by YS Pascal
Oh-kay. What did they say about Greeks and gifts?
“Ready?” A note of urgency?
I turned my head. “Should I hold Sp—Escott’s hand?” I asked, as I clasped the jar next to my chest.
“No,” Benedict responded. “Close your eyes and we will take care of the transport.” He nodded at Anesidora who tapped her Ergal ring.
My last memory before I X-fanned was a cry from Spud, but I was traveling before I could make out his words. Once again, I felt as if my body had exploded, its pieces erupting from my core and spinning around the fragments of my spine. Curiously enough, I kept seeing the amphora orbiting my atoms, but, unlike me, completely intact.
And then, breathing heavily, I stood again united, suspended in the center of an enormous glowing sphere. Alone.
“Spud!” I shouted, looking around the empty sphere for my partner. Empty, except for me and the unscathed jar in my arms.
Grasping the amphora, I curled up into a ball, and jumped, spinning myself into a series of somersaults that floated me toward the sphere’s edge. My feet shot out to meet the boundary, and I bounced off the flexible substance and caromed across the diameter of the chamber, careening off impenetrable walls with my extended legs. Eventually, my motion slowed to a stop and I found myself once again hanging in the middle of the sphere. I spat out an impolite curse.
The base of the sphere dissolved before my eyes and I found myself splashing into a large, shallow sea, with only my head and the jar rising above the bubbling liquid that licked my shoulders. My feet could barely touch the bottom, but I was able to kick and swim after a fashion towards a group of wizened humanoid heads that had gathered at the edge of my vision. There was still no sign of Spud.
“Anybody here ‘habla Ingles’?” I tossed off, not expecting an answer.
“We do not need hablar here,” blasted into my brain.
I twisted around to face my floating companions.
“Our thoughts are transmitted directly through ionic conductive currents,” a slightly more sonorous thought pierced my consciousness.
“Ah,” I said—or thought—who knows. Like CANDI, the Cascading Auxiliary Neurosynaptic Discharge Interaction, that sends wireless signals from our Ergals directly to our brains. “Where are we? And have you seen my friend? About my age, dark blond hair…”
“No, you are alone. This is your world. Make of it what you will.” One of the grizzled heads—I wasn’t sure which one—didn’t say.
I gripped the amphora. “Where’s Spud?”
“You can draw on your neurocache to see him.”
Before I could ask what the not-talking-head meant, Spud appeared before us, floating stiffly on the liquid’s surface. As he drifted by me, I was struck mute by my view of his face. The same gray eyes, aquiline nose, pale skin, and thin lips, yes. But his expression was frozen, lifeless. Whatever made Spud who he is was missing—this, this avatar, it had no soul.
“Make of him what you will,” resonated in my brain from another of the cerebral guardians.
“Don’t be afraid,” the avatar Spud announced. He swung his legs into the liquid and, sitting up on the surface, smiled at me with his trademark lopsided grin. “This Spud will be everything of which you dreamed.”
The look in his eyes had suddenly shifted from reassurance to adoration. An expression I’d never expected to see on Spud’s stolid face. Sure, I’d admit to having a few fantasies starring my catascope partner once in awhile, but I knew the real Spud played for the other team. Like half the guys I know in Hollywood. This Spud’s intense gaze as he swam towards me was totally out of character, and made me more uncomfortable the closer he approached.
Before I could raise my free hand and block him, Spud leaned forward and planted his lips firmly on mine, teasing my teeth with his serpentine tongue. “No!” I cried, pushing him away with my knees. “Stop! This isn’t you!”
The avatar pulled back and floated vertically before me, his expression once again vacant, waiting.
I spun round to accost the observing heads. “No! I want the real Spud! Where is he?”
The heads looked at each other before one communicated, “He is not here. You are alone. Make of it what you will.” Without another thought, all the heads, as well as Avatar Spud, disappeared. And I was alone.
