Dimension

by Shay Zana

  But other dimensions? Now that is far fetched and childish, just the sort of thing Serenity would cook up to throw a man such as Rockland off their scent. They have broken him, Coleman thinks, broken this man of science and made him a crazed man of faith, just like the Paragons themselves, indoctrinated and broken.

  “Other dimensions, eh? Wars of the gods? Now that’s something I haven’t heard since lessons in Greek mythology,” he laughs and rubs the back of his head.

  Rockland frowns at him. “Admiral, this isn’t a joke. This war,” he points at the battle feeds displaying on the panoramic screens around them. “This war is pointless. People out there are fighting for the wrong reasons. People are dying for the wrong reasons. Serenity is not our enemy here. Those Paragons came to this galaxy, all the way from the Milky Way, just to stop all of this, for both Serenity and the UEU’s sake. They are not our enemies.”

  A scoff pours out from the admiral. “And you’re bringing all of this to me without a shred of solid evidence, Commander. You were sent to Olympus to confirm Serenity’s involvement, not come back as one of them, claiming that they are completely innocent. That’s what they want you to think, Rockland, that’s their plan.”

  Several operatives on the bridge are visibly uncomfortable with the two men openly discussing the matter, their voices raising and their passionate opinions seeping from them and charging the entire deck, but neither of them seem to care, or even notice the operatives around them. This is a conversation that should have been taken up in a private briefing.

  “Sir, if you could just pull the fleet back from Kronos, discuss this with the admiralty panel, negotiate with Serenity...”

  “And what? Give Serenity the chance to regroup and strike somewhere else? Convince more of our people to join their side? Tell me, why did you attack UEU forces?”

  He has been waiting for that. “I did what I had to do, sir. Those Paragons needed a clear path through the battlefield to get to their King and negotiate a galaxy-wide evacuation. Serenity or not, every civilian should be our priority.”

  “So now you’re working for Paragons, giving them exactly what they want. You’re even more stupid than I thought, Rockland. How can you be so gullible?”

  Rockland stands now, losing his patience and sense of authority. “Look outside, Coleman! The distortions are here too, not just in UEU territory! Why would they do this to their own planet?”

  “You’re out of line, Commander!” Coleman bellows, widening his stance, bolstering his impervious facade. “You commit mutiny against UEU forces, and now you’re here on my ship, telling me how to command my fleet, running your mouth off about obscenities and nonsense! I’ll tell you why the distortions are here too, it’s because Serenity played with fire! They lost control of the power they had and now they have screwed the entire galaxy! They’ll do anything to protect their beliefs, haven’t you learnt that yet? Operation: Ghost Tempest was a complete failure because you’re too weak minded. I knew you were the wrong man for that mission.”

  Trying to control his temper, Rockland steams inwardly and forces himself not to lash out at the admiral in overwhelming anger. “Listen to me, Admiral. We need to be co-operating with Serenity. Take this to the other admirals. Evacuate the entire galaxy if necessary. Things are only going to get worse and those Paragons and that Cipher are the only ones who know how to stop it.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” Coleman growls. “Somebody get him out of my sight. You,” he points to the guard who had escorted Rockland to the bridge. “Take him to the holding cells, he’s unstable.”

  At this order, Rockland lashes out at the approaching guard, escaping his grip and landing a thundering blow to the side of his helmet. The guard quickly retaliates with a genetically engineered quickness by seizing Rockland’s shoulder and locking his arm to his back, pulling firmly to draw a pained grunt from the commander’s throat. As Rockland struggles for freedom, the guard presses the muzzle of his rifle to his spine, driving it inward to emphasis his threat. Rockland ceases his struggles and a look of pure rage contours his face, his deep blue eyes hooded under his even deeper frown, his breathing thick with controlled adrenaline.

  “Ground the Marauding Exile,” Coleman barks next. “Take the entire crew to the holding cells with him, and sedate them if necessary. They could all be just as unstable as him. If they’ve all come in close contact with Serenity, who knows what they did to them.”

