The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption

by YS Pascal

  Lester Samuel Moore sighed, “I have to admit I did peek at a few of the highlights of your progress on my monitors. I was drawn to catch the conclusion of your…adventure.” He reached out his hand to shake mine. “Glad you made it back.”

  My grip was limp. “John should’ve made it back with us.”

  “As much as I like happy endings, Shiloh, that could only happen for one of you.”

  I frowned, confused. “For Spud? His brother ‘returned’.”

  “For your brother. John got what he wanted more than anything—a path to Level 3.” Moore’s eyes twinkled. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if he joins a kindred soul there who has also returned home.”

  “You don’t mean Aliyah?”

  A hint of a shrug and a broad smile.

  “But, she, she--her body disappeared. After John--after we reinstated our timeline,” I shook my head. “We dug up her grave and it was empty. She never existed.”

  “Well, you certainly remember her. Didn’t a very astute young man say not so long ago, ‘A story told is not forgotten’? Could apply to Aliyah, too.”

  “But her body vanished. I dug up her grave myself. And John’s didn’t. My sister had to arrange for him to be, uh…,” I took a deep breath, “cremated.”

  Moore nodded. “Then neither of the bodies exist any longer, right? If there is a Level 3, then apparently bodies aren’t needed for admission.” Noting my frown, he patted me on the shoulder. “I’m an atheist, Shiloh, so Level 3’s a little beyond my pay grade. But maybe bodies are a, how can we say this, Level 2 thing, you know?

  “Or,” he leaned closer and whispered into my ear, “it may just be that another stream has washed Aliyah away.”

  I stepped back. “Huh?”

  “A few of my colleagues have speculated that the merry-go-rounds I spoke of exist in streams. Each time, say, a butterfly in Judea, or even in L.A., flaps its wings, a new stream is created with new merry go rounds and new promise. An infinite number of streams, an infinite number of possibilities. Aliyah and her Earthmates may not only have existed, they may be continuing to exist after all—just in another parallel stream.

  I shook my head. “Souls and spirits. Merry go rounds and streams. All sounds like fantasy to me. Like the mythic gods of Mt. Olympus.”

  Moore acknowledged my point. “There is science behind these theories. But some may say the science is both imaginative and incomprehensible; ergo, an intellectual religion.”

  “Clear as glass.” I snorted. “You know, at our farmhouse in Maryland, off the side of the porch, our family room has a giant single-pane picture window. When I was in middle school, I used to do my homework in the rocking chair facing our garden. Every so often I’d hear a boom--a robin or sparrow would come flying right straight into the glass. Fortunately, the glass didn’t break and the poor birds would only be stunned for a few moments. The window looked clear as air to the birds, and they just weren’t able to understand what the glass was and why it kept them from going where they wanted or needed to go. So they kept slamming into it.

  “At least,” I shrugged, “until I convinced Grandpa Alexander to put in wooden glazing bars.”

  Moore chuckled. “Are you asking for some gods to appear and explain something you can’t understand—or just to put up window frames around our universe to keep you from injuring yourself?”

  “Someone’s already done that. John was desperate to fly through those frames. I’m just happy to settle for a few answers.” A puzzled frown. “For example, you’re an atheist. The Keeper at the Temple of Eshmoun told me there were no gods. Question is then, who’s that someone who put up those bars?”

  “Now that’s a question,” Moore laughed, “for which I bet your brother gets an answer before we do.”

  “Before he, uh,” I hesitated, “John told me something about our family.” Dammit, I didn’t want the fog rolling into my eyes any more.

  I took a deep breath, willing the mist to dissipate, and forced myself to meet Moore’s eyes. “Is it true?”

  Moore looked away this time. “Does it matter?” He shook his head and grunted. “I used to think it did, you know. That one’s creation and hard-wiring forever determined one’s world and its laws.”

  “And now?”

  Moore patted my arm. “Shiloh, I’m an old man.” He smiled at something I wasn’t privy to, before he continued. “I’ve learned something in my many, many years navigating these universal merry-go-rounds and streams. We may never discover who or what is on the other side of that glass, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. What matters is what you do with the life you have on this side. Obsession about the past--who created you, why you were brought here, who or what you are--keeps you from moving forward. You become just as much of a prisoner as your brother was—only you’re the one imprisoning yourself.”

