Deviance of Time

by Dan O'Brien

  “High Master Herado, I have come,” began Rider with his head bowed in reverence.

  “I know why you have come, James Rider,” replied Herado turning around in his chair and facing Rider.

  “There are some things that I must know before I return to my world and I must ask them of you.”

  “You may ask me anything. You are a friend of Xeon.”

  “Tell me the story of your son.”

  Herado looked upon Rider for a moment. “That is a difficult story, James Rider. My son, although a tyrant among your people, was once an innocent little boy much loved by his parents. He witnessed something that would forever change his life.”

  Rider nodded and continued to stare at Herado, waiting for him to unravel the tale. “More than a hundred years ago, my son was but a boy. My wife and I were among the vessels that had agreed to journey to the rest of the universe, to try and understand what separated us,” began Herado, his voice that of a father. “We made it as far as what you call the Baldor marker, an uninhabitable stretch of planets that were of no affiliation with the rest of the universe.”

  “Baldor,” whispered Rider as Herado continued.

  “We docked at a station there, drawing stares from travelers and natives alike. We merely smiled and went about our way, inquiring about their universe and trying to understand their ways. We resided there for some time, eventually befriending some of the locals. One day, while engaged in discussion with an elder man that we had been talking with for some days, a fight broke out in the tavern in which we were sitting. A few of the men in the bar were harassing a young girl; I believe they were what you refer to as mercenaries. They were striking her and doing crude things to her.”

  He continued. “My blood boiled upon witnessing this and my wife restrained me, wishing that I would remain out of the trouble. To my shame, I sat back down and the scene continued until finally they struck her and she did not get back up. One of the men panicked and drew a weapon, his eyes wide and feral. He approached our table and brandished his weapon at us. I tried to dissuade the man, but he persisted, asking for our valuables and identification. My wife stood up quickly to try and calm the man, and he discharged his weapon.”

  Rider’s face hardened; the uselessness of humans far too evident in his story. “Herado…”

  “She fell back upon the table; her hair covering her face and the wound in her chest bleeding heavily. I could not heal her. My anger was incredible, but nothing compared to the youthful fury that erupted from my son. He leapt upon the table, his hands glowing a deep red, and he grasped the man by the head, heating it to such a point that his skin melted and he fell to the floor in death. His movements had never been so cruel. Xzin struck down all of the men, his vengeance quick and merciless. Tears streamed from his face and he sat upon the floor, his hands gripping the sides of his head, shaking one way and another.”

  “He wished for justice as well.”

  “It should have ended that day, but he could not quell his hatred for humans. As he aged, he harbored a deep resentment. He vowed that he would return to the human realm and make an example of all of them; to destroy their lives as his was destroyed. I tried to reason with him, but he became unreachable, his powers fueled by hatred.”

  “That is why he rules as he does. He wishes for us to suffer as he has.”

  “I am afraid so. All these years I have cursed myself for not trying harder to stop him from leaving this place,” exhaled Herado grudgingly.

  “I am really ready to battle him, to stop him now.”

  “Twelve years have passed. You, however, have not aged a single day. Your powers are complete.”

  “Then I must go back to my world.”

  “It is regrettable that you must leave our peaceful community. Within our secluded environment you have become a man who can transcend barriers set forth eons ago. You now have the power to right an eternal wrong and make this universe safe again for free thought. If anyone can stop the evil that has sprung from my son, it is you.”

  After a pause, Rider raised his head to meet Herado’s gaze. “The words you speak are my intentions. I regret having to destroy your only son. Xeon has been generous to me.”

  “Feel no sorrow, James Rider.”

  “I will truly miss your words and friendship, Herado.”

  “And I will miss your willingness to achieve great things. The hour of my son’s ultimate treachery grows near, and evil has begun to consume this plane.”

  “Then I shall make my way back to my world,” replied Rider rising slowly to depart. Herado placed a hand on his chest, keeping him for another moment.

  “I have sensed uneasiness in you, James Rider.”

  “There is a voice that plagues me, preys on my self-doubt, attempting to destroy me from within.”

  “Listen not to this voice. You must trust in your powers. You were powerful before you came here, and now you are among the few that can truly be called Xeonian.”

  “I thank you for those words, but I cannot deny that I am merely human. To believe that I can create such immense change seems like such a far cry from what I truly am.”

  “Your powers were tempered here and here is where they are most powerful. As you stay among humans you will slowly lose focus of what you have learned here. The ways of man will try to pervert what you have achieved. Remember always that you can only make change in your own life, others must do the same for their own.”

  “I will try to remember always what you have taught me. I will finish what I have begun.”

  “Then it is time for you to leave.”

  Herado followed and together they picked their way to the edge of the city. “Your ship has been repaired and awaits your precise adjustments,” said Herado solemnly as he handed Rider his pass code key. Rider looked down at the card in the palm of his hand and nodded to the man who had filled the role of father for the past twelve years.

  Rider inserted the coded key into the ship port and the atmospheric hatch deployed along with the ramp. He sauntered up and turned, waving his last farewell. The trip home would be a long one. As he fired the engines and lifted the craft into space, heaviness fell upon his chest. He had come to love this life on Xeon and almost wished that he didn’t have to return.