  Rockland thrashes against the restraining hold of the guard, but his augmented strength is overwhelming and statue-like. “If you’ve got a problem, then you take it up with me, not them. Leave my crew out of this. They did nothing but follow orders.”

  Much to Rockland’s disgust, the admiral just seems to grow even more self righteous, a cocky grin plaguing his face. “Or what, Jaron? You’ll set your Cipher whore onto me and spiral me off into another dimension? Just listen to how that sounds. Science rules here, not religion, and not the gods, and obviously those Paragons have gotten inside your head and I now consider you a liability to my fleet, and the whole of the UEU. You know the ancient stories that the Ciphers told humanity, that the Zodiacs cannot manipulate the physical reality. So either this Katana has lied to you about gods warring and causing this, and Serenity is using some type of super-weapon to create these distortions, or the Ciphers lied to humanity all along and the gods really are capable of creating these distortions, and are destroying the UEU to help Serenity win this war. Either way, the Ciphers can’t be trusted.”

  “The Zodiacs might not be capable of this, but who are you to say that these Demons aren’t either?” Rockland spits out in response. “They’re an entirely separate race! The other admirals believe that this is because of the gods and that this isn’t down to technology. Why is it so hard to believe that science and spirituality can co-exist? Who the hell are you to make this decision alone? You’re nothing but a deluded, narrow-minded dictator!”

  Coleman’s mouth twists into a cruel smile. “I’ve seen some strange things in my years, but you definitely take the cake on this one. Congratulations, you’re officially insane.”

  And again, the admiral gestures curtly to the guard to take him away, but Rockland thrashes once more, planting his feet firmly and trying to shrug away the guard, only to be reminded of the rifle to his back. “Get your head out of your ass and take a look outside, Admiral! Explain to me how those events are down to science!”

  “Humanity is capable of some incredible things, thanks to technology,” Coleman replies somewhat calmly as he watches Rockland being hauled off back to the central platform that will take him off the bridge. “I will not regret reporting to the admiralty panel how their tip-of-the-spear man has lost faith in humanity and instead found it in the gods.”

  RETURN

  Kitera wakes with a gasp, springing upward in a gush of disorientation. Sweat drenches her skin and soaks through her rumpled cloak, and she feels a surge of depression at the vision that still stings at her consciousness, lingering cruelly. Her sister’s words melt dread into her as a rush of memories assails her consciousness. There is so much that she does not yet understand, so much is still beyond her comprehension. Here, in this dark, dreary dimension, there is no warm presence of gods, just the cold grasp of beings that do not deserve the title. Yet, who is she to judge them? They are beyond her comprehension. But still, her allegiance lies with the human race, the Zodiacs, and life in her own dimension.

  Her lucid eyes roam her surroundings, a calming warmth gathering in her chest as she finds herself back in her quarters aboard Altair, lying amongst the plush bedding. The creamy scent of the candles saturates her senses, and she watches the heat from the swaying flames meander upward like billowing feathers.

  Taking a moment to breathe deeply and find harmony, Kitera drapes her legs off the side of the bed and stares vaguely at a lone bowl set atop a small dresser across the room. The bowl is made of a hand woven material of tikal leaves, that glows a pale white-blue in th
e darkness of Altair’s interior.

  Kitera stands shakily, still overcoming her bitter vision, and ventures deftly over to the dresser. She places her two hands to cup around the bioluminescent bowl and lifts it to her nose, inhaling the pure scent of the shii fluid inside and feeling a warm tingle in her lungs as it already heals her. There are many ways to use shii. It can be inhaled, consumed, used as a lotion for the skin or bathed in. Most of her people use the silver fluid to draw markings and war paint onto their skin when out hunting. The fluid will dry just like a paint, and when in contact again with the tikal, will become liquid, useful to smear over any injuries sustained.

  After bringing the bowl to her mouth to replenish her body’s needs, Kitera gently dips the tip of her index finger into the glowing paste, seeing the translucent liquid pour from her finger in a silky consistency. Placing the bowl back on the dresser, she draws a small marking on the back of her other hand with slow sorrow. The marking of Zivera.

