by Dan O'Brien
“Like you said, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
She walked out of his office and back to the lift.
Arriving at her domicile, she entered and activated the lights. She packed her things into a bag, shoving in random clothes and her few personal belongings. She came across Rider’s letter in which he had first asked her to meet him. It was the day of his proposal, the most blissful day of her life. He called her his Starhawk, and she almost burst into tears as she reread the note. Rider would tell her not to cry.
* * * * *
Admiral Reckson stood at attention as the view-screen dissipated into a clear black background, her hands held firmly behind her lower back. The screen cleared, and the massive features of Xzin appeared, his lips held tight as if he knew something had gone wrong.
“Admiral Reckson,” Xzin’s voice engulfed the control room bringing all to attention. “Why have you called for me?”
“I have something strange to relay to you.” Reckson spoke unwaveringly.
“What is that, Admiral?” Xzin replied.
“We had a variance in the mission,” began Reckson, her eyes glowing with disapproval. “Two hours after the scheduled displacement of the State’s military, two unknown storms lifted off from the moon. One of them engaged the fleet.”
“They were dispatched?” The question was more like a statement than an inquiry; his voice growled feral under this new information.
“Yes, one of them was damaged terribly and had to use the remaining engine power on the dimensional drive. It set course for the Dark Realm. The other was damaged as well, and flew toward Nabul.” The words slipped out between pursed lips, her mouth growing dry under the close inspection of her master.
“Maintain position and await further orders.”
Xzin’s voice was crisp and curt.
“Acknowledged. Roseblade out.” The screen returned to its desolation, and Reckson followed suit, her mind crawling deep into the belly of the frozen stars.
“Do you not recognize your own face, your own blood? I am of time, as are you, and together we create existence. We separate to define humanity and together we begin anew. You cannot defeat yourself; therefore, you cannot defeat me.”
-The riddle of the Dark One at the final hour
Wei opened his eyes and found himself bathed in an emerald liquid, his body held in place by cables locked into his major organs. He moved slightly and tried to wrench free, but the system held strong, keeping him from making noise or attracting any attention. He tried to work his mouth, but an oxygen mask produced only bubbles for his effort.
Wei saw Mela push through the double doors that served as the entrance and exit to the room. He tried to get her attention, but he was unable to make any kind of move being restrained the way he was. He could hear their voices from within the tank. Mela walked to the aging man wearing a scientific smock and saluted him dismissively.
“I am Dr. Johann Felwar. Mr. Wei could not be revived without vital implants. Is there anyone we should contact?” Felwar was a small, hunched man with thick frames accenting his sharp features and graying hair. He held a rectangular board, continually running a cylindrical pen over it, lighting various panels within the room.
“That’s something you’ll have to take up with him when he is better. What does this label mean?” asked Mela as she inspected the tank. It said Project 32f: Black Rose, with some sort of numerical code underneath. Wei was held in stasis within the thick, emerald, gel-like liquid, and his movements swayed with the humming of the generator.
“I believe it is a military code of some sort,” replied Dr. Felwar.
“Can he hear me?” Mela ran her hand along the clear glass and gazed at Wei.
“I’m not sure how far along he is in the healing process, but in his present state there is no possibility of response,” the doctor replied.
Mela dropped her bag on the ground and put her hands up to the glass. “I’m leaving, but I wanted to say good-bye. I’ve left you everything.” Mela spoke through the glass. All she got back was the relentless gaze of Wei’s hazel eyes, dilated in the green liquid. She smiled once more and left, never looking back.
* * * * *
Wei tried to react to Mela’s talking, but all he could accomplish was inner monologue. Being unable to speak was unbearable. He would soon change that and find out what was going on. The same aged man came to the tank and shined a light generator into Wei’s eyes. In one quick burst, Wei exploded through the tank and landed on his hands on the ground. He rose slowly to the startled look on the poor doctor’s face, the green liquid pooling off of his body.
“Xzin,” said Wei roughly.
“What did you say?” replied Dr. Felwar. He dropped the panel and it fell to the ground, breaking into two perfect pieces.
“Where is Xzin?”
Wei tried to steady himself against the smashed tube.
“What can you remember, Mr. Wei?” Dr. Felwar adjusted his glasses, picked up the remains of the panel, and placed them on a table near the tank. He pulled a light generator from his coat and brought it to Wei’s eyes.
Wei closed his eyes against the glare. “I remember Rider and Captain Alvarez and our escape to the rendezvous point,” responded Wei, moving farther into the room, pacing in the wake of his emergence.
“Anything else of your past?”
The question stopped Wei, and he turned back toward the man with a puzzled look on his face. “I remember training for the Spacehawks, but before that only bits and pieces. What have you done to me?”
“We gave you some prototype cybernetic enhancements, as well as an in-body central computer, which you can access simply through thought. Your neural waves have been synchronized with the computer to enhance your reaction time and knowledge. You’ll have quicker reflexes, you’ll be stronger than anyone else, and you can act instantly to any situation. You were so close to death that we had no choice. Most mainstream medical treatments could not have repaired you. The alternative was to let you die.” Dr. Felwar turned away and scribbled something on one of his boards.