* * *
Shiloh’s Brane—where time is meaningless
“Hey,” I shouted, holding up the amphora, “Is one of you Hermes? I was supposed to give you all a gift!” My thoughts echoed across the sphere, bouncing back and forth, fading slowly into an eerie silence. Those old geezers weren’t kidding. Except for me and my mind, nothing else existed in this hollow ball. No disembodied heads. Certainly not Spud. And not John. With every passing minute, the nothingness crept closer, surrounding me, drowning me with its emptiness. I felt my heart beating fast, my breaths growing short. I had to get out of here, now.
Still holding the amphora, I crouched into the liquid and sprung up to try to reach the sphere’s ceiling. Would I be able to diffuse through the membrane as I had done in the spheres on Benedict’s planet ship? If not, perhaps I could use the stopper’s ruby to slice a hole through which I could escape this vapid prison. My arms, and then the ruby’s tip, only stretched the sphere’s wall; ruby, amphora, and I were shot back down to land onto the shallow liquid, whose level had somehow dropped to my kneecaps and continued to diminish.
At this rate, very soon, there’d be nothing but this spherical trampoline imprisoning me, a void filled only by oxygen and my anxious thoughts. But, wait a minute, if the liquid was disappearing, there had to be a drain or some other means of exit that I might be able to take advantage of, too. I slipped off one of my shoes, and waded across the length of the shrinking sea, hoping to find a hole leading out with my bare toes.
Nothing. The liquid’s molecules must be able to diffuse through the sphere’s membrane. Without an Ergal, I couldn’t micro and get small enough to follow. Shoe on. Back to Plan A.
I glared at the ruby stopper. Why couldn’t you be sharper, dammit? And if I ever did manage to get out of here, Anesidora would be pissed that I’d messed up her goodwill gesture. I was about ready to toss the amphora to my feet in disgust, when I realized, albeit late, that maybe I had a Plan C. Yes, it finally occurred to me to open the jar. So I did.
A thin plume of smoke rose from the amphora’s opening, curling and looping into a spiral that grew to fill the open space around me. The wisps felt warm against my moist skin, bathing me, and drying the traces of the fluid still clinging to my clothes. Contracting, the wisps started to gather into a discrete cloud, which soon formed the shape and form…of a Syneph!
“Ha,” I grinned, adding in Zygan. “Dude, am I glad to see you.”
“My name is Helpus Stratum,” the Syneph responded with the language’s phonetic squeaks, “but you may call me ‘Dude’ if you wish. I am grateful to you for releasing me from my confinement.”
I pursed my lips and nodded. Dude was obviously unfamiliar with slang. “Your name’s very appropriate, Helpus Stratum. How long have you been…confined?”
“Since the birth of the Ifestian civilization. I am—was—considered a danger to their survival. You speak Zygan, but you are not Ifestian. Are you from Megara?”
“Terra,” I corrected. “A small planet at the edge of the—“
“A child of Gaia has traveled into the netherworlds?” The Syneph sounded incredulous. “I should have wagered that Prometheus’ folly would have borne fruit eventually. No matter,” the Syneph sighed. “It is now my obligation to repay you for unchaining my bonds.”
“Do I get three wishes?” I muttered, straining to remember who Prometheus was. I need you, Spud. I burst out, “Okay, first, I want to find my brother John. Second, I want us to get my partner Spud, and, third, I want us all to get home safely. Should be less than a day’s work.”
Helpus Stratum didn’t respond for a long time. “Be careful what you wish for,” the Syneph f
inally returned. “But, perhaps I could be of some aid. Tell me, Terran, where is your brother John?”
Chapter 8
Prometheus Unbound
“Nephil Stratum.”
The Syneph turned pitch black for a moment, then retreated to a grayish shade. “Explain.”
“My brother John is with Nephil Stratum.” I kept my voice even. “Find her with that communications thing you all do, and you’ll find John.”
Grumbling, Helpus Stratum grabbed the ruby stopper from my hands with a smoky wisp, and secreted it inside a fluffy pouch. I laid the amphora on the sphere’s damp floor and waited in silence again for several minutes, stroking the soft wool of my Somalderis and trying not to fidget as the Syneph’s color wavered between blue and gray.
