by J. D. Tew
Migalt entered the room, Lincoln was transformed into Zane, and I was totally invisible.
I whispered to Lincoln, ‘Say something.’
‘Quiet.’
‘Is everything okay? Did I hear shouting?’ Migalt said. ‘I apologize for barging in, Sire. Where is Lincoln?’
‘He chose deactivation over eternity,’ Lincoln said, posing as Zane.
‘Where is he?’ Migalt said, frightened by the loss of the true messiah.
‘I obliterated him, but not before he destroyed my rolesk...’ Lincoln said, pointing at the fragmented regal rolesk, lying on the floor.
‘He was the messiah...Your Majesty, what shall we do?’
‘There is one other.’
Migalt seemed like he knew about whom Lincoln was referring to. ‘Theodore? Yet they said he was taken by the Council.’
‘Then I will go there at once! You will stay here, commanding the ship in my stead. I will go with the Earthlings to rectify this situation once and for all.’
‘Yes, sire. But how?’
‘Simple, I will change into Lincoln. The Earthlings will let me board their ship, not even knowing the difference. They do not need to know.’
‘Brilliant!’ Migalt proclaimed, devouring every bit of the ruse.
I knew my place was at Zane’s side, but there was no way I would make the same mistakes that Trazuline had made, over the years, aligning with an Omnian. How else could one keep such a close eye on a potential enemy of the universe? How else could I locate the other mainframe? Lincoln posing as Zane, and then acting as if he was posing as Lincoln, confusing, but defiantly checkmate in a matter of minutes.
Lincoln morphed from Zane back to himself, all the while, leaving Migalt to think that it was Zane leading the charade. I felt bad tricking him, tricking all of them, but these were sacrifices we had to make in order to fight another day.
After a long and awkward walk back to the shuttle, we entered it—I invisible and Lincoln as... Well, Zane pretending to be Lincoln. Migalt and other guards looked uneasy and were congregating behind us, expressing their confusion, yet every one of them feared questioning the orders of their master Zane, not knowing of his demise.
Lincoln ordered the pilot to initiate launch sequence. The doors shut, everyone buckled in, eyes widened, hearts pounded, and smile lines stretched from ear to ear. The ship yawed toward the exit, separating itself from the bay of the Uriel.
We flew through space to freedom, out of peril, even if it was just for a moment, and there was no denying the intensity that was welling in the cockpit as everyone anxiously waited for the ship to stop and celebrations to begin. It was the greatest heist ever known and the rewards were a beautiful Karshiz princess, securing a life-long ally in Trazuline and his Opposition, and the defeat of an Omnian, clinging to existence at all costs; my one fear, was that I had made Odion stronger, but in that moment, I reconciled to let time decide.
The pilot said, ‘Everyone is present. Initiating warp in five, four, three, two, and one.’
The shuttle blasted ahead, and then eased into a normal speed. I unbuckled and returned to my visible state. ‘We did it!’
‘Where’s my father?’ exclaimed Tez, with a brief expression of intense concern on her face. She was indigenous to Karshiz, being like Trazuline, but far more beautiful. I grabbed her and looked into her eyes, holding her outward first to gaze upon her and then pulling her in to squeeze her. The embrace seemed to last forever. I wanted it to. Her short fur nestled against my skin.
‘He’s safe!’ I yelled at her happily. ‘He’s back on his ship, and he’ll be so relieved to see you!’
‘I can’t wait!’ shouted back Tez, and she hugged me again.
Dan and Liam clasped Tez, chatting with her like they were old friends again, while Mariah linked fingers with Lincoln.
Dan and Liam leapt into the air, tossing their gear and slapping high fives. ED was practically malfunctioning. ‘Oh my. Oh my. Oh my. Oh my!’
‘Easy ED... Come here buddy,’ Liam said, pulling ED toward him to squeeze his robot appendages.
‘I am a robot, Theodore. Yet I am having this anomalous instance of trust. I can trust you.’
‘I promise to all of you that I will never leave you behind or let you down again.’
‘Well, what do you think, Lincoln?’ I asked.
