by C. R. Asay
“When I was nine my mom decided she wanted to leave my dad. She said things had been rocky for years, and she couldn’t take it anymore. The thought terrified me more than I could stand, and I begged her to try to work it out. I even talked to our pastor and had him call her in to meet with him. Well, guess what? She stayed. She listened to the pleading of a small boy desperate to keep his family together—even though that little boy didn’t have all the information.”
I opened my mouth to ask him a question when my arm jerked in a sudden spasm. I squeezed my eyes shut until the pain passed, and when I opened them I couldn’t remember what I’d been about to say. Thurmond looked at me in concern, then turned away, his face tight. He continued.
“It wasn’t long after that my dad widened his circle of abuse to us children as well.”
“Thurmond—”
“After a few more years, my mom lost her willpower to leave. I swore after that I’d never overstep my bounds again unless I had all the information.”
“You—you don’t have to—”
Thurmond pulled me to a stop, and we locked eyes. His expression was reserved but thoughtful. “Whatever the hell is happening here, you’re still Rose. I know that much at least. I have your back until I have a damn good reason not to.” He shrugged and turned away. “Maybe when I get all the information I’ll need to reevaluate my opinion, but I doubt it.”
A crackling voice from behind reminded us to keep walking.
We fell into a more companionable silence this time, puffing up the last few feet to the top of the hill. Something about the exchange made me feel he had forgiven me for doing something as weird as volting.
“How come I’m getting the impression you had a conversation in your head as to whether you’re going to trust me?” I asked.
“Probably ’cause I did.”
“So despite thinking, ‘this chick is responsible for me being kidnapped, making us fall nearly to our deaths, provoking the aliens, and then volting the daylights out of them,’ you’re totally cool with that.”
“Yep.” Thurmond grinned.
“Outstanding.”
We passed between two buildings and into the circle of thirteen small stone structures. Each was about the size of your average tent trailer, and they made a perfect circle around the electrical transmission tower. Sand sloped up next to buildings that were either painted the same color as the desert or had blended through time and exposure. Sand also shimmered over the slanted rooftops, their empty, cave-like doorways facing inward.
The tower itself rose a good couple hundred feet above us. Four heavy-duty legs supported the sturdy mesh of metal, the steel beams widening into a latticed mess as they rose to meet in an upside down V at the top of the neighboring legs. The very top of the tower resembled a giant, geometrical cat head, with thick black cables strung from the tip of the ears and several other protrusions of metal, slinging toward the next tower. It was one of hundreds standing sentinel over a rural road leading to a substation somewhere. The difference with the tower at the Rethan’s base camp was that cables also cascaded down to the rooftops of the buildings.
Saturated storm clouds rolled overhead. Lighting pulsed within the blackness. The mountains were obscured behind the angry depths. Thunder rumbled, and the insistent wind plucked at my uniform.
Aside from our four-Rethan welcoming party, there seemed to be no more than twenty others. Those twenty bustled around, not in a state of urgency but with heightened efficiency. Silver hair glinted dully in the deepening light. All wore the same uniform: subdued blue with the silver lightning across the shoulders, pants tucked in white boots military-style. One team carried large metal crates about the size of your average coffee table, while others carried two or three smaller crates ranging down to the size of a lunch box. The crates were scattered at the base of one side of the tower, giving the entire camp an unbalanced look.
Upon closer examination, I realized it was more than their baggage that made things seem lopsided. One of the upside-down V-like openings of the tower appeared to be covered in enormous silver scales. The platter-sized plates overlapped each other, rising up to the highest point and descending down the other. They also lay across the ground below creating an unbroken circle, like a doorway—or a portal.
“Marshal Rannen,” the officiate called to Andre the Giant. “You can hold the prisoners by building twelve until we’re ready.”
The officiate pointed to the nearest crate and snapped her fingers impatiently for the two closest Rethans to bring it to her. I suspected she’d already forgotten all about us. Fine by me. She wasn’t the one I wanted to interrogate anyway.