Suddenly, Helpus Stratum’s wisps enveloped me, smothering me in a foggy mist. Each breath blasted cold moist air into my lungs, air so thick that I gasped and gagged, thrashing my arms and legs to try swim out of the frigid white cloud. A wave of dizziness--and then my head broke through the fog into the blackness. And I could breathe.
But I couldn’t see. Not even a whisper of light, a darkness that made me long for the caustic blanket of Helpus Stratum’s smoke. Helpus Stratum? “Helpus Stratum?” I cried.
The faintest shimmer of luminosity next to me. I felt a warmth, a softness, cradling me, opening my eyes. Before me, a welcome sight, was a familiar downy white cloud. I smiled. “Nephil Stratum.”
“Shiloh Rush,” was the quiet reply.
I could view little before me, but had a feeling that Helpus Stratum was no longer with me, us—wherever we were. “John?”
“He’s here,” Nephil Stratum said, as a flicker of light shot out towards my feet. “Helpus Stratum can be a cruel ally, but, for this once, a saving grace.”
I looked down to see a prostrate John, cachectic and cadaverous, his sunken eyes blinking furiously to stave off the luminous assault, his expression revealing first confusion and then relief at the sight of his sister by his side. His emaciated arm shook as it reached out towards me, his mouth opened a sliver to let out a hoarse moan. Where was the indestructible mentor that had inspired me to literally reach for the stars? Now my brother needed me to save his life.
I knelt down and took John’s bony hand, warming it in mine. My other hand stroked his chilled forehead as I whispered. “Yes, I’m real.”
John squeezed my hand so hard it hurt my fingers. My eyes brimming with tears, I loosened my grip and his hand slipped out and rested on the soft Somalderis wrapped over my lap. John’s shaking stopped, his muscles relaxed. Letting out a long sigh, he smiled and closed his eyes.
* * *
John’s Brane—where time is meaningless
A thunderous clap preceded the flash of light. I held my hand up in front of my face and looked away. Three not-talking-heads had just appeared before in what I could now see was another sphere. But these three now had bodies attached. And wings. Guess the sea we’d all been floating in in “my sphere” had hidden those before.
“How came you here? This is not your world!” thought-cried the tallest, an ethereal young woman.
“Hey, can’t disagree with you there,” I shot back. “Just give us a few minutes and we’ll be out of your golden hair.”
“Silence!” shouted another winged being with a gruff voice. “Clearly the Syneph apostate is responsible.”
Did he mean my grumbling genie? “Helpus Stratum?”
The woman snarled, “Helpus Stratum made the correct choice. You, Nephil Stratum,” she turned to face my friend’s puffs, “have betrayed us, and, for that, you will face dispersion!-”
As the woman raised her winged arm, the third creature, a wizened old man, caught sight of my Somalderis and rasped, “It has returned! It shall be ours again!”
I took the opening and I jumped. Bouncing off the springy surface of the sphere, I leapt head first for the woman’s trunk. Unfortunately, she must have been a holo, because I flew straight through her abdomen and landed on my face behind her back. Oops.
I did succeed in distracting her, though. She turned back to me, buying Nephil Stratum some time. A lightning bolt shot out of the woman’s fingers, barely missing me as I rolled to one side and thrust up over everyone’s heads
The second being aimed his own hand above his crown. I curled into a ball and pushed off the sphere top with as much force as I could muster, whizzing through his extended arm and his winged torso. I spied Nephil Stratum behind me, smothering the elderly apparition, and keeping him from grabbing the Somalderis as I slid past.
Landing on top of my brother, I wrapped an edge of my Somalderis over John’s chest, I glanced up at Nephil Stratum, who had misted completely through the elderly man and was heading for us at a windy clip. “Go,” I shouted, spotting both of the other creatures extending their hands in our direction.
Nephil Stratum’s warmth enveloped us just as I glimpsed sparks arising from the creatures’ fingers. Would we have time to get away before our bodies were seared with the lightning’s flame? The elderly man raised both his hands and—
My body exploded into a million pieces, each only a few microns in size. I felt the pain of my atoms tearing apart, screaming for the cohesion of unity that was razed by the explosion. And John’s atoms, crashing into mine, giving me a flashing glimpse of the maelstrom in his dying mind. The screams in the molecules of my ears were coming from his soul. Without the structure of his body, John had nothing left. And nothing was what he had always feared the most.
