Dead World

by Lucas Pederson

  “Dr. Wick, you seeing this?”

  “Yeah, Em.”

  The cavern isn’t large, but its ceiling is high. All of it appears to be chiseled out of black rock. Something like onyx, perhaps, only not as shiny. No, it’s more like looking at charcoal. Glowing on its altar is the Sythilias. A misshapen blue skull. No one, not even the Xyethians themselves, know where the Sythilias came from.

  Just one day, it appeared on the ground and, as told in many stories, the only one allowed to touch it was a Xyeth child by the name of Ruw. This child, she’d become the caretaker of the Sythilias. Its carrier during worship, and its guardian. For, whomever else tried to touch the blue skull would die. Their skin sloughed off. Their bones broke. Their bodies melted into slimy goop. Some later stories also contributed the near extinction of the Xyeth species to the Sythilias, and Ruw herself the bringer of plagues. Like the mummies of old on Earth. And once the devastation and near annihilation of the Xyethians was over, it’s said the Sythilias sucked Ruw inside it, trapping her for eternity.

  The history of it dates back to about the time dinosaurs roamed Earth. So…a very damn long time ago. Making this planet, Wumon, far older than Earth could ever dream to be. Earth, now barely a living thing as it lurches through the Milky Way.

  Close to Alyx’s ear, Crane says, “What’s this thing worth?”

  She smiles, “Enough for us all to retire.”

  Behind her, he says, “Bout time, lady.”

  Alyx chuckles, but her sight still scans the cavern. Nothing in the texts, or Morris’s vague stories, told of any traps surrounding the Sythilias. And yet…there wasn’t supposed to be traps in the Room of Tangles either.

  There’s always a trap.

  “So,” Em says. “What now?”

  “Wait here,” she says, gaze falling to the floor as she steps into the cavern. Her shadow is a giant against the far wall.

  “Ten-four, Boss,” Em spouts.

  Alyx, shaking her head, stops to take another look around. The scent of something like fresh fruit drifts to her nostrils. A good smell. An inviting smell. A smell that gives her pause. The Sythilias is a sacred artifact. The Xyeths wouldn’t want anyone trying to steal it. And through her experience, a good, inviting smell often means something worse than if there’s a bad smell. A slight chill in the air crawls over her face and the back of her neck. Like a breath from an ice dragon, perhaps.

  But, if there are traps here, they’re hidden very well. She can’t spot a single sign. Nothing even remotely out of place. Still, she wishes she had the stones to make sure what she’s seeing is real and not just another glamour. The stones she left in the Room of Tangles for their return.

  Stepping carefully, Alyx walks to the altar and stares at the Sythilias. It glows bright blue. A faint hum trembles the air. She looks over the altar itself, checking for any inconsistencies in the stone holding the Sythilias. Nothing. Just an old altar carved out of gray rock. A breath of relief spills out of her and she reaches for the Sythilias.

  Very faint, a chattering sound rises.

  Alyx pauses inches from the Xyeth artifact, eyes drifting back and forth in their sockets. Her heart quickens. Traps…

  Slowly, she draws her hand away from the Sythilias. All her nerves spark at once. And yet…nothing happens. The chattering sound fades away. Laughing lightly to herself, she shakes her head, and picks the Sythilias up off the altar. Nothing happens. Sometimes nothing ever does with such explorations, though none as big as this one. The Sythilias will sell to the right galactic museum for all three of them to live well for the rest of their lives. This is it. This is her retirement. And at thirty-four, that’s alright with her. Early retirement is a thing of beauty. No matter how much one enjoys the work, as she does, not having to worry about anything would be a proverbial heaven.

  There was a time when she worked for the sheer joy of it. Finding the unfindable and delivering rare artifacts to various museums throughout the galaxies and—

  A loud ratcheting noise crashes through her thoughts.

  Somewhere behind her, Em says, “Oh shit.”

  The altar shakes, pieces of it crumbling away, and slowly, it begins to descend into the floor. Above, there’s a peculiar crackling sound. A whiff of something burning finds her. Alyx backs away from the altar, cradling the Sythilias. Rocks fall from the ceiling of the cavern, shattering the remains of the altar.

  “Um, Dr. Wick…you might wanna hurry.” Em, sounding more than a little terrified.