Lincoln answered without delay, ‘Campaigning for allies, setting up outposts, and reviving the coalition to fight Odion. And at some point we’ll have to devise a plan to get the Urilians to work with us, but not yet.’
‘Then it begins. All that you mentioned will take time, Lincoln... resources,’ Tezmarine said.
‘I know. We can do it together,’ I said, bringing everyone in. ‘For the Galaxy, on three. One, two, three!’
‘For the Galaxy!’
We were loading onto the Rheinhoister, through its docking system, happy as we ever were.
Yet our celebration was short-lived. A universal broadcast, unfiltered and with hundreds of addressees in its makeup, displayed upon the shuttle’s screen.
The broadcast showed a vivid high definition capture of our defeat of Zane, set to repeat. Apparently, the Uriel had observed their security channels and found this video. And I had a feeling Migalt wasn’t entirely sold on the ruse.
Then Migalt appeared. ‘It took some work, but we were able to access Zane’s chamber security. Know this... your escape is temporary. There is no cave, on any world, that could hide you from my reach. I will find you Theodore. And when I do, you will regret killing my master.’
The screen went blank and our crew was silent, but there was no doubt victory was ours.
Truth is. There is no “one” in a war of this magnitude. It is about unit cohesion and partnerships for common goals. I knew it would take time to revitalize the universe and unite everyone in a fight against Odion, but it had to be done. Wars are not won overnight, and fighting is not the only way.
“It wasn’t until I made a jaunt across the galaxy to sway some stubborn lobbyists when I was brought in by the Council police, and then to this prison.” Crap, they’re coming.
“Prisoner, get your ass in the static pose!”
22 THEODORE: THE ACOLYTES OF CRANE
“Open request for prisoner, eight-six-seven-five. Guns are on target. Prisoner, I said! Assume the static position and do not move an inch once you are finished. Do you understand?” The guard asks.
“Yes, sir.” It is exhausting, carrying on with my account of what happened. Giving testimony to no end is a recipe for madness. My throat is dry and sore. “My voice can only ramble on and on for so long before it goes out,” I say raspy and hoarse.
“Slip the temporalysis over his head,” the warden says. As the guard places the temporalysis, I feel the acting guard graze my ear curiously—purposely, perhaps.
“It’s in place, Warden,” Sarge says.
“Is it activated?” the warden asks. The temporalysis renders me functionless and I fall to floor. From my position, I see a guard nod to the warden, confirming the temporalysis is active. “Grab the tablet. I want everything erased. That was a nice touch at the end and it won’t help your situation. I don’t fear you, prisoner. You should know, the vote was a landslide! If you can even imagine it! The people demand your release. ‘Oh, he’ll kill Odion!’ they cry,” the warden says, whining sarcastically and talking in childish voice now. ‘He’s our only hope, the people say.” Returning to a normal tone, he continues, “Guards, let him speak.”
Two guards practically implant the muzzles of their weapons into my face; one of them actually kicks me in my ribs. This is irritating and I would rather spit and grind my teeth at these men, if they humiliate me any further. The guards withdraw their guns, and activate my modes of speech.
“Remove the temporalysis!” the warden shouts.
“Warden!” Sarge says worriedly.
The warden yells, “Do it!”
The same guards return to pressin
g muzzles into my cheeks, just below my eye sockets. Bruises will likely develop, long after they leave. I need to be careful here. Now is not a time to panic. They want me to do something. If my release is near, then the warden is deliberately provoking me. He wants me to take a swing at him, so he can put me down himself, forever. I can end this here. All I have to do is raise my fist in anger and let them shoot me, taking me away from this place in a body bag.
Cowardice is not my forte.
I stand, glaring, and raging within. My heart is pounding so loud, I’m certain the guard next to me can hear it if he quits trembling. That guard is probably frightened the temporalysis is being removed. I want to rub at my cheekbone, to ease the pain, but I am eager to rebuke the warden.
“Fear comes in many forms. I am in restraints, therefore you—fear me,” I say, clinging to my patience.
“Do I look afraid? Where is this fear to which you are referring?” the warden asks.
