A World of Worlds

by ASMSG Authors

  * * *

  Waking up was hard. Malah hadn’t been beaten when she was returned to the royal chambers on the night of her failed escape attempt.

  The Clerics injected her with more of their special poisons. The thick blue liquid filled her veins and forced her into a coma that was deep enough to make her sleep through the birth of her twin daughters.

  Malah never even imagined actually birthing children. She’d never had to. She’d always had her blessings to keep her company.

  She’d watched, from outside of her body, as her beautiful girls were taken from her stomach and ushered away. She’d wept and screamed, and no one had heard her. She’d pleaded with Dwy. She’d begged him to forgive her, let her have another chance at being a dutiful wife, and to, please, wake her up. She had been foolish, like a child. Curiosity got her tricked and captured.

  Of course, no one could see her. The people of this land could not leave their bodies like the Jinn. And there were no more real Jinn. She was the last, and that is why they lured her with love and kept her prisoner.

  She wondered if Dwy ever truly loved her. He’d been so gentle in the beginning.

  Malah knew the truth. The Parthans needed her for this last task. That was when the harsh reality truly hit her. She was merely a vessel. A treasure used to make their race more powerful.

  Malah retreated to the corner of her quarters and curled into a ball, and waited for someone to finally awaken her.

  The moment she opened her eyes and breathed fresh air again, didn’t come until four years had passed.

  Dwy stood beside her cot. His black eyes were fixed on hers. He touched her face.

  “Dwy,” she croaked.

  He reached over and handed her a cup of red liquid.

  Gremmina. A drink from her homeland’s enchanted springs.

  Malah snatched the cup from him. She wondered how he had got his hands on the precious fluid as she drank the pungent substance down. She watched him with wide eyes as she hurried to drink every drop. When the cup was empty, she shot to her feet. She balled her fists up and glared at him.

  “You stupid creature,” she said. “You do know that Gremmina gives me enough strength to kill all of you. I could crush this palace into a pile of rubble.”

  Footsteps drew her attention. Her glare shot to Vorrid. He came from the archway that led to her study room. He was cloaked as always and carried a large pitcher of the Gremmina.

  Malah stepped back. “It isn’t Gremmina? Is it?” Even as she asked the question she knew the answer. It had to be Gremmina. She could feel its effects. But why would her enemy give her such a valuable weapon?

  Vorrid nodded. He poured more into the cup. “It is, Blessed One.”

  Malah raised a brow. “You sound as if you mean it now. And yet, you do not pay homage.” Her hands were held ready to summon all manners of creatures to aid her in killing them both. One thought stopped her. She had two girls somewhere in the palace that she would not leave without.

  To her surprise, they both bowed to her.

  Malah swallowed. “What are you up to?”

  Vorrid and Dwy shared a look. Dwy was king. Vorrid was his personal cleric, the most powerful sorcerer in Partha. But while at her optimum strength, Malah did not fear anyone or anything. She would never let her guard down again.

  “Shall I show her?” Vorrid asked from his knees. When Dwy nodded, Vorrid stood and turned to walk across the large stone room to the tall window that stretched from the high ceiling to the granite floor. Malah watched him.

  Her heart beat loudly in her ears. She only wanted her daughters, Keema and Livie. Dwy had at least told her about their daughters’ triumphs and milestones during her long slumber. She wondered if he knew that she had seen it all. Even if her physical body was at rest, her mind could still work wonders. She had watched them grow, but from a painful distance.

  When Vorrid opened the black shutters, Malah slumped to her knees. Her hand shot to cover her mouth as she stared at the scene outside her bedroom window. The once lush and beautiful land of Partha was a black, desolate wasteland.

  Malah stared at the scene with wide, horrified eyes. When she finally found her voice she stuttered, “What happened?”

  Vorrid sat in a stone chair at her breakfast table beneath the window. He removed his cloak’s hood and ran his long, thin fingers through his silver and black hair. He sighed.

  “Sire,” he began. “You should tell her.”

  Dwy took a deep breath. He was a big Parthan, with broad shoulders and muscles that bulged. He towered over her by two feet and now he looked small to her. He looked afraid.

  That made Malah afraid. And Malah had rarely ever felt fear.

  “You did this, Blessed One.”

  Malah came to her feet. Her jaw hung slack. “What?”