  “But what if John is wrong? What if there’s nothing on the other side of the pane?” I shivered at the thought.

  Moore smiled at me, “You can build a beautiful universe with your imagination if it comforts you to know that there is a world beyond. But don’t let your fantasy—or your reality—confine you as you graze from life’s infinite buffet.”

  He reached over and took my hand in his. “Ride the rapids, Shiloh. Soar through the skies. Relish the mist on your face, the wind in your hair, the kiss on your lips, the mustard on your tongue, the laughter in your gut. That’s all the answers we really need. Don’t put yourself in a 3-D version of the Omega Archon’s Hell.”

  He reached into his right pocket and pulled out something that glistened. Jewelry--a sunflower? No—oh, my!

  “Connie’s earrings!” I cried. “The ones she gave me for my birthday.” I’d sacrificed their gold for the drachmas we needed in Nea Athina, and never thought I would see them again.

  Moore placed the shining jewelry gently into my hands with a warm smile. “Something you deserve. The heaven of family love.”

  I blinked back tears. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “You just did,” Moore replied, patting me on the shoulder as we reached the head of the line. “I’ve got to eat fast. I’m on a panel in ten minutes with two other fallen angels—I mean, science fiction writers.” He took a quick look at the crumpled menu he pulled out of his pocket. To the barista: “I’ll have the number 42, ham on rye.” A wink in my direction. “And don’t hold the mayo.”

  * * *

  I wish I hadn’t forgotten to ask him about Stacy. By the time I finished paying for my veggie wrap and tall decaf latte, Moore had disappeared into the crowd. I searched all around, over and under the heads and costumes of the Con attendees, but had no success in locating our mentor. I only spied one set of muttonchops, on a tipsy guest sporting a souvenir Captain Jack Sparrow pirate hat, who—I kid you not—managed to run right into a glass display case right before my eyes and knock the knock-off off his noggin.

  The tongue-twister swept the analogy from my mind for at least ten minutes, but, as my fingers stroked Connie’s gift now dangling once again from my ears, my thoughts drifted back to the questions about our family that John had planted in my brain. Were he and I—and the rest of our family clones? If so, who cloned us—and from whom? Was Grandpa Alexander involved—on behalf of the Zygan Federation, or the Omega Archon? For Benedict? For the Helianthi? I hoped my brother was getting the answers he sought in Level 3, but I wasn’t convinced my answers weren’t right here in my brane, my universe, Level 2. And that Lester Samuel Moore held the key.

  I enlisted Spud to help me find Moore later in the afternoon, after we’d wrapped up the day’s shilling shift at the Bulwark booth. Unfortunately, no one admitted to having seen a plump man with scraggly gray hair and bushy sideburns. I even checked the SingularityCon program brochure, all forty pages, including ads, to see if Moore might be giving another talk today or tomorrow. No luck there either. In fact, as I leafed through the book from beginning to end, there was no listing of a Lester Samuel Moore as participating in
any of the SingularityCon activities at all.

  Spud raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He sat back in a folding chair resting his fingertips together and looking off in the distance with a curious smile.

  “Penny,” I prodded. “For your wise thoughts.”

  “It is written—“ he began.

  Our Ergals vibrated at the same time. Loudly. We each whipped out our pseudo-mobiles and put them to our ears to hear the message from Zygan Intelligence.

  Ev’s voice sounded higher-pitched than usual and even bore a hint of hysteria. “Glieser posts at Andromeda borders report an invasion from Triangulum Galaxy. The Omega Archon has declared a Stage 1 Alert. All catascopes are to report to their home stations for immediate assignment. Repeat: Stage 1 Alert.” The recording began rerunning as I hung up.

  Our expressions mirrored our high-level concern. Stage 1 Alerts were damn serious. The Zygan Federation hadn’t had an extra-galactic enemy invasion since Benedict and his Andarts had returned from exile and waged guerilla war against the Omega Archon.

