brush attached to one end of it. When he returned to Pareus he would make enquiries, and by make enquiries he meant ask his trusted confidant, the Third Status Citizen, Denlor.

  He placed his hand on the section of the wall he had seen the Hooded Man open the drawer. He waited. Had he touched the right place? Or had the Hooded Man used a device, some gadget, which caused the rock drawer to open? He moved his hand slowly along the cragged wall, pausing every now and again until finally the drawer slid out.

  He took out the two bundles: one containing the Avu’lore globe and the other the Shards. He felt inside the drawer to see if there were any other treasures the Hooded Man had left behind. The globe was heavier than he expected, but his robes were filled with vast pockets and folds, big enough to hide the apparatus. He popped the globe and the Shards into the folds. He slid the rock drawer back into place and with one last look around the cave, he made his way back to his laboratory.

  He returned to find his niece playing with a smoke-filled vial. He snatched it from her. ‘How many times have I told you not to touch anything without my permission?’

  She shrugged. ‘Sorry, Uncle, you weren’t here to ask.’

  His eyes narrowed. Her insolence was a curse. Sometimes he could have sworn that she understood more than the House of Dorm had taught her, that there was great wisdom beneath the flatness in her eyes, her tranquil demeanour, and the layers of frills and silk. There will be a place for her in the Parliamentary Elite if she keeps this up.

  ‘Help me with this.’ He placed his newly acquired treasures on his work table.

  Amelia clasped her hands together, smiling. ‘Oh, what is it? Is it a present for me?’

  ‘No, but it may help the both of us. You can unwrap it.’

  Amelia unwrapped both bundles with the eagerness of any child accepting a gift. When she saw what lay inside, she stuck out her bottom lip and strutted back to her chair. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘Because it’s not a dress?’ he asked.

  ‘No, because it’s boring.’

  He used a metal tong to handle one of the Shards, gingerly lifting it at one end. He let it drop. On closer inspection he wasn’t sure if they were made of glass; they felt like glass, but when the tongs hit them, they didn’t make the chinking sound that glass made. He rubbed the Shards down with some alcohol, removed his gloves, and rolled one of the Shards between his finger and thumb. He put it to his ear and then slotted it under one of the antique microscopes he had acquired from Dr Oliver Best’s hoard. He could see the faint traces of Zichronite within it; grains of spectral colours.

  He could make out the Zichronite from its shimmer. He could see the colours of the spectrum within it. There may have been something else in it too, something he couldn’t see. His eyes were sharp, too sharp at times. It couldn’t have been Zichronite alone that allowed the Hooded Man to control minds. It had to be something more. How is it possible that an Unmarked One could make such a discovery where a Citizen of Odisiris could not? Zichronite had a great many uses in Odisiris. It could be used to conduct energy, power turbines, generate heat, fuel airship; but to control the mind and turn a perfectly practical Citizen into a puppet – now that was debatable.

  He placed the Shards into the globe’s slots. When the colours started to form, Amelia sprung to his side cooing over the attractive colours.

  He laid his hand on the globe. He didn’t feel anything at all and thought he should have. The Hooded Man had exhibited a reverence of some sort when he had touched the globe. There was a sinking and rising of the chest, and a momentum in the fingers. He tried to think how long the Hooded Man had waited before issuing a command. If he timed it correctly, it was less than a minute.

  He tested his theory on his niece. ‘Sit down, Amelia,’ he said.

  ‘No. I want to watch the pretty colours.’

  Was the Avu’lore having the opposite effect? He shouldn’t have needed the Avu’lore to get Amelia to do as he asked.

  He attempted another command. ‘Sit down on the floor.’

  ‘But I don’t want to. You said to sit on my chair.’

  Skelos clicked his tongue, took his hands off the globe, and pulled out the Shards.

  ‘I will need to test this glass-like material,’ he said. He tapped the Shard on the table. Unless the Zichronite held it in place, this was no ordinary glass. If he could penetrate the Shard, he could extract a particle. But he didn’t have the proper instruments to test the Shards or the globe, which meant he would have to return to the city and ask Denlor to help him obtain what he needed from his former Stores.

  He had not given Denlor the location of his new laboratory, more out of embarrassment than trust. He would lose Denlor’s respect if he revealed that he had sunk to such an unimaginable low. He considered returning to Oliver’s hoard. He might find something there he could use. Then again, the risk was greater now that he had the Shard. He imag
ined the Hooded Man was scouring the tunnels and caves in search of his treasure.