Marshal Rannen gave a beckoning toss of his head and led us around to the far side of the camp. Thurmond kept me on my feet until we finally stopped near one of the structures, indistinguishable from the others.
Thurmond expelled a tired huff. I looked back to find that Ponytail Guy had followed us. He leaned against a building, arms folded but with his weapon still trained on us. He looked as though his eyes were attempting to bore holes into my soul. He only managed to come off as grouchy and irrelevant. With a stupid ponytail to boot.
When he saw me looking he gave the weapon a little wave.
“Deputy Hoth!” the officiate yelled. Ponytail jumped and ran to join her.
I tracked him with my eyes before examining the terrain for a possible avenue of escape. That the tower was sitting on a hill put us at a disadvantage. The far side of the portal had a gentler slope and was littered with large boulders. They could provide just enough cover to get us pretty far. Except that I didn’t know the range of their weapons. And I didn’t know which way led us back to civilization.
Deciding the direction with the boulders would be our best bet, I eased myself to the ground on the eastern side of the building and leaned my head against the hot wall. I pulled my knees closer to my chest, exhausted beyond measure. I could barely think any more. I just needed a moment. Just a small moment to gather my thoughts. My eyes closed and my mouth opened to expedite the flow of oxygen to my lungs.
“That’s their portal?”
I slit my eyelids open to see Thurmond staring straight up at the complicated mesh of metal towering above the camp. He glanced around, looking for something perhaps a bit more Star Gate-ish.
“Dunno,” I replied.
“So they want you to use some kind of special skill they know about, because of those weird symbols on your hand, to fix it?”
“Dunno.” I closed my eyes. “I suppose.”
“And I suppose this all needs to get done before the commander, Lieutenant Justet, and the rest of the crew arrive to take these guys out?”
“Sure.”
“Well then, let’s get this thing fired up so we can get the hell out of here and find you some medical attention.”
I peered between half closed lids to find Thurmond glaring at Marshal Rannen. The enormous Rethan leaned against the corner of building twelve. His silver eyes were alert, and focused with alarming captivation on my face.
“Yeaaah,” I said. Sort of. Marshal Rannen’s face blurred. “An-drugs. I cad-use morphine-er-even assspirn.”
That morphine word was a bear. In fact, enunciation in general seemed outrageously overrated. My eyes drooped, shutting out the intense gaze of the marshal.
“Rose? Dammit, you’re white as a sheet.” Thurmond patted my cheek, then shook my chin. I blinked my eyes, trying valiantly to keep them open. “Stay awake.”
“Her lips are turning blue! Rose, you’re . . . Take some deep breaths. In and out. Come on!”
I attempted to comply, but everything seemed disconnected. I couldn’t pin down what was important and what wasn’t. Thurmond pulled the collar of my shirt away from my neck and tugged at the laces of my boots. I hadn’t realized my feet were numb until my toes tingled. Blood flushed through my legs.
“Don’t you have meds you could give her?” Thurmond’s eyes were trained on me, his hea
d turned a little to the side, directing the question at Marshal Rannen.
Rannen’s eyebrows lifted. He shrugged and looked away. I let my eyes drift shut but forced them open again. Rifle drills with my eyelids. This sucked.
“No. Well, yes. Deputy Boderick is bringing over a little something.”
“Tell me it’s a pain killer of some kind.”
“That’s not the kind of medication we generally have on hand. And the officiate needs Specialist Rose awake.”
Voltage . . . The word hissed through my mind.
“So?”
“So, pain medication of the necessary strength would most likely put her to sleep, and we’re going to need her before long.”
“Oh right. To power your portal.”
Volted . . .
“That’s correct.”
“Bullshit!” Thurmond rose to his feet and faced the marshal.
Volting . . .
Marshal Rannen pushed away from the building, his expression going from casual observation to something more wary.
Voltage, volted, volting.
“I’m not the one in charge.”
“And if you were, would it make a difference?”
