by Paul Anlee
“Blasphemous, my Lord.”
“Blasphemy of a high order. I will assemble a new Wing for you to search out these blasphemers and destroy them before they can cause any further disruption.”
“A new Wing, my Lord?”
“Yes, your previous Wing was destroyed in battle.”
Mika was shocked. To lose an entire Wing was an act of great shame. He reached for his sword. Such shame demanded he take his own worthless life.
STOP.
The command froze his hand on the hilt.
Alum appeared on the ramp in front of the Angel.
Mika pleaded, “My Lord, I have proven unworthy. I must end my service to You to redeem myself. Please, let me do this one final, honorable thing.”
“It was not your command that led to the destruction of your Wing, Lord Mika.” Alum’s voice was steady and kind. “I used them as a suitable distraction to prepare an even greater destructive force.”
“Besides Your own might, what could be more destructive?”
“In this case, three suns exploding simultaneously in an enormous supernova. Sadly, your Wing was not the only thing sacrificed in service today. No doubt, the blast from an antimatter core being opened in the middle of each sun came as a surprise to Gabriel. I’m sure it overwhelmed his defenses before he could escape.”
“Your might and will are truly awe inspiring, my Lord.”
“The loss of that system, the suns, and their ringworlds was a small price to pay to remove such an abomination from this universe.”
Alum was quiet a moment. He stroked his chin and let his thoughts drift somewhere distant. “The Aelu must have advanced significantly in their knowledge if they can construct the likes of that,” he concluded.
“We shall find them and destroy them forever, my Lord!”
“I have something much worse in mind for them. I shall dispatch them to the worst Hell imaginable, the Chaos, for all of eternity. They shall never come to know My love in the new Heaven I create.”
Mika pulled his sword from his sheath and raised it high where he kneeled.
“Thy Will be done!”
7
Mary’s virtual heart lurched. What the hell? Straight above, she saw patches of stormy sky between whipping fronds of palm trees. Her lungs burned. Her ribs were screaming in pain.
She was being lugged between four men—four Trillian clones—as if she were a sack of potatoes. Her vision bobbed with their rhythmic steps. They didn’t seem to mind that every jolt sent shards of pain through her body.
Shards and shards—she thought. Shards of Alum causing shards of pain. She would have laughed, but breathing was a challenge. She fought to stay conscious, had no energy left to struggle against her captors.
The bobbing and bouncing paused. She heard the water dripping off her clothes and hair onto the sidewalk below. I’m wet. Why am I wet?
Snap out of it, Mary—she ordered herself. Think! She tried a deep breath, but the stabbing sensation in her ribs stopped her short. What do I remember?
I was in Vacationland. Trillian had Timothy pinned to the pool deck. I tackled Trillian, and we landed in the water. I yelled at Timothy to run. And then Trillian grabbed me by the hair and pulled me underwater. I must’ve passed out.
Her captors opened the door of the quantum luxury cabina nearest the pool, and placed her inside on the bed.
Mary lay motionless for a long while, relishing the plush cushioning under her back. Finally, the pain subsided a little, and she managed to sit up, legs dangling off one side of the mattress, and examine the room.
The king-sized bed lay beneath a lace canopy; the netting trailed down along the four supporting posts, adorned with intricate carvings. Bamboo weaving decorated the wall behind the pillows, while the open patio doors straight ahead of her looked out over the sand to the water. The normally gentle ocean was churning as a result of Trillian’s incursion into Vacationland.
Wicker chairs with cushions the color of sea-foam bracketed a table in front of the open door. Chiffon curtains billowed in the gentle breeze. Croissants were piled on a plate set beside a steaming mug. She could smell their buttery freshness mingling with the scent of fresh-brewed coffee. Her mouth watered. I’m so hungry.
She took three halting steps off the bed and reached for one of the treats. Dark chocolate dripped from the curled ends of the flaky pastries. Before she could pick one up, the plate of croissants disappeared.