  Memories of Mela and Wei brought him from this state. He nurtured the hatred he harbored for the murderous fiend, Xzin, of the very same family that had helped him attain a state of being that could be found nowhere else. He thought of his love for Mela. As he drifted through space, he hoped to one day see her face again.

  * * * * *

  Rider maneuvered the craft into the busy space above Meridian. A veritable line of dirty and scarred crafts made their way through the polluted atmosphere to the merchant city below. Rider could feel a certain apprehension behind the controls of the fighter. He had trained for the last twelve years with only his hands; the people of Xeon possessed no machinery, barring the things necessary for crops and day-to-day living.

  He was surprised to find that Herado’s words were already drifting from his memory as he traveled farther from Xeon and the rites that had molded him. An inner torment had grasped his soul upon the Baldorian ship over a decade ago, a voice that taunted him. This voice had stayed with him even during his training on Xeon; the mocking, seemingly interminable voice that tried so desperately to crack his resolve.

  The communications board lit up and Rider pressed it absentmindedly. A voice erupted from the aged speaker, the volume infected with static. “This is Meridian landing platform two-four-nine. Please state your name, ship registration, and purpose for entering Meridian spaceport.”

  Rider paused for a moment; he had not anticipated questions during his landing. The ship in which he had returned from Xeon would no longer be in the resource systems. Rider quickly recited the alias to which his ship upon Meridian was registered under.

  “This is Lance Noeda, ship registration Quicksilver alpha, delta, bravo, three, nine, four. Dockin
g for space parts and cargo.”

  The line remained silent for a moment, as the operator no doubt searched the databases for the archaic information that Rider had delivered. “Captain Noeda, your ship is listed as already docked.”

  “I am aware of that. This is my excavation vessel. I was in the mines near the ninth pole to the west. I am returning from there now to retrieve my ship,” responded Rider, as he stumbled over his excuse. His skills at deceiving docking patrol greatly atrophied from being with the Xeonians for so long.

  “Understood, but under recently established Baldorian landing code, we must inspect your ship at the security station since the vessel you currently reside in is not in our databases and has not been for the better part of a few years,” called the operator back over the frequency.

  Rider’s mind raced, he couldn’t fool the security force once he landed. He exhaled sharply and depressed the communications switch again. “Understood. Light me a path.”

  Rider sat back in the pilot’s seat, exasperated. He changed the trajectory of the ship as three much smaller sweeper ships came alongside him and guided him to the remote security platform far away from Rider’s desired location.

  The archaic ship landed hard, parts for the repressors in the landing gear having been unavailable on Xeon. Rider unstrapped the belts that crossed his body and rose to his feet, considering for a moment whether to grab a rifle from the wall of the cockpit. He shook his head, convincing himself otherwise.

  The atmospheric hatch opened slowly at first, and then dropped to the ground. Rider stepped from within the shadows of the ship and smirked when he saw the raised rifles of the seven soldiers that awaited him at the end of the platform. They approached cautiously, but did not lower their weapons. The lead soldier held his weapon in one hand and gestured with the other.

  “Hands up. You are under arrest under sector code four-seven-alpha-nine of the Port Authority sanctions. You are in possession of a stolen craft and are under suspicion of piracy and terrorism.” Rider raised his hands slowly, but continued to move forward, bridging distance between himself and the soldiers.

  “I think that there is perhaps a misunderstanding,” called Rider as amiably as he could. The soldiers stopped and activated the releases on their weapons, the hiss from their rifles signaling that motion.

  “When your ship identification number was run through archives, it was reported as being a part of the attack on President Xzin’s moon reactor. Whether or not you were part of that attack, you still are under suspicion for possessing such a vehicle,” replied the guard.

  Attack: the guard’s use of the word surprised Rider. “Hold on now, I picked this piece of junk up at an auction for excavation purposes,” began Rider, slowly concentrating on cloaking the platform with mist. The black hologram generators at each corner that served as security monitors sparked and then exploded, drawing glances from some of the soldiers.

  “Come peacefully or we will have no other choice than to use force,” called the guard. The mist had risen like a fog and soon immersed the entire platform in shadow. Rider moved forward with a speed that accompanied only heroes of legend and lore. He grasped the lead guard’s weapon and smashed his open hand into the man’s shoulder, crushing it with the one blow.

  The guard fell to the ground with a panicked gasp and then tried to call out. “The prisoner is mobile.” Rider slammed his foot across the man’s face, breaking his neck in one motion. Then he changed his position in the mist, his leg coming across the second soldier’s back and driving the man to the ground without a sound as his spine snapped beneath his armor.

  Rider’s green aura spiked from around him and his fists were consumed in the emerald fire. His eyes trailed with jade energy and he extended his hands out toward the other guards, a pillar of energy flashing over them and incinerating them in a flash. Rider quickly dispersed the mist and incinerated the ship he had arrived in, along with the first two bodies of the soldiers.