  Vorrid nodded. “It is true. As you slept, you destroyed our land. We want you to forgive us, and leave.”

  Malah’s hands balled into fists. She hadn’t realized what she had done during her slumber, she’d been so focused on her children. She hadn’t paid attention to what the dark places in her mind were doing to the world outside.

  An almost evil grin came to her lips. “You should have listened to me. I told you who and what I was, and you tricked me. I may have been too young to learn everything from the other Jinn before they vanished, but your treachery has taught me a great lesson.” Her palms opened. “I hope I taught you something as well.”

  She breathed into both of her palms and summoned two giants to restrain her husband and his cleric. The cleric and the king didn’t even fight back. They were docile, defeated.

  She raised a hand and the door burst open. Freedom. She darted like lightning through the palace.

  “Keema! Livie!” she shouted at the top of her lungs until she was hoarse. She swept past palace servants too quickly for them to even catch a glimpse of her. When at full power, a Jinn was unstoppable. The Parthans knew that now. They’d never doubt again true power.

  Her hair flew behind her as she searched for her children. Hate and rage boiled inside of her. The Parthans would pay.

  They already had. She’d made sure of that. She didn’t pause when she saw that there weren’t any guards around to stop her. All she passed as she searched the labyrinth of hallways were frightened servants and clerics who bowed to their statues and begged for forgiveness and aid in their last hours. The sight almost made Malah feel bad for them.

  Almost.

  She finally sensed them, her babies. She could smell their sweet golden hair that was nearly the same shade as her own. Her little beauties would rule worlds once she took them from this place. She pushed through the double doors that led into the temple. She slowed down at the sight of rows upon rows of Parthan citizens and clerics bowed to the worship platform at the end of the red and black room.

  Malah’s eyes went down the aisle. She froze when she finally saw them. Malah’s golden face turned red as she saw the bodies of her daughters laid on a pyre before the god Huji, a large snake-like statue of gold. To the bitter end, they remained pagans.

  Her scream remained trapped in her throat. She felt every vein pulse with rage as black tears poured from her eyes. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak.

  Their tiny bodies were impaled and now waited to be burned. Finally, Malah found her voice, and with a scream she called every creature she’d ever learned about as a child in the temples. She called them forth with one breath of power. Chaos erupted in the palace, but Malah was numb to it all. Her spawn killed everyone in sight as she slowly walked over to the golden pyre. She stroked her daughters golden hair and buried her face in the silken strands.

  The black tears fell down her cheeks as she sobbed like a baby. She’d never had a chance to hold them. Not in real life. Only in her dreams.

  A familiar whistle made her pause.

  “Yolie?” she whispered.

  “Blessed One! We can go now! Let’s go!”

/>   Malah turned to her. She almost smiled at her friend’s beauty. She glowed in the midst of such darkness. Behind Yolie was a massacre. Her creatures had killed everyone in sight and now, they all bowed to her, silent and waiting for a command.

  Malah pulled her children free of the piles and cradled their bodies into either side of her as she sat on the bottom step of the worship platform.

  Yolie looked confused. “Who are they?”

  Malah wiped tears from her eyes and sucked in a painful breath. The tears wouldn’t stop. She could barely talk.

  “They are mine.”

  Yolie flew over to her. She landed on Malah’s knee and looked at the girls. “Yours?”

  Malah nodded. “Mine. I don’t even want to think of what they could have been.”

  Yolie lifted herself off of Malah’s knee and flew before her face. Her small face was full of innocence and purity that Malah almost felt at peace just by looking at her.

  “They could have been true gods, like you,” Yolie said.

  Malah turned away. The shame was too much to handle.

  “Right, Blessed One?”

  Malah simply nodded. She didn’t want to admit that she had failed not only her people on her planet, but her children.

  Yolie flew closer and kissed the tip of her nose. “Do not cry, Blessed One,” she said.

  Malah sighed and tried to will away the tormenting pain in her heart.

  “We can make another world,” Yolie said. “It wasn’t so hard the first time. I remember when we started that world centuries ago. Since then we’ve become much better, right?”

  Malah felt even deeper sorrow at her first failed world.

  “Can’t you breathe life back into their bodies?” Yolie asked.