  Perhaps, it’s not the Avu’lore that’s the problem. Perhaps it’s Amelia. She was not just flesh, blood and bone. It was possible that her mechanical parts hindered the Avu’lore in some way.

  CHAPTER 6

  He mumbled to himself as he set about undoing the silver rope wrapped around the old woman’s wrists and ankles. His hair was drenched with sweat from nerves and not with the burden of carrying her.

  After spending the previous night cooped up and struggling at the back of the cave, the old woman lay quiet and exhausted.

  Unable to listen to any more of her pitiful cries, he had not removed the tape from her mouth.

  Ishara Molari was two hundred years old, although she could easily have passed for seventy. Her silver-grey hair swept her shoulders. Her eyes were shut tight as if they, too, were bound.

  Supporting Ishara’s full weight on his shoulders, he took her to the gurney. She hung around his neck like a flaccid scarf. But unlike a scarf, she was neither warm nor thick.

  He had trained his night-light on the rusty gurney and the white flat screen in the centre of the cave. The Avu’lore globe, which would be central to his experiments, sat on a steel pedestal. It diverted attention from the surrounding clutter of outdated equipment and technology.

  When Amelia saw Skelos carrying the old woman, she remained seated against her better judgement. ‘What are you going to do, Uncle?’

  ‘Quiet. Help me.’

  The child stood with some reluctance and watched him hoist Ishara onto the gurney.

  The last two interlocking discs on Skelos’s black laboratory coat popped open. His physique bore the weight of his labour. Literally. He had an extra twelve pounds of fat around his middle; the harder he worked the more he ate.

  Ishara’s bare feet acted with a will of their own, fighting stubbornly to stay on the ground. Her face was set with determination to use what little strength she had left for one final protest.

  Once he had positioned her on the gurney, he gathered the straps that hung on either side of it. He fastened them around her small waist, feet, and shoulders, doubting he would need them at all once the drug had taken effect.

  Amelia stood with her arms crossed, peering into the old woman’s motionless face as if willing her eyes to open.

  ‘Don’t just stand there,’ he said. ‘Put some gel on those pads. We don’t have all night.’ I have all day and all night. This is what I do. This is my life.

  His work had been hampered by the archaic lab equipment, his dullard niece, and the fear of being discovered. The fear nipped at him like a bug, causing him no end of disturbance.

  He rolled up Ishara’s sleeve, took a cloth swab from the table, and rubbed it into the middle of her arm, leaving a trail of clear liquid. Returning to the table, he selected a fine syringe, broke the conical head off an ampule, and drew some fluid.

  Ishara chose this moment to open her eyes. If she was now aware of what was going on, she did not show it.

  Amelia had ignored her uncle’s instructions. She stared into the woman’s milky grey eyes, eclipsing everything else from her view.

  Ishara looked into the little girl’s eyes, her face softening.

  ‘Can I touch her? Can I take off the tape, Uncle?’

  ‘Move away from her, Amelia. Do as you’re told.’

  He injected the fluid into Ishara’s forearm. Within seconds, she was unconscious.

  Amelia expressed her disappointment with a sigh. ‘This is illegal, isn’t it? What we’re doing? I shouldn’t be helping you. If mother and father were to find out, they wouldn’t be too happy. First an Outsider and then some old orange Citizen…’ She whittled on, squeezing the clear gel onto one of six electro pads that Skelos would connect to the Avu’lore.

  He struck her on the back of the leg with his hand. He had never struck the child before, but having to listen to the girl’s squeaky monotone voice for days on end was beginning to wear on him. He hadn’t conversed with an adult in a while − at least not one who was fully conscious.

  Amelia screamed, dropping the gel and the pads.

  Now I will have to endure a new noise. ‘Pick that up! You’re in my charge now. I’ve told you to hold your tongue when I’m doing important work. You do that, or I’ll be telling my brother and your precious mother what an insolent daughter they have and be done with it. I’ve a mind to leave you here tonight. That ought to teach you to obey.’

  Amelia picked up the container of gel. Her hand trembled as she retrieved a cloth from the table. She wiped the spilled gel from the floor, dabbing in earnest. When she had finished wiping the floor, she continued to smear the gel onto the pads. She then gently placed them on either side of the woman’s temples, two on her forehead, two on her chest, and the remaining two on her arms.