She pulled her hand back in surprise, as if she’d accidentally touched a hot stove top. She massaged her fingers as she scanned the room. No one was there.
She reached out tentatively to pick up the mug of fresh coffee.
At least I can have something to drink—she thought. She raised the cup eagerly, and took a sip. The taste was horrible. Not coffee! Lubricant! She spat the vile liquid out in disgust and threw the mug to the ground.
The table and chairs blinked out of existence and the patio doors slammed shut. The glass morphed into a solid rock wall. A soot-covered window looking into a black, empty cavern grew where the patio doors had once opened out onto the golden beach. Lightning flared behind the glass, and flames licked up from below. Muffled cries of anguish assaulted her ears. The wall burst into fire.
She jumped back and wheeled around.
As she watched in disbelief, her spacious suite dropped its cloak of luxury and transformed, more like melted, into a dank prison cell. Where the king-sized bed and a marble table boasting fresh roses had only a moment before promised a sumptuous retreat, an assortment of torture devices form medieval Earth now threatened unspeakable suffering.
“Seriously?” she asked out loud to anyone who might hear.
As her eyes adjusted to the dimming light, the bamboo walls that had been adjacent to the bed changed into damp, pitted bricks with rotting grout pretending to hold it together.
The fourth wall, the one with the door to freedom, transformed into rusty iron bars running from floor to ceiling. An iron grate door complete with antiquated lock stood firmly closed in the middle of the bars, denying her exit.
This is insane. Have I lost my mind or is this all just another one of Trillian’s illusions?
More cries rose from behind the flaming wall with its single window looking into a smoke-filled chamber. Mary supposed it was meant to remind her of the mythological Hell.
Okay, don’t panic—she reminded herself. Keep calm and figure your way out. Everything you see is virtual reality programming; it’s just a game.
She touched the burning wall to prove that it was only an illusion.
She gasped and snatched her hand back. Nope, that hurts! It’s real!
Real enough, in any case. She screwed up her nose at the smell of singed arm hair, and examined the angry red skin on her hand. No blisters, at least.
I don’t understand. None of this should be possible. What happened to the Vacationland safety controls and backup systems? I have to get out of here before Trillian kills me. For real.
She walked over to examine the iron bars. Just as she came within reach, the broad wooden floor planks beneath her started dropping away. Mary leaped the final step and clung to the rusty bars at the edge of the chamber.
A huge chasm, several meters wide and hundreds of meters deep opened up in the floor. The walls of the cell extended downward and merged into the rocky sides of the abyss. As they careened into nothingness, the newly liberated floor planks marked their descent with a receding “clunk, tunk, tunk.”
Mary closed her eyes and pressed herself backward into the imprisoning bars as hard as she could, and willed herself not to join the falling boards.
Her eyes searched frantically for a solution--something to hold onto, somewhere to leap.
There was nothing within reach. The entire floor was gone. No ledge. No handholds.
So…why am I not falling?
She lowered one foot and gingerly probed where the floor had been.
Her foot met resistance. It
’s all an illusion! The floor under my feet is still there, it just doesn’t look like it. Take a deep breath, count to ten, and test it out—she ordered herself.
She added a little weight, but was ready to pull back.
It’s solid!
Her breath tumbled out in a whoosh of relief. Okay!
She took another breath and stepped out onto the invisible barrier cautiously, ready to leap to safety if it gave way. Don’t look down—she told herself, but she couldn’t help it.
Over the next few days, the effect repeated itself at frequent, though random, intervals. Each time, she tested it first with a tentative foot, then with full weight and, finally, jumping up and down. As she gained confidence, the planks would magically reappear.
Try as she might, she couldn’t overcome her fear of falling every time the floor appeared to open up. Her heart lurched and she’d scramble for the edge of her prison.