  I checked the time. Bulwark staffers were closing up the booth for the day, and chatting with loud enthusiasm about the costume parties they’d be attending tonight once off-duty. Simon had already left for the Vegas strip with several nubile women in revealing alien costumes. Nobody was going to miss us for the next few hours or even notice we were gone.

  Spud nodded, and we ran for the closest custodian’s closet we could spot. We needed a quiet place out of the eyes of awestruck fans so we could X-fan to Earth Core.

  We’d barely closed the door and squeezed in between the mops and carts when our Ergals beeped again. Ev was on live this time, and the hysteria had been replaced by fury. “A fusion bomb took out the whole reception fleet, including the diplomatic contingent from Zygint Central,” Ev’s voice cracked. “Juan de la Cruz and his outreach team are dead.”

  We froze for a minute, shocked. A Zygint field agent for centuries, Juan had survived so many harrowing Zygint missions. Administration at Central was supposed to be a safe, cushy billet. Could Theodore Benedict and his Andarts—maybe with the backing of King Odius and the Valkyries--have had something to do with this abominable attack? And was Nephil Stratum a part of this murderous scheme? Pierced by dread, I pushed away that devastating thought.

  As catascopes, we had to do everything we could to help our Zygfed brothers and sisters. My brooding ruminations and my unanswered questions about my family and friends would have to wait. We Ergaled ourselves stun guns, and, ready for action, M-fanned into the entrance for Earth Core.

  The emprise continues…

  Excerpt from “Renaissance”, Book 3 of The Zygan Emprise:

  “Three hundred light years and closing.” The aerolimo pilot turned from his nav holo and grinned at his guest. “Better hurry up with that monkey suit.”

  Juan de la Cruz forced himself to smile as he buckled the last epaulet on his shoulder. “Never hurts to dress up for a first date.” Brushing a few flecks of dust off of his sleeve, the Zygan Intelligence Chief explained, “This is the first delegation from Triangulum Galaxy to the Zygan Federation in our lifetime. The Omega Archon wants to be sure we give them a warm welcome.”

  A hint of a nod. “Ever been outside Zygfed?” the pilot asked as he ran his fingers across the holo to begin the contact approach.

  “Not on the record,” Juan winked back. “But I’ve never been to Triangulum. Kind of curious to see what we see. Do we have a comm link yet?” The comm holo only displayed the V-shaped flight formation of eight Zygan Sentinel Corps cruisers escorted by a Glieser Border Patrol Unit, trailing Juan’s ship.

  “Working,” muttered the aerolimo co-pilot, struggling with his holo. “They’re not responding yet.”

  “One hundred light years, disengaging hyperdrive in five,” droned the pilot.

  “I’ve got ‘em,” the co-pilot cried, as his comm holo switched to a view of a cluster of shimmering lights hovering before the whizzing starfield.

  “Disengaged,” the pilot announced as the starfield froze.

  Juan ungripped the railing, still marveling at the latest Zygan grav technology that could slow a ship from hyperdrive to sub-light speed without jarring its riders. When he’d started at Zygint centuries ago, they’d had to back up the primitive grav system with actual seat belts to keep pilots and passengers in their seats when shifting in and out of hyperdrive. Almost as rough as his cruise on the Niña with Cristoforo. Almost.

  The comm holo now showed six disc shaped vessels surrounding—and seemingly attached to--a central disk, a flower with spaceship petals. As the Zygan team drew closer, the M81 guests began rolling their “flower” of vessels; each disc was lit along its circumference, giving the cluster the appearance of a delicate water lily at twilight, floating through space.

  “It’s beautiful,” the pilot remarked, his eyes glued to the screen.

  “Asombroso,” Juan agreed, not bothering to hide his awe. How he missed being out in the field, exploring new worlds, uncovering the majesty of this resplendent universe. And now, he’d be among the first Zygans to greet visitors from this neighboring galaxy that had remained a mystery throughout the Zygan Federation’s millennia.

  “Visual coming in from the core disc,” the co-pilot reported. “On screen.”