Voltage, volted, volting. Voltage, volted, volting. The mantra quivered through my nerves in an eerie intensity. It erased the argument and obliterated any thought trying to surface. The storm didn’t help matters. The ions in the air exacerbated the tingling, heated feeling, biting through the pain and bringing out a magnified alertness that my consciousness was trying to hide from. The voice peaked, putting pressure on my hollow-sounding left ear and pounding head.
Voltage, volted, volting. Voltage, volted, volting. Voltage, volted, volting!
“Rannen?”
The word made me jump, and it took a moment before I realized it came from my mouth. The gears in my brain creaked into action, silencing the mantra. I rotated my jaw, trying to pop my ear.
“I mean, Mister . . . um, Marshal Rannen, sir?” I continued. Rannen and Thurmond turned from their argument. My words were no longer slurring, and now that I’d started talking I couldn’t seem to stop. “Hi, uh, yeah. It’s me. Kris Rose. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind clearing a few things up for me—us? I mean, since we’re sitting here.”
“Kris Rose?” Rannen asked, his expression curious.
Thurmond touched my cheek with the back of his hand, then turned to Rannen.
“Yeah, or Specialist Rose. Or just Rose. Whatever. You pick.” I shook my head, trying to force myself to stop babbling.
Rannen drew his shoulders to his ears, then dropped them with a sigh and nodded. He grabbed the handle of a metal crate a few feet away, grated it across the ground, and dropped it. Dirt puffed around the base. He cast a fleeting glance around the camp as if noting the locations of each Rethan before sitting on the crate. Thurmond crouched beside me, his muscles taut and eyes vigilant.
“What would you like to know?” Rannen seemed relaxed, but his hands balled into tight fists and rested on his knees.
I worked my hand into my pants pocket, felt around for a moment, and then with some difficulty pulled out Justet’s RETHA coin. My fingers fumbled the coin onto the sand. Rannen stared. Thurmond plucked the coin from the dirt and looked at it curiously before placing it in my hand. I caressed the coin with my thumb, and offered it to Rannen.
“Do you know what this is?”
Rannen’s eyes widened. He took it hesitantly. His mouth opened and closed as he turned it over in his hands. He looked from the coin to me, closed his mouth, and handed it back.
“Yes,” he said. I waited for more.
“And?”
“Where did you get it, Kris?”
My stomach jolted at the use of my first name. “Tell me what it is.”
“It’s a dimensional catapult. Clearly Rethan.” He pressed his lips together.
This was getting us nowhere. I didn’t have even a basis of understanding of what he was talking about.
“Okay,” I said, clearing my mind and trying to find a stable base to start again. “So dimension, erm, dimensional.” I blew out a breath. “I keep hearing about this dimension stuff. What exactly are we talking about? Dimensions like one, two, or three dimensional objects, or are we talking dimensions, like . . . like other worlds?”
A smile tilted the corners of Rannen’s mouth. It made him look, despite his enormity, like a little boy.
“You really don’t understand even the basic integrity of our planet?”
I tried not to take offense. “I understand that the Earth rotates around the sun and the moon around the Earth. I understand about the ozone layer and gravity and all the stuff in between. I just don’t understand dimensions.”
Rannen leaned away from me, and his hands relaxed for the first time since we started talking. “Our planet is made up of thirteen planes, or layers. They wrap around each other in a sort of ethereal sense.”
“You’re not aliens, then?”
“Well, yes. Alien to your dimension.”
“But not from outer space or anything?”
“No, not from outer space. We share the same planet. Terra. The third planet from the sun and one of the nine in our solar system.”
“Eight. Pluto was demoted.”
“So say the humans.” Rannen grinned.
I almost smiled back.
“So, the dimensions?” I prompted.
“Yes, the dimensions.” The grin wilted from Rannen’s face. “For example, the center dimension, or Thirteenth Dimension, is called the Heart. Retha, as the twelfth, wraps the Heart while Ather, the eleventh, wraps Retha.”