  The floor quakes under her, something makes a loud hiss. The burning odor grows more pungent. A sulfuric stench. The smell of…

  A bright, glowing liquid splatters onto the ruined altar, instantly hissing and popping. A fiery crackle. Tiny sparks fly. She doesn’t need to feel the heat to know what that liquid is.

  Alyx spins, runs toward Em and Crane. “Go!”

  Behind her, more lava falls from the ceiling. Just before she reaches the mouth of the tunnel, she risks a glance behind her. The ceiling breaks out and a giant lavafall crashes to the floor.

  Em and Crane are already gone. She sprints into the tunnel, running as fast as her legs will carry her. The stone floor shudders. Behind her, the rush of lava. The heat builds, shoving into her back. The tunnel is a massive roar greater than any monster. A radiant, red glow lights her way. Ahead, she thinks she hears someone scream.

  Coming to a stop at the edge of the Room of Tangles, floor shaking, heat blasting at her, she finds Crane clinging to the side of a solid square. His teeth are clenched and sweat sheens his broad forehead. Em, rummaging through one of the packs, keeps telling the large man to, “Just hold on, buddy. I got you. Just don’t let go.”

  Alyx jumps onto the solid square beside Em. The man glances at her, then returns to fumbling through his pack.

  “My fault,” Em says over and over to himself. Even with the roar of the lava, Alyx hears him.

  She smacks his arm and places the Sythilias on the next solid square. “We’ll pull him up together.”

  Em blinks at her, almost appears dubious about the suggestion, then nods. He drops the pack and joins her near the edge where Crane still clings. His arms tremble.

  He latches onto Alyx’s hand, and shit, the guy is heavy. His weight pulls her closer to the edge.

  “Em,” she grunts. “His other hand.”

  But when she looks, he’s jumping to the main tunnel and soon disappears.

  Mostly through his teeth, Crane manages, “Took the Sythilias.”

  Alyx, eyes widening, quickly snatching a glance behind her at the square she placed the artifact on. Gone.

  “That double crossing son of a bitch,” she says and returns her attention to Crane.

  “The asshole pushed me,” the big man says.

  He says something else, but the roaring of approaching lava is too great to hear him.

  “What?”

  He shakes his head.

  The fiery glow intensifies near the mouth of the tunnel. A couple metal spikes fly over her head and stab into the wall, meeting with several others. She wishes one of those would have gotten Em, the traitor.

  She grabs Crane’s other arm, begins sliding closer to the edge. No matter how much she pulls and digs her heels in, the man is just too heavy. She needs to think of a way to counter balance the weight. Leverage…

  Yet, as she scans the room, there’s nothing. Maybe rope in the pack Em dropped, but if she lets go, Crane will surely fall. The heat in the room is becoming a menace. Sweat slithers down her face, and her grip on Crane turns slippery. He tries to pull himself up using her, but in doing so yanks her forward. Her right foot shoots out over the edge. Dust and small rocks fly, then plummet to whatever dark abyss awaits.

  Teeth gritting, arms shaking, Alyx shouts, “Can you get a foothold on anything?”

  Crane shakes his head. “Nothing there, and the pillar under you is too far. I’ll pull you down with me.”

  “Shit,” she manages, feeling her sweat slicke
d hands slip in his.

  The first sight of molten rock rolls to the edge of the tunnel. She glares at it, then looks at Crane, tears filling her eyes.

  In his deep, rumbling voice, Crane says, “Let go, Alyx.”

  “What? No, way. I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can. Thank you for all the great adventures, Dr. Wick. You’re the best.” His hands loosen.

  She goes to readjust her hands, but everything is sheened in sweat. He slips right out of her grip and disappears into the darkness below.

  “No,” she cries, backing away from the edge of her square. She wipes tears from her face, glances at the lava spreading into the room. Some of it spills down the broken square she saved Em from falling in.

  Should’ve let the asshole fall, she thinks.

  Alyx grabs the pack, works her way to the main tunnel and runs to catch up with Em. That is…if she isn’t already too late.