“A better question, would be, where is your honor? Your personal courage?”
“Shock him.”
Within seconds, the guard next to me thrusts the prod against the oblique portion of my abdomen, but I resist cringing. Turning to him I yell, “C’mon! Is that all you got!” The second prod does its duty and I drop to the floor, convulsing.
“Feel that, you mongrel? Look at you, writhing and twitching on the floor like a varmint in a trap! THIS IS FEAR, PRISONER!!”
I faintly say something, but my voice trails off.
“What was that? I can’t hear you from down there, on the floor?” The warden smiles evilly and cups his ear dramatically, leaning in an exaggerated way. “Prisoner, are you trying to speak?”
“Warden, please?” the squeamish guard says. “I refuse to assault him again!”
“Refuse? No one refuses me in front of a prisoner!” The warden rages from his subordinate’s outburst. “Guards, take Gullette to the hole immediately.”
Horrified, Gullette, the guard who refused to further assault me, is swiftly grabbed by three of the other guards. The odds change. The warden is a blatant cancer to this prison outfit. I have seconds to act.
In my ear, I hear a whisper from a tiny device within. It’s Lincoln! “Now, Theodore. Now!” I instinctively judge that the warning is faint such that the warden has not heard it. Lincoln is communicating with me through a remote device!
Gullette’s delicate toying about my ear earlier was not an accident. He had planted a communication device, and it is now active within my ear’s canal. He must be a covert supporter of the Opposition.
This is it.
I know right now, that everything, every little detail has come down to this moment right here. The warden watches as the guards try to force Gullette out of the cell, thereby distracting their attention. I will make them remember why they have me in here to begin with. Simultaneously, three remaining guards shout “What the hell!” as I make my move.
Rising up, exploding with the hatred for the warden, I disarm the guard to my left. In one motion, I grab the guard’s gun and butt-strike its owner in the face. Wrestling away complete control of the gun, I aim at the guard on my right. After instantly pulling the trigger, I watch as his body slams against the wall from the round’s impact.
“Guns hot in cell twenty-three! Engage eight-six-seven-five!” the warden screams.
“The gun is down!”
“Kill him!” The warden shouts. Emboldened by my success, Gullette is doing his best to fight back. He manages to grab a prod from one of the guards. Hollering like a commando, he thrusts it against his two aggressors, severely electrocuting them. He is with me!
Another guard starts firing at me. I feel hot plasma skim my left triceps, but no damage is taken. He misses, because I am already in motion. I dive, firing plasma rounds from my newly acquired gun at the remaining guards until the cell’s floor is lined with stunned bodies everywhere as I tear off on a berserk rampage.
Panting, overwhelmed by adrenalin, I aim the gun at the next guard, and as I glimpse his face for a split second, I recognize him: it is Gullette. He shouts out of total fear, “Don’t shoot! Trazuline sent me!” It takes the restraint of years of battle-hardened experience, discerning friend from foe, to ease off the trigger slowly. Maybe this man is the inside operative that Pritok spoke of.
Only one other man remains alive in this cell. As I vehemently scan the cell, I see the warden quietly, stealthily side-step toward the vault, hoping to take the coward’s way out.
I risk it all, placing my faith in Gullette, even though he is also armed. Full of vitriol, I swivel with the gun on my shoulder to aim at the warden, and I say, “Nah-ah-ah. Don’t you move a fricken inch!”
Gullette shouts, “He’s unarmed! Don’t do it!”
Reluctantly, I agree. I am surprised how hard it is to put the gun down, away from the authority figure I had despised for nine months—a bully, a tyrant, a sadistic torturer. Someone who took glee in hearing prisoners cry for mercy before breakfast. “Put the temporalysis on him,” I growl. My arms are shaking from the adrenal flow.
“Nothing like a little taste of your own medicine. Aye, warden?” Cullette says, jeering at the warden. The warden has the temporalysis placed on him, and he collapses on the floor, immobile. His trembling hands are shielding his face, as if he is stunned to remorse at all the atrocities he has committed under his rule. This is Buckley’s cough medicine, force-fed back at him. He now looks like a frightened old man, pathetic in his response.