  Malah shook her head. She looked down at her children. Their souls were already gone. Malah stroked their hair.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a baby mouse skitter across the floor, the last surviving creature of her world. Yolie caught the tiny, grey creature, cradled it in her own small hand.

  “Life is such a fragile thing,” she said, before letting the creature go free.

  Malah gently laid her children down, kissed their foreheads, and reached a hand out for Yolie to rest in. Yes, so fragile, but together, they would give life one last try. They would make one more world. Malah vowed that if they failed again, then she would simply rest.

  She’d rest until the pain faded. She’d never fall in love with her creations again.

  The End

  BOONE’S JOURNEY

  Kirstin Pulioff

  Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

  The familiar pattern of flashing lights lulled her into the place between complacency and comfort. Talia’s lips pursed, humming in beat to the light’s pulsations as she flew through the motions, marking items systematically off her imaginary checklist. Landing gear ready – check, deceleration auto pilot – check, sensory gauge on – check, vodka – check, check. Everything seemed in place. Rebooting the computers on the Turinth Outposts had been part of her mission for the past five years, making this more of a habit than a challenge.

  Preliminary reports done, Talia stretched out along her seat, resting her feet on the window above the control panel, letting the vodka seep down her throat until it burned. Even with her eyes closed, the lights flashed in her mind, amplifying the headache pounding in her head. No matter how many times she had made this trip, it still wore on her. Not even the harsh drink could erase the dull pain at the base of her neck, as the edges of the headrest cut in.

  She had cursed the budgetary cutbacks over the years as everything conceived as a potential comfort had been reduced to bare bottom materials. Although whoever thought a padded seat cushion amounted to luxury had certainly never ridden in a cruiser for eighteen hours straight. But as long as the cutbacks stopped at equipment, and not her paycheck or liquor, Talia didn’t mind. To her, the new bottle in her cabinet was just as impressive, if not more useful, than the new award sewn into her sleeve.

  Truth be told, none of it really bothered her – the silence, the space, and the freedom outweighed any discomforts. She always made a show of volunteering, but honestly, she looked forward to this trip. Missions this easy rarely popped up, and in terms of simplicity, this one was mindless. All that it required was acceptance of isolation, knowledge of basic electronics, and familiarity with the outdated tools left at the outposts. The former she had in spades, the rest, she had learned to improvise.

  Anchored to the second moon of Turin, the outposts served as a communication buoy and welcome sign for their quadrant of the galaxy. Nestled between two black holes, electromagnetic disturbance wreaked havoc on their communication and visibility. The solution was the outposts. Built hastily as the planets colonized, the outposts connected communication between planets through a crude hardwired system and a complex arrangement of satellites and transponders. The system needed to be updated, but justifying the cost was hard to explain when no one wanted to admit to limitations or deficits. There was a system in place, and that seemed to appease most – no matter how outdated that system was.

  One more hour and she would be there. Beyond her feet, she saw the outposts emerge out of the darkness. Large metal beams stacked atop each other, narrowing in toward the top, making a ladder or a temple depending on the angle. The lights flashed along the edge of the beams, with a hypnotic pull, while underneath the metal a tangled web of wires hid.

  She remembered her first trip here and the terror when she had climbed that metal monstrosity for the first time. It was amazing her heart hadn’t jumped out of her chest; it hammered more than she had on the wires. Working with the archaic tools, she’d managed to burn through the outer shell of her suit with the soldering iron, and barely held onto the melted wires that ran throughout the beam. If it weren’t for some quick thinking, and a reserve of brass nerves, the entire communication system would have faltered.

  That victory drink had never tasted so good.

  The thing about victory drinks though, after the first one, the rest pale in comparison, leaving a hollow pang of longing. She knew that feeling too well. Another sip of Amilibia vodka coated her throat, burning a slow path.

  Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

  She watched the lights between her boots, flickering in a pattern vaguely reminiscent of her previous night on Amiliba, and smiled. The sickly sweet drink rested on her lips, teasing her with its burn and memories.

  Amiliba was a strange combination of agriculture and pharmaceuticals. From above, circular paths marked the different regions, as the natural farms wound between the greenhouses and manufacturing plants. Boasting the highest ratio of pills per person, warehouses lined the streets, responsible for both growing and transforming their food into capsules. As with any business or development, as technology changes, so do demands, and the waning interest created more abandoned buildings. These darker corners called to Talia, luring her in with other types of pills and promises. The closest planet to the base, Amiliba always proved an irresistible temptation before every mission.