  She jumps over the dead creature as everything around her cracks and quakes. The entire place is going to cave in. Heart hammering, Alyx pushes herself to run faster. Large chunks of stone crash behind her. The right side of the tunnel splits open, expelling a yellowish gas. She holds her breath, sprints through it and finally emerges outside. She makes it about fifty yards away, before the tunnel collapses, jetting acrid dust and sharp rocks at her back.

  Breathing heavily, side aching from all the running, she drops to her knees, trying to catch her breath.

  And the cold muzzle of a gun presses against her left temple.

  “Glad you could join us, Dr. Wick.”

  She frowns. That slightly arrogant, nasally, heavily accented voice. She recognizes it. But it’s been years since…

  “Perhaps you should’ve learned by now. What’s yours is mine in the end, eh?”

  Her eyes shut, then open. “The Sythilias belongs in a museum, Vilas, you jackass.”

  Vilas, with his pompous chuckle, steps into view. An old, clean shaven white man with bushy gray eyebrows and a grin to rival the deadliest of snakes. “Come now, Dr. Wick. Sharing is caring. You of all people should know this.”

  Gun still pressed against her temple she says, “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” Em says to her left, confirming her thought of who might be behind the gun. Doesn’t surprise her much.

  “Oh, Em,” she says. “You’ll get yours soon enough.”

  “Dear Em, here,” Vilas says, “will get half of what the Sythilias brings. More than you were going to give.” He kneels in front of Alyx, grinning. “Perhaps you should hire more faithful assistants, eh?”

  Alyx smiles, chuckles. “Perhaps you shouldn’t underestimate me so much.”

  She drops, spins, and kicks the gun out of Em’s hand. It lands in the dirt. He howls, going for the gun. She kicks again, stroking his twig and berries. Em, a thin whine issuing from his gaping mouth, collapses holding his groin.

  Alyx is on her feet in an instant as Vilas, wide-eyed, backs away.

  “Where is it?” she asks, keeping her tone mild. She’s pissed beyond belief, but Vilas already knows that. He’ll exploit it more if she reveals it too much.

  “Safe,” the wretched man says, grinning once more. “In my possession.”

  She draws her revolver and points it at Vilas. “You have till the count of five to hand the Sythilias over.”

  “Do you not realize whom you’re speaking to, Dr. Wick?”

  “Yup,” she says. “An Earthling with a chip on his shoulder that should’ve died during the rampant plagues of Earth. And yet…here you are. One. Two…”

  “You won’t shoot me,” Vilas spouts. “You’re not a killer.”

  Alyx smirks, leveling the gun on his head. “Wanna try me? Three. Fou—”

  A bunch of clicks stops her. In this moment, she realizes it’s not just Vilas, Em and her, but…

  Surrounding her are more than a few Xyethians, including Morris, whom points a gun of his own at her.

  A long breath blows out her and she lowers the revolver.

  Vilas, the arrogant bastard, he laughs. “You lose, Dr. Wick.”

  Holstering her gun, Alyx says, “Well, someone has to.”

  Vilas laughs, nods. “Yes, Dr. Wick, but sadly, I must give this meeting a close. I’m a very busy man, you see and have much to do.” Not far behind him is a cruise ship. A very luxurious one.

  “I bet,” Alyx says.

  Vilas winks, nods to the Xyeths, and walks toward his awaiting ship.

  Morris and the others close in, guns pointing at Alyx. Em steps in front, blocking her view of Vilas. His face is all red, eyes the very definition of pissed off.

  “Hey, Em,” she says, nods toward his groin. “How’s the cluster?”

  He blinks, points his gun at her. “You never respected me.”

  “You know, I kind of did. Well, until you murdered your friend and turned traitor, of course. Up until that moment, though, I had a lot of respect for you.”

  “Bullshit,” he shouts. “You never listened to anything I said. Treated me like a servant.”

  “You were my assistant, jackass.”

  “Jus’shoot’er already,” Morris says. “Gotta go meet Vilas and get paid.”

  Alyx laughs. She can’t help it. “You guys really think he’s going to pay you?”

  Em straightened. “We signed contracts. He has to.”

  Again, she laughs, this time louder. When it eases, she says, “Oh, is that right? Well, then, you best get moving.”

  Em, smiling a bit, says, “Part of the contract is killing you.”

  “Aww, isn’t that just a kick in the nuts?” She grins.

