Swords Above the Stars

by Roman Zlotnikov

  The only thing that humans enriched the culture of other sentient beings with was religion. Jesuit missions appeared on all the worlds, brothers with a purpose, and the Pope issued an encyclical for the canonization of three non-human martyrs. But now Lucky knew that this was a pale shadow of the activities of the Enemy, or rather like the sound of a cricket against a background of reasonable speech. With these thoughts in mind, Yv dozed off.

  Beer Keg tumbled into the cabin in the morning. All night Yv had suffered from nightmares, watching as Scarlet Princes changed his skin color to purple or orange, and humans mixed with trolls and Kazgarots, paraded in front of some strange stands or terraces, saluting rows of Scarlet Princes. He saw bodies standing holding their severed heads in their hands, and he recognized the heads of Fat Anselm, Cardinal Desiree, Don Kior, Grey Mustache and his own.

  So, when Beer Keg, humming something under his breath, sat down with a bang on the bottom bunk, Yv sat up in his bed with relief. Don Kior was pretty drunk.

  “Well, did you have a good time?”

  Beer Keg burped heartily and patted his stomach.

  “I’m full to the brim.”

  “Where’s Grey Mustache?”

  He waved his hand in the air.

  “Still there. For him it doesn’t matter. He’s small and skinny, but they wanted to get me drunk…” Don Kior hiccupped and carried on in a husky voice. “They poured and poured. If I hadn’t run away, it would have been pouring out of my ears. But I managed to out drink their guy…” He swayed and grabbed the handrail of Yv’s bunk and muttered sleepily, “I swear by Saint Ungoma, that mead is insidious–it doesn’t affect my head, but my legs don’t work.”

  Restoring his balance, he pulled off his jerkin, and muttering something else under his breath, he lay on the bunk. A few moments later there was a faint snoring sound. Yv lay there for another ten minutes, then got up and looked out into the corridor. After that terrible battle, when the number of Dons had been greatly reduced, Pip and another one of the servants had moved to a cabin nearby. Lucky put on a robe, took a towel, and shuffled off to the shower. On the way he looked into Pip’s cabin, but he was not around. After taking a shower, he got dressed, and went to the Command and Control center.

  Stubborn Bull met him with a puzzled look.

  “What brought you here, Lucky? You have ten hours until your next shift.”

  Yv shrugged

  “I just can’t sleep.”

  The phlegmatic captain nodded and turned back to the screen. Yv made his way to his console and sat there, absently pressing the buttons. Something didn’t feel right. It was as if something was drawing him somewhere. He pulled columns up on the screen showing the characteristics of the weapons used during operations in the atmosphere, and made some adjustments to compensate for the density of Zovros’s atmosphere, but his thoughts still wandered somewhere far away. Try as Yv might to focus on the figures flashing on the screen, it was all in vain.

  He sighed, turned off the console, and left the Command and Control center. Somehow his legs led him to an airlock. He climbed into a spacesuit, checked the seal as usual and unlocked the door. The hatch slid open slowly, and an angry gust of wind slammed against the chest of the suit. The synthetic muscle of the exoskeleton immediately reacted by throwing the body slightly forward to restore balance, but the wind almost deceived him by suddenly removing the unseen pressure against his chest and swirling around to strike him in the back. Yv flew off like a cork from a bottle.

  After running a few steps, he received a couple of blows to the side and, gasping, fell on his ass. The wind threw a handful of ashes against his visor. Yv sat for a few minutes, recovering from the surprise–so different from the last time when Don Diaz’s team had to work in the tunnels. So, he descended onto the surface of Zovros for the first time, then got up and walked to Putyata’s Ushkuy. It stood farthest from the entrance to the tunnel, at the edge of the border fence. When, with difficulty in overcoming the wind resistance, he stumbled into the ship’s airlock, it was crowded with rows of guests standing in space suits.

  He got out of his and moved toward the main room. It was gloomy. The overhead lighting was down, and reflections from the hearth danced around the walls and ceiling. Yv froze in surprise. He had never seen an open fire on any ship before. Looking closer, he realized that it was just a clever hologram. In the circle around the hearth Druzhnik troops sat spellbound listening to Grey Mustache.