  The visions pulsed in sync with the lights and her lips parted in remembrance. Nights there flew by way too fast, and the distracting memories quickly faded with duty’s renewed claim on her focus. But with this mindless mission, she could reminisce for one more day. That’s what she wanted, one more day to remember the warmth of his embrace, his breath on her neck, and the way her body moved free of its cumbersome suit. The bottomless drinks and the thick haze of smoke helped erase any thoughts of preserving her reputation. One night was usually enough to remind her that she was still alive, that the restrictions of her suit and decorated awards hadn’t erased her yet.

  The thick, pink drink snuck through her smile, catching in the back of her throat. Before she could stop her cough, vodka sputtered out, coating the dash in sticky pink.

  Red, green, blue, red, green, blue, red, red, red.

  Crap, crap, cra
p. Her feet flew down in an instant, knocking over manuals, and the rest of her drink as she leaned over the instrument panel. The lights above the round dashes flickered in warning, as her drink seeped between the cracks.

  “No, no, no, this can’t be happening,” she protested. She swore loudly as she wiped down the instrument panel, watching as the liquid disappeared into the dash. Her fingers dripped with her favorite drink, a sticky mess.

  Red, red, red, red.

  She had no idea what to do. A knot tightened in her stomach as she watched the colored lights stutter in false patterns, no longer connected to the outpost. Her fingers found a way to her mouth, but the sweetness of the drink had soured.

  “Base command, can you read me? Base command, come in. Dammit!” She slammed her fist onto the panel as the sporadic flickering slowly faded and the interior of the cruiser turned black.

  “This is not happening.” She flicked the controls up, down, and sideways, bruising her palm. “Dammit!” she cursed again.

  Leaning back, the lights from the outpost taunted her. Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

  Tears stung, brimming at the edge of her eyes. Her chin quivered uncontrollably as her mind raced. Silent accusations hit her. How could she be so stupid? And more importantly, she thought, noticing the darkness around her as the cruiser began to drift and spin away. How long would it take for someone to find her?

  Get yourself together. She closed her eyes, letting the darkness fill her senses and realign her sight. Their suits, although garish and constricting, were lined with reflective strips. When she held her arm forward, she could see a few feet in front of her. The phosphorus light emitted enough to differentiate between the color-coded wires.

  Deep breaths, slow breaths, she reminded herself, slowing her heart beat to dull thumps as her basic training resurfaced. There was nothing to this – a simple, systematic approach was required. This wire to that wire, and repeat. Backup systems were programmed into the cruiser for cases like this. She would get the lights up and running in no time. Probably with just enough time to find her hidden stash before realigning with the outpost.

  Clearing the seat of the fallen manuals with her forearm, she wedged herself into the floor compartment, tracing the floor until she found the small ridges outlining the tool area. The box should have all the tools she needed, and access to the main control panel.

  The squeak of the door broke the silence, following by the clanking of tools as she pulled and discarded most until she found what she needed. Even in the dim light she saw the clouds of her breath, reminding her that the heating system was connected to the main computer as well.

  Time was running out in more ways than one.

  The screwdriver slipped beneath her grasp, clattering as it fell to the floor. Her fingers froze from the stress and falling temperatures. Her mind conjured up repair processes her body could not carry out. Her second attempt to operate the screwdriver worked better, although the tip jumped out of its designated groove. Even in the panic-inducing darkness, she would not admit her ineptitude to be due to her trembling from fear. A ruse needed to be a ruse, even to herself.

  She learned long ago in the dark tunnels, and isolation chamber, fear was not tolerated. Precise, calculated, fearless. Those were the qualities they wanted. That was what she needed to be. Wearing her suit, that is what she had learned to be. Her suit enabled her to disassociate herself from any predicament long enough to resolve the problem, sometimes longer. Maybe that was why she had volunteered so readily for this mission, and shed her suit so quickly on Amiliba. She licked her fingers, waiting for the familiar burn to come. It didn’t.

  Sweat dripped down her cheeks, despite the cold temperature of the ship. She read the red line on the temperature gauge: forty-five degrees, and dropping. If she didn’t get the power on soon, she would need to get in her full suit, and there would be no room to maneuver in that. She needed the control panel open, and now.