“So, what do I owe the benefactors of these wonderful gifts?” countered Wei.
Supremator Nama walked through the door as Wei finished his sentence, grabbed Felwar by the shoulder and gave him a friendly shake. “Lieutenant Jonathon Wei,” Nama greeted Wei with enthusiasm. “You are immediately reinstated in the State’s military.”
“What about Mela and Rider?” Wei was cautious.
“Mela has resigned from the service, and Rider is missing and presumed dead,” replied Nama, a sad look on his face.
Wei paused for a moment, letting this information sink in. “What about armor? Do I still have an armor chip?” Wei grabbed a coat and threw it around himself, latching the belt and pulling a pair of boots on his slick feet.
“During the healing process, which evidently took less time than we anticipated, we modified your armor chip. It is now lodged in your computer system. It can be accessed at any time,” rattled Dr. Felwar.
Wei did not respond, but turned and walked out of the room. Captain Mela Alvarez, quite possibly the strongest woman he had ever known, had left by herself to start a life all over again. Wei had always been content as a part of a team, but now he was on his own.
Nama interjected himself in between Wei and the doorway. “There is more you need to know before you begin to distance yourself completely,” spoke Nama slowly.
“I understand there are certain things associated with these implants, but they are unimportant now.”
“It is about you home,” trailed off Nama.
“Earth III,” whispered Wei.
“Xzin has freed Wan Russeau from the prison moon and the Crimson Hand has been restored, destroying the majority of the populace there.”
Wei looked at Nama with disbelief, his hazel eyes filled with emotion. “This is why I was revived, to fight the same demons that haunted my past?”
“I’m afraid so. I wish it w
as something else.”
“Enough,” replied Wei definitively and stormed from the room, pushing past Nama easily and out into the dark hallways leading deeper into the Spacehawks installation.
Wei’s mind was a canvas of emotions; anger at the news of the occupation of his home world and then sadness at the loss of his comrades. He nursed the shadows, his eyes reflecting devilishly in the half-light, and as he pushed on the final door he emerged in the open dock of the transit bay – the room that Mela had no doubt stood within as she walked away from this life. He stared up at the coming of night and wished that the answers he sought were firmly in his grip, but he knew that life had changed for the worst.
* * * * *
The interior of the dislodged ship was pure darkness, and the sound of a man’s shallow breathing echoed through the dead space. He was attempting to conserve as much oxygen as possible because the descent to the planet’s surface would be harrowing.
Rider hoisted himself up to see through the viewport. He used his sleeve to wipe away the layers of freeze that accompanied deep space. The void of space had changed from black to fluorescent green, and it was somewhat disturbing.
The outer ring of Xeon was comprised of acidic gases put there with the simple purpose of secrecy. The ship floated through space, its fragmented pieces trailing like vapor. The only thing holding the craft together was the sheer determination of the pilot.
Rider checked the reserve tanks absentmindedly, knowing full well that they had diminished to critical levels. Three percent of the filtered oxygen tank remained.
Up ahead a planet rose into view, and it resembled a ball of tainted gas. With little time remaining and nowhere else to go, Rider fired the thrusters and used what power he had left to rocket toward the surface of the planet, negotiating the asteroid belt and the thermal storms that racked the outer rim system.
The atmosphere of the planet was like a veil of fog, and it began to corrode the ship’s hull. The gravity of the planet ensnared the craft, and it plummeted toward the surface. Rider strapped himself in, preparing for impact.
He had jettisoned Xeno’s body into space, so he only had to worry about himself. The ship landed hard, knocking Rider free before skidding to a fall over a cliff into a steep ravine covered by the mist. The ship whined for a moment before its engines ceased.
Rider rolled over and felt his chest. His heart was beating wildly and there was a dull ache in his head that no doubt would progress into a horrible headache.
A series of figures moved through the mist as they made their way slowly toward Rider. They were extremely tall and broad, and they seemed to be each carrying a staff that was as tall as they were.
The leader gestured to one of the others.
“Learnsman Dael, check this man for injuries.” The leader’s voice was heavy and resounded in the vast mist. The youngest came forward and lifted Rider’s head in one of his huge hands. Rider awoke at the man’s touch, but fell back when he saw the man’s face.
“Xzin?” screamed Rider, as he pushed away frantically, searching around himself for a weapon. The leader stepped forward and placed the staff on Rider’s shoulder, hindering his movement.
“How do you know my family name, outlander?” asked the man.
“This is impossible,” replied Rider aghast, as he looked at each member of the group. Each resembled Xzin, a purplish tint to their skins and the bulk of their frames. They shared Xzin’s broad facial features, as well. The only difference was their shaven heads tattooed with some sort of emblem extending from the bridges of their noses to the bases of their skulls.
“I ask you again, outlander, how do you know my name?” This time the voice seemed much different than what Rider had heard on the holos and recordings of Xzin’s demands.
“Where I come from there is a vile dictator whose sole intention is destruction. He looks like you. His name is Xzin,” replied Rider, dusting off his pant leg and rising to his feet. He checked his equipment quickly and realized the armor chip had been damaged, as well as all of his mechanical weapons. “My belongings have been destroyed. I come here with nothing to offer.”