“Do not talk to him. He doesn’t deserve to even LIVE!!” I shout inches from the warden’s face, as a result of the pain that continues to rattle through me from the electric prod—multiplied many times over from the hundreds of episodes of similar torture during the time I have been imprisoned in this hellhole.
“Theodore. He’s detained now. Forget your anger, we must escape first!”
“No,” I growled. “I am going to kill him, right now, like a dog. I’ll slash him on the ankles so he can’t even walk. Then…” I heave, astonished at the hatred welling with me.
The warden is cowering. “Please, I am only an old man. I have a wife at home. She had a stroke last year. Have mercy on me!”
Beyond rage, I charge this rifle and press it harder into his cheek. “I heard Sephera is warm this time of year.” I start to squeeze the trigger, trying not to anticipate the discharge of the weapon and I hear a loud click above my head.
His eyes wide open with fear, Gullette says, ‘The fail safe has been activated!’ He lunges for me, hands extended. He shoves me with all of his might, propelling me out of the cell.
The vault closes instantly; Gullette, my savior is now behind twelve inches of near solid steel, stuck behind with the unsuspecting coward warden. My heart nearly breaks as I view his sweating face, staring straight at me through the bars.
“I’m sorry!” I shout to him, crying instantly. I spread out my fingers at the slot on the door, hoping to touch him. However, instead of connecting with me, Gullette, kneels down on the floor, facing away from me, praying. The warden lies still on the floor from the temporalysis, blissfully unaware of his impending death. I slam my hands against the vault, crying out Gullette’s name. But it is too late.
The fail safe cremation sequence activates. There is one last horrifying, blood-curdling scream. I cannot muster the courage to look at all; I turn away.
The alarms are blaring. I must escape now!
“He’s right around this corner! Kill on sight!”
I am not even going to wait for a guard to turn that corner. This gun is all that remains between me and my death. I start firing on the corner, before they breach the edge of it. Explosions continue to throttle the walls and particles fall from the ceiling.
“We have you surrounded, prisoner! Drop the weapon and assume the static pose!”
I use my weapons hot plasma projectiles to keep suppressing the corner of the wall, smelting it, because I cannot chance their entry into this sector. T
he only way to peel this corner and escape is by keeping them at bay until they die from attempts of rounding the corner to seize me. This is a stalemate.
The faint voice from within my ear returns. “Theodore. We have almost fifty percent of the prison locked down. Find a place that you can hold until we arrive.” It was Lincoln, saving my tail again.
“Okay!” I yell back.
“He’s trapped!” The guard shouts. “Take the corner! Someone get these turrets hot in the hallway!”
I see the tip of a cannon barrel edge past the wall’s corner. There is a vacant nook five feet ahead, offering me shelter from cannon fire. I sprint for it, electrifying the corner with short sporadic bursts of plasma from my weapon on my way to shelter.
“There is nowhere to go, prisoner! We can do this all day, and in the end, you know you don’t have the firepower! Surrender now!”
I do not respond, because in battle, to speak is to embrace futility. Either fight or retreat. The barrel of my weapon is glowing from heavy use. Soon the power cartridge will be spent.
Every shot counts.
I press forward away from the guard station, firing the plasma rifle, Suddenly, after a blast nearly shatters my eardrums, I seize up in agony. My leg! I nearly pass out from the blow in my leg, just above my knee. “Ahhhh!” is my dire outburst of pain, agony, and mind-searing trauma as I clutch my leg.
But I stand up once again, blanking out my pain. Several guards, thinking I am defenseless, start to swarm in my direction. Grunting, I turn about and spray with my weapon, taking down three out of five guards advancing forward. For good measure, I aim carefully upwards and disable the turret. Furious at the wasted and unexpected loss of their comrades, the remaining guards escalate firepower, and this time, one of the shots hits home, in my abdomen.
The second time never feels as bad after the first mind-numbing shot. This incorrect assumption is not ground in fact, but it simply means that my brain was now in trauma and was no longer able to think rationally.