  With concentrated effort, she turned the screwdrivers until a faint click sounded. Anticipation flooded her as she gripped the loosened edges. Prying open the door, she jumped back as a mess of wires fell into her lap.

  Her head hit the seat in frustration. The pit in her stomach widened as she pulled out each frayed wire. Her last string of hope diminished as the silver and copper frayed tips scratched her fingers. She threw the tangled mess against the wall.

  Besides sabotage, she only knew of one thing that could cut through those wires: the dirty gray mice from Xangtu. They had docked there a month ago and apparently, despite her urging, no one had taken the proper precautions.

  Now what was she going to do? She shuddered, and pulled the cuff over her hands for warmth.

  She reached forward in desperation, hoping something would hold, feeling her resolve crack as sobs slowly burst forth, shaking her to the core. She grabbed recklessly, yelling as shorn wire after shorn wire fell limp to the floor beside her.

  Her cries changed to delirium as her hand held still. Something was still connected.

  Into the tool box past her elbows, her face hung close to the ground, she smelled the sickly sweet drink that had spilled. The pull was stronger than her disgust, and despite being tangled in the wires, her tongue found a way to the ground. Despite the slightly altered taste, the familiar burn returned.

  Hanging upside down, sticky pink on her cheek, she probably would have laughed, had the circumstances been different. Resisting another taste, she dove further into the cramped space, cringing as the metal edges dug into her arms.

  The silence broke with an alarm. A shrill buzzer filled the quiet, followed by her scream. She jerked her arm back feeling something burn her forearm. The rancid stench of burning skin quickly mixed with the ammonia stench of the coolant.

  One quick look showed her mistake. In her clumsy attempts, her grabbers had slipped into the coolant capsule, breaking the protective seal. She watched in horror as the coolant sprayed out of the compartment. A pang of disappointment hit her, as the bottom disappeared under a layer of purple syrup. Before she could pull herself up, it had coated her shoes, the discarded wires, and the palms of her hands. The acid stung as it burned the outer layer and worked its way up her nose. The pain, although awful was tolerable. The smell was not. She pulled herself out of the tight compartment, and stared at the dark dash, praying that something would illuminate the darkness.

  She could no longer hold back the tears. Banging her head back against the seat, she rocked back and forth, cursing her bad luck.

  Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

  She wanted to scream at the lights outside. Those infuriating lights laughed at her with each pulse. This was supposed to be simple. Her teeth began chattering, a drumming accompaniment to the new buzzing from the coolant alarm. This was going from bad to worse, fast. Taking off her boot, she lugged it at the dash, regretting her action immediately as it landed with a splash below.

  “No!” she yelled, watching sparks fall from the one active wire into the purple coolant. A new whirling siren blared in her ears. Before she could register what she had done, the cruiser burst into alarm as sparks flew around her.

  She winced as she pounded on the buttons, and flicked switches, hearing her voice crack as she called out into radio silence.

  “Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, electrical malfunction onboard, stranded, requesting backup at the Turinth Outposts. Can anyone hear me?”

  She held her breath, waiting for something, any form of acknowledgment.

  “Come on,” she yelled. “Answer me, dammit. Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, electrical malfunction onboard, stranded, requesting backup. Turinth Outposts.”

  Nothing, not even static responded.

  “Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, electrical malfunction onboard, stranded, requesting backup. Turinth Outposts.” Her words jumbled together, as she repeated her call.

  “Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, electrical malfunction onboard, stranded, requesting backup. Turinth Outposts.
Save me, I’m not ready to die.” Her last words quivered.

  A flash of light blinded her. Her instruments burst into flame. Terror punched her in the gut. Smoke filled the lower chamber and worked its way up quickly, choking her breath.

  “Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, fire onboard, abandoning ship,” she said through a cough as she grabbed her helmet and gloves.

  Silence answered. The communicator was out, the computer down, and she had no locator for tracking. Without that bleep, she was adrift, lost in the wide sea of stars.

  Forgotten, or presumed dead. With no more than thirty minutes of air.

  “I can’t die,” she whispered into the fizzing background. “Not like this.”

  She looked around the dark cabin, searching the corners for anything that would put the fire out, or start the engine.

  Her chest heaved as smoke filled her, burning her throat and lungs. Each second she delayed her escape, amplified the misery. Swinging her hands to clear the smoke, she felt her gloves slide over something. A soft undulating light flickered at her as the light from her suit highlighted a chain.