“My son, Hira, left our planet some time ago. But I must say I am rather distressed to hear that he could be this dictator you speak of.”
“I am afraid so. His name is Hira Xzin, and he is the shadow on the peace of my universe.”
Herado sighed and his eyes dropped in understanding. He placed the staff at his side and leaned against it. “I am Herado, leader of the humble Xeonian race. You are a guest here. We expect you to offer us nothing.” Herado lumbered away. His steps were agile and sure, not oafish or clumsy, as one would assume from his size.
Herado walked into the mist.
It seemed to part around him.
The city of Xeon was beautiful and surrounded by a lush forest. From space it appeared uninhabitable, unexplored by civilized man. The mist, produced by the collective minds of its inhabitants, acted as a dome for the Xeonians and kept intruders from finding the city. Beyond the forest were miles and miles of open land enshrouded in the same mist. Without a guide it would be impossible for a stranger to find his way. The city itself was rather small and had rows of adobe-style homes with markings above each door.
Herado walked Rider through a door into an elegantly decorated room. He motioned for Rider to sit down, and Rider did so with a nod of his head. Herado sat in a plush chair, which seemed to conform to his body.
“Tell me of your universe,” started Herado, as he took a sip from a glass on the table beside him. Looking to the bare table beside Rider, he said, “How rude of me. Would you care for something to drink?”
“Yes, thank you,” replied Rider. “Where should I begin? I have so many questions. Is it true you have the ability to read minds?”
“Quite true. However, I want to hear what you have to say and not what you think,” replied Herado as he poured Rider a drink.
“My name is James Rider. I was born on the planet Fasen Minor. I was a member of an elite force of soldiers,” began Rider, taking a sip of the liquid to quench his parched throat.
“Your personal past is inconsequential for now, James. I want to know of my son.” Herado’s voice was gentle even though he seemed to encompass the entire room when he spoke.
“He is known as Warlord Xzin, and he controls a system of twelve planets and several moons: Baldor. He destroys all in his path. He is a tactical genius, and only the most skilled soldiers serve him. For the past ten years, he has danced around the possibility of war with the United Free Peoples State.” Rider stopped and drank more of the sweet-smelling liquid Herado had poured for him.
“That sounds like my son, headstrong and greedy. He had those tendencies even at a very young age,” replied Herado, his countenance unchanging. “How exactly did you become involved?”
“I was a member of an elite squadron known as Alpha Zero. Our mission was to render the reactor on Baldor’s moon useless and force surrender from your son. But he outsmarted us. He had a mole within our joint council who told him of our planned assault on the moon. My team was stranded there, and we had to fight our way through his ground defenses to escape from the planet. I fought while my fiancée and my dying comrade flew to safety on our military installation at Nabul. At least, I hope that they have reached there unscathed. The pilot of my ship was killed and I set course for the Dark Realm. That’s how I ended up here.” Rider placed the glass down and looked thoughtful.
“My son has caused much grief.” Herado got up and went to the window, looking out into the surrounding forest. “My race cannot intercede in the lives of mortals, but we may be of help. Mere mortals can never defeat my son, although the time spent in your universe has weakened his powers severely. As a guest on our planet, you will be trained in the ways of our people. In time, you will be prepared to return and defeat my son for the peace and prosperity of all free people. The liquid that you drank is changing your genetic structure as we speak so
that you may experience what only Xeonians can,” sighed Herado, as he walked in front of Rider. He reached down and touched the nape of Rider’s neck, and Rider jumped back as if he had been stung. “You have been given a great honor and I convey unto you the title of learnsman and the commitment to learning the ways of Xeon and its culture.”
A flow of energy careened through Rider and he knew that a profound change was taking place. The very essence of his being seemed heightened. Herado led him to a clearing where one of the Xeonians sat cross-legged on the ground with his staff pointing toward the sky.
“I am Madon, and I will be your teacher.” The man spoke slowly and with great calmness. “There are four skill levels and each will take three standard human years.
“That’s twelve years.”
“I understand your concern, but there can be no other way,” countered Herado amiably.
“During that time there is no telling what will become of my people. They could be scattered and squandered long before that time,” exclaimed Rider in frustration.
“You must trust in what we will teach you,” replied Herado as the cross-legged man remained silent, his body in perfect stillness.
“Here on Xeon you will learn to defy the aging process. You will learn to use the mist. As a result, your reflexes will increase tenfold. Your strength and speed will grow from this planet’s air and your life will possess a whole new meaning,” the man spoke as he rose from his position and faced Rider. “From this day forward you will remain in constant training, and you will no longer yearn for rest. Your mind and body will learn to act in complete unison. Prepare yourself, outlander.” With those words, Madon raised his staff and attacked Rider with the power and speed of the heavens themselves.
Iteration II:
The Destruction of Time
“To be a Bearer of Truth is to be without a home, to be without solace. A champion of time can be neither saint nor sinner, but willing to suffer the errors and consequences of humanity gone awry. Are you ready for such a responsibility?”