  “… And then the Lord sent his son, and commanded him to test the human race, because the human race had brought a lot of grief to its pastor, and he no longer had faith in humans, since the birth of their kind. So, he commanded that humankind try to prove that they were worthy of his favor, so that the Eternal One would lead them in the last battle. A blade made of mithril would be in his hand, consecrated in the very blood of the Lord, which would plunge the Prince of Darkness from his throne and send him into oblivion. This blade gives strength to anyone who owns it. Nobody, not even a Scarlet Prince could cast a spell against such a person. He could place a charm over any of the soldiers of the Enemy. Only when the blade falls into the hands of the Eternal One will he find his true strength.”

  Yv sat on the sidelines, but Grey Mustache had already finished his tale and reached for a bratina of mead, which was standing next to him at the end of the table. He took a good gulp then passed the bratina of wine to one of the Druzhnik troops.

  “Lucky, you missed the most interesting part,” he nodded at a huge figure happily snoring at the table. “Beer Keg tried to out drink Vseslav, but he couldn’t manage it, so he ran off.”

  Yv smiled. “He told me the opposite.”

  Grey Mustache snorted. “Of course he did! Now all the taverns will hear the tale of how Beer Keg outdrank the Druzhniks from New City.”

  They all laughed, everybody started talking at the same time, and a new full bratina of mead was passed around. Then someone asked, “Tell us another tale, storyteller.”

  Grey Mustache was flattered, so he smiled and began. “I've heard, my worthy friends, that in the beginning, Saint Neerget was a wealthy merchant from Tair …”

  Yv had heard this story at least five times already. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. But vague images swarmed around inside his head. Grey Mustache’s soft voice did not soothe, as usual, but rather irritated him. Yv remembered that today was Friday night. The night when dreams became prophetic. He quietly got up and silently slipped out of the main room, and went to the airlock. He pulled on his spacesuit and climbed outside. A gust of wind knocked him off his feet and dragged him toward the border fence. Yv clung to some rock and tried to sit up, but a new gust pinned him to the stones. It seemed to him as if some shadows dressed in space suits had passed him, but the end of the next shift was a long way off, so how could there be so many people wandering around? Yv tried to get up again, but the next thing he knew, the rock he was holding onto shifted in his hands, and he was swept away against the border fence.

  Grey Mustache finished his story and again reached for the bratina. The mead was amazing. The door to the main room crashed open and a crowd of people burst inside. A hefty Voivoda, a military commander, with a red face, prevented any questions with his booming, bass voice.

  “Putyata has ordered all work to stop. The local weather has gone seriously wild. We may have to cover the camp with a power dome. I have received instructions to close down all outdoor facilities.” The Voivoda reached out and grabbed a bratina from the table. Once the contents had disappeared down his neck, he cleared his throat, wiped his mustache and with a loud sigh said, “We barely made it here. We were nearly blown away. The border fence at the stern of the ship has been demolished. It’s horrendous.”

  Grey Mustache shook his head sympathetically and said, “Well, my dear friend, we will just have to take advantage of your hospitality…” He broke off.

  The place where Lucky had been sitting was empty.

  8

&nb
sp; Yv awoke from the persistent squeal of an alarm. He looked around puzzled, rolled his eyes, then he remembered. The hurricane… the collapsed fence… being carried away by a whirlwind. How much time had passed by? Yv squinted at his watch, but instead of numbers on the small screen there were only some strange symbols.