  The impact knocked Juan off his feet, cracking his head against the railing. A rivulet of blood trickled down Juan’s temple and splashed onto his starched white uniform. Ignoring the pain, Juan sat up and shook his head to clear his vision, laboring to peer through the smoke that was quickly filling the aerolimo’s command center. Both pilots had been thrown from their seats and lay on the floor unconscious—or worse. Above their bodies, a field of static filled the comm display that revealed the faintest outline of a giant crustacean head.

  A second explosion rocked the aerolimo, showering sparks across the thickening black smoke. Coughing and gasping, Juan tried to sit up once again, his throat gagging, scorched by the heat massaging his burning skin. His eyes could barely focus on the comm screen and the gravel voice that spoke out from the looming crab-like head. Confused, Juan struggled to understand--was this visitor from Triangulum in reality a Zygan Federation species? A Chidurian?

  “No longer are we slaves of the Omega Archon!” Juan heard the crustacean’s garbled cry as the black smoke enveloped his body and snaked into his lungs and brain, smothering his consciousness.

  “Freedom!” was the last word Juan heard.

  The final explosion pierced the hull of the aerolimo, shattering the ship into thousands of pieces and propelling its passengers into the vacuum which instantly drew the smoke out of Juan’s airless lungs, and Juan’s heart from its scorched chest. Zygan Federation space had soon reclaimed Juan’s body, but Level 3 had already welcomed Juan de la Cruz’ soul.

  * * *

  “Freedom!” The screen froze on the angry visage of Matshi the Chidurian. It took all my willpower not to gasp.

  “Shiloh Rush, you’re as pale as, as Spud,” Ev said, staring at my face.

  I was certain that all my blood had pooled down at my feet. Matshi! My Mingferplatoi Academy classmate. My fellow catascope trainee. My friend.

  “Renaissance”-- coming Summer 2013, at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kindle, Nook, Smashwords.

  Index of Zygan and English Terms:

  Aheya: Zyga’s second largest city

  Anamorph: Change one’s appearance

  Anastasis: Rebirth/resurrection

  Andart: Guerilla fighter/terrorist opposing the Zygan Federation

  Anorak: A heavy jacket with a hood, lined with fur.

  Athame: A Madai dagger

  Bartitsu: A type of Japanese Martial Arts

  Base 12: Like Base 10, but with two more numbers. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,T,E,10, etc,….

  CANDI: Cascading Auxiliary Neurosynaptic Discharge Interaction, which sends wireless signals directly into the brain.

  Catascope: Zygan Intelligence secret agent

&
nbsp; Cherukles: Zygan handcuffs

  Chorize: To separate your mind from your body during ka’vyr

  Chiduri: A desert planet on the tip of Orion’s sword, home to crab-like species that often shape-shift into rodent life-forms.

  Comm: Communications holo

  Deltans: Humanoids from the planet Delta IV that specialize in sexual entertainment.

  Emprise: An adventurous, daring, or chivalric enterprise.

  Enclave: A Zygan neighborhood that duplicates a planet’s environment.

  Ergal: A Zygan tool that can be used to transport in time and space, become invisible, increase or decrease in size

  Gamil: A six-legged equine native to the planet Chiduri.

  Geryon: A spear-like weapon that can pierce and uncover anamorphed and muted layers

  Holo: A holographic computer

  Hyperdrive: Faster-than-light speed

  Ifestia: A harsh, volcanic planet orbiting the Orion star Alnitak that hosts telepathic species.

  Invisible-ize: You got it!

  Kalyvi: A Chidurian cave dwelling

  Ka’vyr: An Ifestian mind-control technique

  Kharybdis: A watery planet in Orion’s

  Lev: Levitate

  Madai: An ethnic group of reptilians from the planet Orion Alpha

  Mayall II: Zyga’s home star, in the Galaxy of Andromeda

  Mega: Grow

  Megara: A planet famed for its outstanding entertainment and vacation sites, home to many species of humanoids.

  Meiotes: A species of Ytrans whose young are born in complementary pairs, and spend their lives together as partners.

  M-fan: Use an Ergal to appear

  Micro: Shrink

  Mikkin: Zyga’s capital city

  Mute: Change one’s appearance and genetic make-up