  For a long while, she just gazes at the glowing silver marking on her hand, illuminated in the darkness of her quarters, catching images of her elder sister in her mind. Memories weep through her, remembering the sound of Ziva’s voice, the wisp of her touch, the warmth of her smile. Her mind fractures softly, thought streams separating into divisions of hollow loss and hardened will. Eventually, the division of her hardened will wins over, and with a smooth and brave motion, she wipes the shii fluid from her hand, destroying the mark of Ziva, an almost symbolic motion that she must put aside her past and concentrate on the future.

  But is she only fooling herself? Why is her sister haunting her visions? No, it is not her sister. Ziva is dead. The Demons are using her memory to haunt her.

  Sounds drift toward her. Kitera’s head lifts to listen more intently. A faint click and now a dull tone of an alert can be heard from the stargrid. She pools all of her concentration toward the sound, following it as it drifts down the iconic hall of Altair.

  Once in navigation, the Cipher circles her way around the stargrid, the hologram’s warming light thrusting away the shadows of the dark room and bleeping repeatedly on a specific point in the galaxy. Kitera examines this highlighted point with narrowed eyes, her movements slow and deft in concentration, wonder emanating from her. The translucent landscape of the galaxy is slightly grainy, mild static eating through its image and blurring sections, causing it to flicker and groan in an unworldly electronic clamour. Small gusts of wind push out from the troubled galaxy, sweeping through Kitera’s hair like poured liquid.

  The highlighted point is marking the edges of the Elysian Fields Nebula, except in this dimension, Kitera knows that the Elysian Fields does not exist, according to Altair’s stellarium. Is the vessel about to shift again?

  The organic vessel stretches its form within the leagues of space, crossing boundaries unseen, venturing through the deep chasms of verity, exercising its rebellious abilities and defying the gods of their rules. Altair has quenched its form’s need for starlight, absorbed all that it can and kept it stored within its core. The feeling of the light energy sweeping through its systems and pulsing from its symbols is refreshing, and it has been far too long since it has had the chance to replenish itself. Dark space during intergalactic travel had been a thirsty time.

  Now, it is fully recharged and pleased with its attempt to show its human the origin of its kind’s creation and feel her response. Her astonishment and wonder had pleased it greatly, and the fact that it had inspired awe in its human was very satisfying indeed. Her hesitation had been somewhat irritating at first, and she seemed to have feared its place of origin, which had confused it, but then her fear was muted by the birth of one of its kind.

  Knowing that its destination had been this particular galaxy during their seven years of intergalactic travel, Altair had always planned to take all of its humans to see its place of origin, to show them all together, but things did not fall that way. They all seemed to be occupied with something important, and their stress levels had increased the moment they had reached the galaxy’s outer rim. Altair still does not know why they are so stressed and what they are so focused on, but it knows its place, and wishes only to help its humans however it can. But it must find the time to show the others now.

  And so, the ikamanu decides to take its human back to her dimension of existence, where she belongs. Lazily, the ikamanu coils its matter, influencing it on an atomic level until it bends to its complete will, and with a brilliant gulp of entity dusting out into space, its body vanishes, through the empty layers of existence.

  SPATIAL DISTORTION

  The red Rhadamanthus is the first thing that greets Boone’s eyes. The giant swirling orb of light is automatically dulled by his helmet’s visor, making it possible to stare straight at it without causing damage to his retinas. The giant red beast stares back at him, unleashing dull, yet vibrant red light upon the seas of Kronos, capturing Boone in a moment of peace until he gathers his bearings, shakes his head, and groans loudly as he attempts to sit up. Instantly, he is ambushed by a sickening headache. He clutches at the sides of his helmet for a moment, waiting for the pounding to diminish before morphing it down. Peering from side to side, he notices two sand indents of Paragon bodies beside him. He frowns before running his hand over his face and yawning.

  Distant voices.