Every time she tested it, the transparent boundary held but she didn’t trust it enough to ignore the apparent danger next time it changed. Instinct told her the barrier could become insubstantial at Trillian’s whim. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t fallen. It was nerve-wracking to anticipate a fall that never came.
In the meantime, she focused on her breathing, the walls, and the ceiling. It was the only way to avoid the spiders that fell from the rafters into her hair or that dropped in front of her on long, silvery threads.
Except, if she didn’t keep a constant watch on the floor, there was a good chance her next step would land on a waddling rat, a fat cockroach, or a snake that looked as unhappy to be there as she was. Unknown things slithered and scrabbled from dark holes in one wall, skittered across the floor, and disappeared into holes in the crumbling mortar on the other wall.
Twice, a vicious, snarling dog dashed out and grabbed a two-headed rodent in its jaws. Both times, Mary yelped and hopped onto a high table with more agility than she’d have thought possible. She couldn’t ignore a vicious charging dog no matter how hard she tried to convince herself it couldn’t harm her.
As the days wore on, she paced the floor, trying to think her way out of her predicament. It’s more of a dungeon, really. Obviously, Trillian prefers the darker interrogation methods—she noted. What on Earth was I thinking, tackling him like that? What did I expect would happen?
With every lap of the room, she chastised herself for saving Timothy from Trillian’s clutches. Even if it was the right thing to do.
On a rational level, she knew the environment—inspired by the legends of pre-technology Earth Origin—was intended to provoke fear and keep her mentally off balance. She’d played enough inworld games featuring the bygone eras of the sword, bow-and-arrow, and torture devices to recognize the equipment surrounding her.
When her exploration of the room took her near one of the terror-inducing devices, it would start up on its own. Wheels spun, spikes rolled, and chains tightened at the direction of unseen hands.
After a few days of jumping in shock at every unexpected clatter and horror, she settled into a part of the room with the greatest average distance from devices, hugged her knees, and let her tears stream freely.
Everything is going to be okay. Darya’s doing everything she can to get me out, everything in her power. Then again, they’d never dealt with the likes of Trillian.
If she even made it out alive, herself—a little voice in her subconscious reminded her. Good point. She had to accept that Darya might never come for her. She blew her nose onto the floor, sniffed and, between sobs, caught the slightest whisper of movement. Someone’s in here with me.
She wiped her dripping nose with the back of her hand and cocked her head to listen.
Something strong, furry, and smelly rubbed against her back. With a yelp, she sprang from her resting spot and batted the air around her body. There was nothing there. It was only another trick but her skin still crawled, nonetheless.
Exhausted, she finally slumped to the floor and let her eyes close for a moment. She was so tired. She felt herself sinking into slumber and gave herself over to the welcome sensation.
Feathers brushed against her cheek. Confused, she struggled to open her heavy eyelids.
A fluffy bouquet of gaudy, fluorescent feathers, waggled inches from her nose. Black duct tape bound the radiant bouquet to the end of a long stick. At the other end of the stick stood a clown. She hated clowns.
The clown pulled the stick back to one side with both hands on the handle, preparing to strike her.
Mary jerked fully alert in a flash, eyes wide, and hands up to deflect a blow that never came. An air horn blatted; she cringed and covered her ears. When she looked up, the clown was gone.
At other times, moans, groans, whimpers, and screams came from outside her cell door. The voices sounded familiar, those of friends and colleagues. She doubted they were real either, but they served as constant reminders of the agony that awaited her when Trillian decided to employ the torture devices.
It’s not them—she told herself. Darya and Timothy escaped. You saw them go. Gerhardt is dead. It’s not really them you hear; it only sounds like them. It couldn’t be them. Could it?
The relentless and unpredictable terror prevented rest and coherent thinking. Trillian’s technique was ridiculously obvious, but effective.
Mary drifted into a fitful sleep, popping awake when she heard footsteps approaching her cell and an iron key grating as it slid into the old, rusty lock. Each time, her eyes popped open and she peered into the darkness, trying to see who was there. But nobody entered.