* * *
Benedict’s Lair, Valholler—present day
The Persian carpets in Benedict’s living room suite felt soothing on my aching skin. I lay on my back taking deep breaths until my heart rate slowed down and the spinning sensation passed. And then I remembered. John!
Next to me, John’s eyes were still closed, his breaths shallow, irregular. I sat up, and looked around the empty room for Nephil Stratum, Spud, Benedict, anyone. Help!
I heard the rustling of a long gown behind me. Anesidora. “He needs help,” I cried, “you’re a nurse.”
Smiling, Anesidora walked over to John and laid a hand on his forehead. “I don’t have the luxury of knowing Zygan medicine, but I have learned a few techniques from King Odius’ shaman.” She tapped her Ergal ring, and summoned a chalice which she lowered to John’s parched lips.
John’s eyes flickered for a few moments as a golden liquid dripped into his mouth. As Anesidora pulled back, John’s body shook, and he turned his head to look at her and then at me.
“Shiloh?” was his only word, before he lay back and drifted into a peaceful slumber.
“He will sleep for a day while his body heals,” Anesidora said as she stood up. “Sunsets are nearing, and you would be wise to rest too before your return.”
“So you’re going to just let us go back to Earth?” I sat up, my eyes narrowed.
“Good heavens, yes,” Anesidora patted my hand. “Theodore has no use for--no reason to fear you young people.” A muttered afterthought. “There is very little that he does fear anymore.”
A half-question. “You all‘ll be staying here?”
“Of course. Our work isn’t done yet.”
“What work?” I couldn’t help asking.
“We have mysteries,” she said as she levved John’s body gently onto the plush couch, “yet to be answered. John’s venture was a well-meaning effort to reach Level 3, but he obviously failed. It’s now our turn to try.”
Anesidora sounded so genuine, and almost convincing. But, she was a Benedict, so I wasn’t going to let down my guard. Nodding, I forced a smile as I reached over and took John’s hand in mine. To Anesidora: “By the way, where’s Spud?”
She smiled again and X-fanned, leaving us alone.
* * *
I woke up, startled to see only darkness outside of the suite’s glass walls. Night had fallen. John was still sleeping, his head resting in my lap. Besides his light snoring, I could
hear no other sounds.
Where was Spud? He hadn’t—I hoped--transported over to the universe spheres with me and remained a prisoner in that hell of isolation? Benedict and his mother must have meant for me to make that journey alone.
Easing out from under John to not disrupt his rest, I tiptoed around the suite, looking for a door or exit. I pushed my chest against the floor-to-ceiling glass—it didn’t give. Yet another prison. Damn!
No more amphorae, vases, or containers that might squirrel away another Syneph either. Obviously, Benedict meant for us to stay in this suite—calling out to him would not be much help. But, maybe…
“Agriarctos,” I whispered, “I’m hungry. I need food.”
Silence.
“I’m starving and dying of thirst,” I tried again. “Some tea, anything.”
Silence. Then, a large Ursan, looking like a rumpled polar bear, appeared before me bearing a tray of sandwiches and juice. Agriarctos!
“Thanks, Big A,” I said, patting him on the arm. I tiptoed up to whisper in his ear. “Can they hear us?”
A flash of light filled the room for a second. “E-shield. Now they can’t. Hurry up, kid, while they’re still asleep.”
I knew, but Benedict probably didn’t, that Agriarctos was really ‘disgraced’ Zygint agent Ward Burton. Was Wart really on assignment for Zygint, undercover, scoping out Benedict’s nefarious mission? Or was he a double agent, working behind the scenes to help Benedict as well? Either way, my using his real name might put him—and us—in danger. I had to be ultra-careful, and trust no one, including Wart.
“Brief me,” I mumbled, as I bit into a PnJ sandwich.
“Go back,” he whispered as he handed me the drink. “We’ve got it covered here now. And hide that damn Somalderis.” His eyes darted to the fleece still clinging to my hips. “It’s a magnet for trouble.”