  He breathed in through his nose. The air was a little musty—it meant that he had been in the suit for more than sixteen hours. Yv tried to move, but his limbs were numb, and he almost screamed in pain. A few minutes later, he had stretched them, alternately tensing the muscles, then tried to move again, but the powerful artificial muscles of the exoskeleton could manage only to move a finger. His visor was heavily covered in ashes. His sensors were not working. Yv shook his head inside the helmet, but all the screens were dead. Apparently, he was buried. The layer of ash was so thick that even his sensors could not penetrate it, which implied that it must be at least several tens of meters thick. It occurred to him that when he had been carried off by the hurricane, the articulated joints on his suit must have become clogged up because he couldn’t move. Yv pressed a remote button on his chin with his tongue and tried again to move. This time, his hand moved a little, but it became clear that the suit was not the problem. He was actually buried so deeply that he was almost unable to move. Lucky grinned bitterly. He had survived thousands of perilous battles … he had become a byword, an example of luck … earned the nickname Lucky, and in the end, he was about to suffocate in battle armor under a thick layer of ash. He lay there for a few minutes reflecting on his situation. It was like the parable of the two frogs: either drown quietly or keep jerking your legs and hope to God. He listened to his gut. Yes, like it or not, some things have to jerk. A space suit, depending on the configuration, has a lot of necessary adaptations, but one thing was never easy. If he suffocated or was crushed by the ashes, that would be one thing, but to drown, awash in your own shit? No, he would rather fry than let his belly muck destroy such an impeccable reputation.

  After a few minutes of desperate efforts Yv managed to extract a hand from the cuffs of the suit, and open the lid of the control panel for the compensation jets. He felt around for the stabilization button, squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and pressed. For a moment nothing happened, then it started to warm up under his arms, buttocks, and spine. Streams of molten ash flowed over his visor. Something flashed. There was a heavy shake around him, and his suit instantly warmed up so much that Yv hissed in pain. Then he felt like he was falling somewhere, and he released the button, glancing at the fuel consumption indicator.

  The jets had only ten seconds of fuel left. Yv swore, but then laughed. He had found time and reason to be disappointed. If he ever managed to climb out of there it would only take three minutes to refuel. If not, it would be really stupid to get upset about the fact that he would die in a spacesuit empty of fuel. He fell a little further and got stuck again. Once again, he reached for the button controlling the compensation jets, but then decided to try to move his limbs. He managed it, even though his muscles ached. He gently felt around and realized that he had become stuck in a crevice formed from solid rock. It was impossible to move his legs. The ashes behaved like oil, sucking him firmly into the crevice between the stone walls.

  Yv went cold. Now his situation was even worse than a few minutes ago. He was stuck in a crevice, and with each passing hour he would be increasingly pressed inside it, and once the suit’s exoskeleton could stand the pressure no longer, he would be crushed.

  Yv attempted to use the might of the powerful artificial muscles of the suit’s gloves to open up the crevice, but he only managed to break off a few pieces from the edges, and he realized that he still could not move. After a few moments he felt something stick into his shoulder blade. Frightened, he jerked around, moving his head about, trying to make out what it was. The pressure increased. When Yv was on the edge of panic, it suddenly dawned on him. He put his hand behind his back, grasping the handle of his sword, and leaning back he dragged the blade towards his stomach. Then, he paused, groping frantically at the handle, and trying to determine which side had the kelimit strip on it. It would be dumb to grab hold of the blade and slash through the glove!

  Yv thought for a moment then gently touched the back side of the blade, and he realized that the glove had not been damaged. There was a glimmer of hope. The kelimit could cut through stone like butter. Lucky gently pressed the sword in front of him, but nothing happened. He pressed again in surprise—the sword was motionless. After a few moments, Yv swung the handle around in confusion. He was ready to fall into despair. His vocal cords became strained, and he realized that he was about to scream. Then something incredible happened. Yv felt himself slowly sinking into the stone. The stone did not disappear. Lucky felt like in some way he was slowly leaking through the stone, feeling some pressure, which had already covered his feet and was slowly rising up his legs. His throat began to spasm. The stone rose higher and higher, but it was absolutely painless.