  He sighed to himself and felt remorse for the lives he had to take. If he had not ended them, his presence would be known. He looked down the platform and saw that the lights of the city were farther to the south. Meridian was as dirty and desolate as it had always been. A long, dusty path stretched as far as the eye could see, and diminutive lights of the capital city could be seen radiating in the distance.

  A transporter came barreling down the road, carrying behind it a stream of smoke and dust that marked its journey. The transporter squealed as it came to a halt in front of the dusty form of Rider; its hull was comprised of a series of decals that had no doubt been sprayed on by local thieves and other criminals.

  The passenger door slid open smoothly, revealing a lush interior that served well to comfortably carry a guest into the city. Rider stepped in, and the transporter jumped forward as the door slid shut again. The driver craned his neck and smiled at Rider. He was middle-aged and robust in the midsection. It was obvious that the man didn’t get out much, but Rider politely smiled back.

  “Where are you coming from?” called the man over the roar of winds slicing across the transporter.

  “I’ve been away for a while. Just coming home for a visit,” replied Rider. It was far easier to be cryptic than to try and explain that he had been living on Xeon, a mythical planet.

  “What’s your trade?” questioned the man as he negotiated the craft around a large growth in the middle of the beaten path. Rider supposed that this constant blathering was part of the service. He swallowed the urge to tell the man to mind his own business.

  “I’m a freelancer,” replied Rider.

  “A hunter, eh? We see your type come and go on this world. I assure you that you’ll find work easily. People here hold on to grudges,” laughed the man as he pulled the vehicle into the modern streets of the city. Rider wondered why he chose a place like Meridian to return to.

  * * * * *

  The room was filled with noxious smoke swarming with bacteria; the floors were rotten and littered with ash and broken shards of glass. It could have been any out-world tavern. Those who didn’t come with drunken intentions came to hide from the lawful hand that stretched across the land.

  James Rider sat at the bar with a half-empty glass of dark liquid in front of him. Forever the pessimist, he could not convince himself to think of the glass as half-full, even when fate seemed to be shining favorably on him.

  It had been several months since he had arrived in Meridian. The longer he remained among humans, the more he lost the voices of Madon and Herado. He had been so sure their words would remain strong, and he found himself wondering, at times, what it was he was trying so hard not to forget.

  Newcomers were not welcomed at the bar, and Rider soon found himself on the receiving end of the hateful stare of a local drunk. The man rose from his table, knocking it to one side as he rumbled forward looking for trouble. Rider pushed himself away from the bar and stood before the clumsily charging man who easily outweighed Rider by a hundred pounds.

  A thin, metallic ring was strung through the man’s nose, giving him the appearance of an angry hog. His clothes were tattered and worn, filled with weeks of odor. Within inches of Rider’s face, the stench of alcohol and sweat escaped the larger man and swept over Rider.

  “What do you think you are looking at, scum?” bleated the man as he adjusted his pants and clenched his fists in anticipation of a fight. Rider grimaced at the man’s stench. He took a step back and cleared a path between them.

  “There is no conflict between us,” began Rider as he prepared himself for the rush of the larger man. “There’s been a misunderstanding.” Rider was trying to reason with the sensible side of the man, if such a beast existed.

  The larger man just stood like some ancient monster with nostrils flaring and teeth barred in anticipation of the battle and fury that lay ahead. “You picked the wrong night to mess with me,” bellowed the larger man as he swung his fists toward Rider’s smaller frame.

  Dodging
easily, he used the man’s momentum to throw him into the bar and brought a kick straight down onto the brawler’s torso. The man struggled to his feet and steadied himself against the barstools; he then let out a roar and charged.

  Moving quickly, Rider grasped the brawler’s wrist and spun it in the opposite direction of the man’s charge, causing the man to fall forward in one spin and land on his right arm with a distinctive crunch.

  The brawler crumbled to the ground, his broken arm rendering him helpless to rise up. After a moment, the man swung his leg around in an attempt to trip Rider, who merely leapt gracefully and came down on the man’s kneecap, crushing it in one smooth movement.

  Rider took a step back and surveyed the scene. He realized that, out of instinct, he had clouded the place with his mind. The other patrons were just now realizing what had transpired.

  “You had your chance to walk away,” called Rider. The brawler struggled to get himself into a sitting position against the wall. He lifted his swollen and mangled face to Rider. His right arm fell limply across his body, and his left leg was turned at an angle, the tibia sticking out through his pant leg. The drunk’s breathing was ragged and accompanied by a hacking sound, probably a sign of internal bleeding. The man sputtered and tried to utter a sentence, but he only vomited blood.

  The other patrons soon became bored with the display and turned back to their own conversations. Rider returned to the bar and lost himself in his drink until he felt the gentle hand of a woman slide across his back and around to his chest. Rider grabbed the slender wrist and spun the enchantress to face him.

  Her brown hair, streaked with brilliant red that mirrored the sun-drenched waves of the demon world of Nevar, hung to her shoulders. Her eyes shone an aggressive blue and tight faded jeans and a ribbed top that conformed to her body accented her lithe body; the ’talon that hung across her back lent to an image of savage beauty. Her dark complexion and youthful features moved Rider to believe she was no older than seventeen or eighteen.