It’s a game of wills. Once Trillian’s satisfied I’ve been adequately sensitized, once I’m a blubbering mess, he’ll arrive and make good on his implicit threat to deliver pain.
She focused on staying calm. Darya will rescue me as soon as she can. She repeated the assurance, her new mantra, over and over, desperately wanting to believe it. Her hope and resolve were eroding under the constant horrors of the cell. Rescue was unlikely. She knew that.
Trillian would come for her soon, and she’d have no strength left to resist.
8
DARAK AND BROTHER STRALASI MATERIALIZED a light year away from the exploding suns and the decimated triple ringworlds.
The last thing Stralasi remembered was a brilliant light, searing heat, and a powerful “WHOMP!” that buffeted him mercilessly. He felt for broken bones, and was surprised not to find any.
“What happened?” he groaned.
Darak didn’t answer right away. He was crouched on the patch of dirt that had been transported inside their protective bubble. His head rested in his hands, and he appeared to be focusing his full attention on breathing. When he finally answered, he did not look at Stralasi.
“Something I would not have believed, had I not experienced it for myself,” was all he offered.
Stralasi looked on with concern, both for Darak and for what observing his companion in this “very human” moment meant for their combined wellbeing. The illusion of invincibility was shattered.
The Good Brother, a comforting father figure to many on his planet, felt like a child glimpsing vulnerability in his own father for the first time. Stralasi realized that Darak was neither Angel nor demon but a man.
What do I do with that?
“I remember an intense light at the end of the battle,” the monk babbled, trying to shake off the thought before it could take hold. “And…and…something pushing us—stronger than anything I’ve ever felt—and the next thing I knew, we were here. Was I unconscious?”
“No,” Darak rasped, “but you…we…were nearly killed.”
Stralasi gulped. We? The word sank to the pit of his stomach. So he is a man after all, not a god. He’s fallible, and he holds my life in his hands.
“I didn’t think you could be killed,” Stralasi confessed.
“Yes, I can be destroyed. If luck hadn’t been on our side, both of us might have ended our journey there.”
“But you wer
e winning. We almost escaped.”
“We were close, but Alum must have figured out I wasn’t one of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought I’d hidden my abilities from Him. I fought like an Angel would. An advanced Angel, to be sure, but I was careful not to give away that I was anything other than an Angel. It was a pretty convincing performance, if I do say so myself.”
“How did He figure it out?”
“Either He recognized me, or He deduced my real nature. Either way, He had no qualms about sacrificing three suns, their magnificent ringworlds, and the hundreds of billions of lives that lived there, simply to destroy me, to prevent me from getting away.”
Stralasi slumped down beside Darak. There was no way to reconcile his belief in Alum’s love for His People with this knowledge.
“Why would He do such a thing?”
A dark and cynical, “Hah,” escaped Darak’s mouth. “When the entire universe is a short while from annihilation and re-Creation, what do a few billion or trillion human lives matter to the…All Powerful?” The bitterness in his voice both chilled and saddened Stralasi.
“Are you sure they’re dead?”
“Completely sure. Along with the Angels he deployed. All gone.”
“But that’s insane!”
“Exactly.”
Stralasi played with the dirt at his feet. “But if the Angels were destroyed, how did we escape? Their jump blocking de-co…de-co…thing had us trapped, didn’t it?”
“The quantum decoherence field? Yes, it had us trapped until right before the end. When the explosions hit, the flash of light moved ahead of the worst of the heat and radiation. When it struck the Angels behind me, I noticed the field go down and I took countermeasures. We jumped through the heart of a supernova.”
“Thank God.”
Darak scowled. “Seriously? Through all of this, have you not yet learned that your ‘God’ is someone to be condemned, not praised?”
“I mean…. I just meant…. How do you know He didn’t transfer them to safety first? The people, I mean. Maybe he got them out first.”