  Em visibly cringes, and says, “Good-bye, Dr. Wick.”

  Alyx draws her revolver, lightning quick, shoots off Em’s gun hand, drops to a knee and takes out all ten of the Xyeths. Em, screaming, staring at the bleeding stump where his hand used to be, staggers away.

  Vilas is just now about to board his ship. He doesn’t look back.

  Alyx aims the gun at his back. Releases a slow breath, and pulls the trigger.

  Vilas stumbles, falls.

  She wastes no time and runs toward Vilas’s ship. She needs to get the Sythilias back and get the hell off this planet.

  Dirt sprays up a few feet in front of her. She stops. Another spray of dirt catches her. The ground under her vibrates. Somewhere in the distance, something squeals. Most of the Xyethians are gone, very true, but the animals of the planet are still very much alive. Still very hungry.

  Alyx swallows down a lump in her throat, starts toward Vilas once more. A long, toothy snout bursts out of the dirt, snaps shut inches from her. She skids to a stop, spins and runs away from it. The ground rolls, as if made of liquid, rather than dirt. Keeping her balance is a task unto itself. Yet, she manages and hurries toward her ship, the Starry Night. Everything is coming to life around her. Trees tilting and whispering. Creatures crawling, slithering, stalking closer and closer. All of the excitement must have caught their attention.

  As she approaches the rear hatch it opens, sensing her presence. An update Crane installed before this exploration. Poor Crane, faithful till the very end. Tears threatened to blur her vision, but she fought them back. No time to grieve now.

  Through the trees, something crashes. The ground moves, yet remains solid. The monsters of Wumon were waking up to feed. And what’s better than food, than new food, right?

  Alyx boards the Starry Night, shuts the rear hatch and makes her way to the bridge where all the controls are. She straps into her chair, hits the bottom thruster boosters, and slowly pulls the lever back. The small ship rises off the ground. She lifts the legs, pulls the lever back farther and she’s now above the trees. The image screen reveals a sight that forces a shiver out of her.

  All kinds of creatures watch from the spot where she lifted off. Monsters to many who don’t know Wumon’s various species. Things with sharp teeth, long claws, and narrow glowing eyes. Things that’ll eat you up.

  She sighs, touch
es the engine pad, taps her destination—Planet Quins—and sets the ship to rapid drive.

  Alyx leans back, tears once more filling her eyes for her fallen assistant and friend.

  She thinks about Crane. Thinks about Em. And wants to punch Vilas in his smug, wrinkly face.

  “I’ll find you, Vilas,” she says to herself. “Then you’ll wish you hung around to kill me yourself.”

  Then again, she shot him. If he’s not dead, then he’s hurt bad. Once out of Wumon’s atmosphere she does a scan of the area she left. There’s nothing there. Nothing besides the monsters. The real monster, however, is gone.

  Alyx Wick shuts her eyes as her ship shoots off toward Planet Quins.

  Tomorrow is Monday, and life goes on.

  TWO

  “So,” Alyx says, stepping away from her desk and clasping her hands in front of her. “Can anyone tell me the most important thing to consider before entering a tomb on the planet Verna?”

  The kids, all early twenty somethings, they smile. Well, most of them. There’s a few in the back playing with their pads and ignoring everything. About ten raise their hands.

  She nods at a thin boy sitting in the front row. “Cullin.”

  Cullin, he stands up, rubs his palms on his pink pants and chuckles nervously. His narrow face twitches in its usual tick. His dark eyes shift back and forth. He must’ve forgotten to comb his thick shock of brown hair this morning, because it’s a twisted mess today. He doesn’t need to stand, but Cullin likes to be heard, she knows. Despite him not being very smart.

  “Um, be aware of traps?”

  Alyx smiles, nods and half turns away from the boy. “Good. But what’s the very first rule before entering?”

  “I-Um…scanning, maybe?”

  Still smiling, Alyx goes to the board, a large clear plastic thing. She picks up the pen, and as she writes, the words glow on the board. This huge thing that replaced white boards and black boards centuries ago. All digital. She scribbles on the board, words lighting up as she goes.

  “Can you tell me what this passage is from, Cullin?”

  She finishes writing: One must, first and foremost, cleanse your spirit before desecration of ruins.