  Boone scans his eyes along the beach until he spots Mazayus and Natheus with four Serenity soldiers, all near the water’s edge as it sweeps in near them and trails back again to merge with the rest of the heaving ocean. Natheus is kneeling in the sand, wiping at something as the water laps at him. Mazayus is standing rigid, unarmoured, shard wounds flecking his back. Boone can see that the men are gathered around the display of someone’s datakey, set into a large display maybe about 60inches wide.

  Squinting from Rhadamanthus, he manages to get to his feet without drawing too much more pain from his headache, and makes his way over to the men, leaving large footprints in the sand in his wake. "How long was I out?"

  "Over an hour," Neal answers passively, the marine now with revealed features. Boone notes that he is not exactly paradise for the peepers.

  After a brief moment of silence and study, Boone asks his second question. "Where's Grumps?"

  And at this, he gets a solemn look from Mazayus, the very troubled expression masking the pain that inflicts his body. "He’s advanced to Babylon."

  "Solo?"

  "Mhm."

  "He's a crazy one," Major Neal takes over with a chuckle and a glance at Babylon, now overcast in the distance, a pale blue opacity obscuring it. "Wanted to swim to it, hoping that kinetic waterfall would take him up. And he made it, too, saw him with our optics, crazy son-of-a-bitch. A Dagger passed right on top of him as he reached the top. Saw nothing more of him after that."

  Boone looks to Mazayus for direction, noting the increase in worry on his brow, but it is Natheus who speaks. "Ranity is back online and is attempting to patch Deo through to us via Babylon's private relays, but she is experiencing interference and cannot get a constant lock on his signal. Last we heard, he had joined forces with Rahna and was headed to Anzac’s location."

  Now nodding, Boone takes all of this in. “We are going after him, right? I mean this is D we’re talking about. He’s as likely to save the king as he is to destroy the entire skycity.”

  “I do not think it will be Deo that destroys Babylon,” Mazayus says with a deep drone in his voice, and his large eyes flick skyward, directing Boone to follow his stare and gape at the sight before his eyes.

  Ever looming in the skies of Kronos exists what looks like the growing funnel of a tornado, except Boone knows that this is no ordinary tornado. A column of wind orbits erratically around the centre of low atmospheric pressure, and around this giant are spawning smaller satellite tornadoes, whipping through the clouds and sucking them up with a stretching thirst. There is a burning hiss of fire as this giant cyclone circulates above, which Boone roughly estimates to be 8000km w
ide. As it inevitably descends into Kronos’ atmosphere, the icy swirls that have frozen in space now erupt violently into flames as they collide with the atmosphere, leaving an amber haze spreading along the fleeing clouds that are only becoming consumed. How could he not have noticed a giant space-tornado in the sky? Though apart from the far off hiss of swirling fire and the actual visual sense in the sky, there is no usual tell-tale sign of an approaching twister. No high winds, no hail, no thick cloud cover that darkens the skies.

  Biting his upper lip, Boone sighs and looks back down to the men along the beach, who are all staring at him, waiting for his reaction. “Giggity,” he mumbles with biting sarcasm, not even surprised.

  Mazayus continues to apply more elixir to his wounds, while Natheus and the marines go back to their datakey display.

  “What happened to the rest of the marines?” Boone asks.

  “Died in the impact,” Neal answers stiffly.

  Boone offers no words of sympathy, just nods in realism and makes his way closer so that he can observe the datakey display amidst the air, the washing ocean seen through its translucence.

  “A rough schematic of Babylon, provided by the major,” Natheus explains. “This here is the Temple of Anzac.” He points. “Where the King resides. The area is under heavy aerial bombardment and has been locked down. Civilians are being directed to evacuate via airlift, but air traffic is hindered by orbital strikes and fly-bys. HQ does not want to risk airlifting the royalties out due to constant casualties, but unfortunately, there is no other way out unless they want to invite more UEU ground troops into the city.”

  Boone watches and studies the map of Babylon as Natheus briefs him quickly on the situation. “The UEU disabled the kinetic platforms?”