  Yv tried to move his toes, and somehow, he managed to. Finally, the stone reached the level of his chest. Yv tensed involuntarily, waiting for his heart to stop, but it continued to beat as if nothing was happening. For a moment it seemed to him that everything that was happening around him was merely a deathly nightmare, and he tried to stretch out his hands to feel for the edge of the crevice. His left glove came to rest on the stone, but his right hand, which held the sword, almost fell away when the kelimit blade cut through the rock, before it also stopped. This fact somehow calmed him down. It was logical. The universe is not crazy. The stone had succumbed to the kelimit on the blade, because at the end of the day it was only stone. Lucky felt like the stone was overwhelming him, then suddenly he fell.

  He saw flashes of iridescent flame, and black stars against a dazzling white heaven. Something swept right against his forehead, and Yv instinctively turned to his compensation jets. The thing flashed by him, showering him in angry disappointment. Then either around, or actually inside his eyes on the retina itself, threads of iridescent beams appeared, the colors of which he could not catch. Then he remembered nothing. Maybe he had lost consciousness, or perhaps it was simply that his brain was so overloaded that he ceased to perceive what was happening around him.

  Lucky woke up and found himself lying on something flat. He tried, but couldn’t remember how much time had passed by since he had fallen through the rock. It felt like a long time, but he couldn’t be sure. Yv sat and looked carefully at the fuel indicator. It showed empty, which meant that at least part of what had happened was not a dream. He looked around. He was lying on something like a mosaic floor, and all around was filled with a golden haze which overwhelmed his perspective.

  It didn’t matter how hard he tried to see, he still could not understand where this haze was concentrating—whether a few dozen centimeters away, or even a few dozen kilometers from his eyes. Yv turned onto his stomach, and leaning on his hand, he carefully stood up. The place where he found himself was vaguely reminiscent of a temple, even though nearby there was nothing that even vaguely resembled an altar. There weren’t even walls. There was only the floor and a wide-open space, and a feeling of something majestic. Yv suddenly realized that he could open the visor.

  He couldn’t explain this by any logical reasoning: the sensors were still not working, even though he was no longer buried under a layer of ash many meters thick. He just knew that he could open the visor. Yv was close to choking on the clean, fresh air. Now he realized how stale and smelly the air inside the space suit had been! For some time, Lucky stood still, breathing deeply then he began to ferociously tear off the spacesuit. Following his habits, he picked up the suit that had fallen at his feet, folded it tightly into a shape suitable for carrying, and hung it over his sword. He looked around more closely, painfully pinched himself a couple of times, then just to be sure, he used the sword to cut one of his fingernails.

  He felt sensitive to the pinches, but the piece of fingernail disappeare
d after barely touching the floor. Yv looked around hesitantly, as if he could sense someone watching him, but there was nobody, so he began to look around more freely.

  Apparently, it made no difference whether he stayed where he was or moved in another direction, but he somehow found it distasteful to just sit in one place and wait for God knows what. So, he straightened his jerkin and moved off.

  Who knew where the points of the compass were here, or even what they were called!

  ***

  Lucky had already been walking for three hours. All the while, the floor under his feet was the same, and the same golden haze in the distance. Then he caught himself thinking that something had changed. Yv stopped and looked around carefully. No, it looked the same as an hour ago, or three hours ago. Yet something was different.

  He pulled the sword in its sheath over his head, and carefully sat down on the bundled-up spacesuit. What had changed? Yv conducted a thorough review of his senses. Neither sight, nor hearing, nor smell caught anything unusual, but still, something had changed. Something clicked in his head, and Yv realized that someone was interested in him, and that someone had a connection to this world, if that is how you could describe this place.

  ***

  "Hello, and well done!" Yv clearly heard a voice in his head. Yv jumped. Probably, the compliment was expressed in some different way, not using words, but, that was the way that he heard it. Yv felt that there was someone behind his back, and he quickly spun around. He saw a man, who at first sight looked as if he had been copied from the iconic images of Christ. A dry, sinewy body, lean, gray, with a nicely combed mustache and beard—the perfect image of an icon.

  But the eyes ruined everything.

  They were not divine, but catlike, and somewhere in their depths there lurked a pure curiosity, something childlike. No, whatever the creature in front of him was, it was highly unlikely that it was the lord who demanded that Abraham kill his son Isaac.