  Her task complete, Skelos shoved Amelia aside. He fed two electrode pad wires into the Avu’lore globe. He then inserted the Shards. One would measure the impulses to the brain; the other the heart.

  After a short time, the Avu’lore globe ignited with colour, unveiling specks of yellow, red, blue, green, and purple hues. Skelos frowned. The globe lacked vivacity. He cupped it in his hands. It felt cold. Dull. Had the Avu’lore lost its power? No. That can’t be it. The electro pads then? Well-worn and ancient, but all he could acquire.

  He heaved a sigh and gazed at the dappled blob which had formed on the screen.

  Amelia returned to her chair. Sniffling, she folded her arms and swung her legs.

  Skelos waited.

  CHAPTER 7

  Skelos stared at the screen for over an hour. After all, he was a scientist and patience went with the territory.

  He had to see something this time. Something clearer. His countless experiments, complete with failures and disillusionments, did not dampen his spirits; he simply became more determined to see his investigations through. The fact that he had turned to an Outsider proved his determination. For everything there was a price.

  He perused a large stock of notes on his handheld tablet, glancing up at the screen at regular intervals. He was exhausted, yet the desire to sleep seldom took him from his work.

  Amelia had lost interest in Ishara. She attempted to sleep. She jerked her head up every so often to prevent herself from slipping from her chair.

  Another hour passed, and another, until gradually the colours on the screen slowly began to merge. Skelos’s eyes widened in expectation as the blob branched and then swerved to the left of the screen. An outline of a hand emerged in its middle.

  ‘New? Not witnessed this before.’ He spoke his observations aloud into his tablet.

  Amelia roused. She sat up. ‘Look, Uncle. She’s gone pale.’

  He saw that Ishara had indeed turned paler than she had been when he brought her in. Her skin appeared drained of orange blood, save for the orange tinge around her pupils.

  ‘Should I take off the pads?’ Amelia was eager to help now. Her uncle looked almost as sickly as the old woman.

  ‘No,’ he said, his voice hoarse. He pinched Ishara’s wrist, hoping to find some trace of a pulse. He had been so focused on the screen he had failed to monitor her blood pressure. She had flat-lined. The ECG monitor emitted no sound. It displayed a straight line, just as the good doctor told him it would.

  He had expected her to last longer than this. True enough, her body was old. But she had a young mind, brimming with knowledge and teeming with mysteries.

  He lacked the essential equipment to attempt to revive her, save for his own hands. Having never performed a resuscitation, he did not trust them to do their work. Better she remains a corpse. He had intended to dispose of her at some point. She was old, and given that the average life expectancy was 190, her death would not be considered suspicious.

  He had wanted to fulfil his dream of delving into the human mind, to read it in a catalogue of perfectly formed moving images. Yes, he believed it was possible. I
t would take time, patience, and determination; all qualities he possessed in abundance. It wasn’t too much to desire in the scheme of things.

  Finally, he remembered someone had been watching him.

  ‘Have you killed her, Uncle?’ said Amelia.

  He met his niece’s gaze.

  And another one I shall have to take care of, he thought bitterly.

  Skelos left Amelia with the Ishara Molari’s and stepped outside the cave. He needed to take a breath. A moment. Air was scarce in the Red Caves. He walked along the tunnel thinking about how he might acquire another Citizen subject with Denlor’s help.

  He came to the tunnel that connected them to the outside, to where the red dust lay. He heard the Citizen airship, its faint hum. He saw its shadow on the ground and the red dust swirling beneath it.

  He raced back to his laboratory, his mind a flurry of panic. He stumbled into the cave, his hand on his chest. He had been discovered! He had taken all the precautionary lengths to see to it that it didn’t happen. And if there were but a tiny chance that they were not looking for him, at some point they would find him. How much of this can I explain away?

  Alarmed by his exasperated expression, Amelia jumped from her chair, grasping the hem of her dress.

  ‘What is it, Uncle? What’s happened?’

  ‘By-the-Maker, they’ve found us!’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I just do.’ He stripped off his lab coat and flung it to the floor, enraged by his own carelessness. If he had restored the electro-magnetic barrier, they probably would have left. They’ll search every tunnel and cave until they’ve found every last Outsider and me, my niece, and the body.

  He gave Amelia one of the Shards. ‘Keep this for me. Tell no one of it,’ he warned her.

  Amelia took it from him without saying a word. She understood the urgency. They could both hear them now. The voices. The numerous footsteps.