“And Earth?”
“Earth is considered an outer dimension. A lower one. Bottom three, only above Ehtar and Tareh in regards to technological advancements. Each dimension was colonized one at a time by settlers from the original three dimensions: Heart, Retha, and Ather.” Rannen gave a brief smile, and then puckered his mouth to suppress it. “Earth is a colonization of Retha, so I guess that makes us relatives.”
Yeah right, and I was a Rethan criminal. A shiver coursed down my arms and legs. I closed my eyes, waiting for it to pass. When I opened them again, Marshal Rannen’s face was the first thing I saw. He glanced around the camp again, chewed the inside of his mouth, and offered us a stern stare.
“You have to understand, this is all very hushed. Humans, as a general rule, are not privy to this information for obvious reasons. I trust you’ll keep it to yourself.”
Thurmond shrugged, as though he couldn’t believe he was being asked by our captors to protect a secret the world would scoff at anyway. I lifted the coin again.
“So, a dimensional catapult would be something that catapults you across dimensions?”
Rannen nodded but looked baffled.
“However, what you’re holding is a rarity. Those are only used after making a dimension jump from the Dimensional Congressional’s portal chamber. Unlike our other portals,” he waved his hand toward the tower, “you don’t need a matching portal on the other dimension. You simply use a dimensional catapult to jump you back from where you came. You just need a very specific electrical charge to keep you from jumping dimensions accidently.”
I squinted my eyes, trying to put all the information into a box that would help me understand Dad’s disappearance better. “You don’t have any more of these little coin thingies? I’ve got to jump start that massive thing over there instead?”
“Correct. Those,” he pointed at the coin in my hand, “haven’t been used in over twenty years that I’m aware of. They are housed in the portal chamber which has been locked since . . .” He looked at his hands, “Since your sentence.”
“Sentence?” Thurmond broke in. “Yeah, you guys were talking about that earlier. Care to explain?”
“Kris was sentenced to RAGE over twenty years ago.” Rannen kept his eyes on Thurmond. “Although not Kris exactly.”
“Sentenced, like, for committing a crime?” I
said, suddenly nauseous. I looked at my imprinted palm. My right hand rested on my lap like a dead thing, blood crusted across it in dried, brown stripes. I uncurled my fingers enough for the tarnished symbols to be visible. “Is that what these mean?”
Marshal Rannen reached out and traced the symbols on my palm with fingers. My fingers closed around the symbols, and he jerked his hand back.
“They indicate your crime, your sentence, and the Vizshathain dosage . . . um, a dimensional camouflage of sorts—which makes you look like your human friend here.”
I rubbed my thumb across my palm, wishing it would erase the numbers, and exhaled in frustration. “So I was sentenced to a crime over twenty years ago—ya know, when I was a baby—imprinted with some letters on my hand, and dosed with camouflage. Even if this did make any sort of chronological sense, I’m going to believe you because . . . ?”
Rannen’s eyebrows rose, as if the answer couldn’t be more obvious. I answered with my best facial sarcasm. He sat back.
“Because, as I said, you were sentenced to RAGE.”
“RAGE?” Thurmond said.
“What’s ‘rage’?” I asked.
“The Reverse Aging Gateway to Earth. R-A-G-E. RAGE. It’s an incarceration portal between our dimensions.” He gestured at me. “For those exiled.”
“Reverse aging?” I asked. “So, like you stick some grownup in that portal and they come out the other end as a-a—”
“What, like a baby?” Thurmond finished with a snort.
Up until now I had been treating the whole thing like a big misunderstanding, some stupid mistake that neither the symbols on my hand nor the volting could prove. Now Rannen had thrown out a chunk of information that made the whole thing plausible on some weird, alternate-dimensional level.
I wanted to laugh. Mostly because it was ridiculous. Partially because I was desperate for Thurmond and Rannen to join in so this whole outrageous conversation would vanish into talk of college football or the weather.