  The emergency chain, how could she have forgotten about that?

  Taking her gloves off, she gripped the frozen metal in her hand and pulled. It didn’t budge. She tried again, nothing happened. The emergency program had frozen with the computer.

  She threw her gloves back on and sealed the helmet around her neck, not wasting time on futile emotions. The smoke, although no longer choking her, blinded her vision. The fire no longer idly crawled across the floor. Red flames ate at the broken seat and above on the instrument dash, encroaching on the small personal space she had retreated to behind her seat.

  She only had one more chance, if she could reach it.

  Hidden behind a wall of black smoke and flames, the escape hatch became her sole focus. Thrusting through the wall of smoke and flames, she felt her skin melt beneath the thick suit. She fumbled in the darkness, feeling for the latch that would release the window. She had kicked it so many times resting back on the seat, but now, it eluded her.

  Tears stung as they slid down her cheek, and sobs echoed in her helmet. This can’t be it, not like this. Her fingers slid against the wall. “Not like this,” she yelled out aloud as her hands grasped the rigid handle.

  She pulled. The fire froze. Immediately all sound silenced.

  Her skin hurt.

  Turning her wrist over, she looked at the flashing red numbers, automatically started when the suit sealed, a descending and rhythmic countdown. Somehow that computer still managed to function, she fumed. With thirty minutes of oxygen, she’d only put off the inevitable.

  Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

  Beyond her shoulder, the pale outline of her yellow cruiser had already disappeared to nothing. Her gasps increased as the warning beeps sounded around her. Her chest tightened as she struggled to find the right emotion. A chuckle shook her body, exaggerating the hysterics consuming her. Drifting away, she watched the familiar lights disappear under the brighter cosmos as she melted into the dark void of space, joining the distant stars.

  Her mind raced trying to find something, someone who would miss her. Trying to find something she had left behind. Finally, she understood why they trained her for isolation. It wasn’t to strengthen her. It was to strengthen the program, a necessity to separate them from everyone else. No one would notice she was gone. No one would care. In the harsh light of despair, the worthiness of her cause dematerialized. Painful sobs racked her body until the tears ran dry and all that was left was a numb shell of emotion.

  The steady rhythm of red light pulsing on her shoulder grabbed her attention. Under the red beam, highlighted like a fresh wound, her mission patches seemed to bleed. Not even her name, Talia Boone stayed pristine. She lost count of her awards, feeling no consolation in their honor.

  She had travelled the galaxy, but now, on her final journey, she regretted how little she had actually travelled. Her cheeks chilled as a final stray tear fell down her cheek, followed by a sorrowful heart full of forgotten dreams. It is funny how in the last moments, the regrets stood out. The hallowed words that had shaped her life, the years of service, all revealed as empty and insincere.

  With her eyes closed, she wished her heart to slow. The erratic beats slowly fell into line, a soft bump under the soft hum of the monitoring system. Letting go of the fight, she let her mind numb, allowed her consciousness to blend into the electronic noise, and embraced the emptiness.

  Struggling to breathe, each breath constricted against her chest. An invisible enemy seemed to tighten its grasp with every intake of air.

  Hollowness filled her. She opened her eyes slowly, expecting the darkness to swallow her whole. Instead the myriad of stars blended together in a haze of interconnected lights, rhythms, and pattern. One color streamed into another, emblazing the dark sky. New tears stung, refusing to fully disappear or release, waiting instead in a flood on the edge.

  Time stretched and more star clusters and patterns appeared. Colors and combinations beyond anything she could imagine. Squinting at the carefully arranged stars, she wondered when she became blind to the beauty around her. At some point, she had forgotten to see them as more than a map.

  Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

  She still found the pattern, and much more, hidden within the stars around her as they pulled her on a new journey.

  The End

  THE SECRET SIGNAL

  Matthew Kadish

  Everyone on the ship was about to die. At least, that was the plan.

  Typically when one signs up for a “suicide mission,” death is part of the equation. The only question was when, exactly, that would occur. And by all accounts, it was going to happen the moment the N-wave engine was activated.

  Jax gripped the armrests of his chair tightly and took a deep breath to tame the chaos swirling in his gut. He took a little comfort from knowing that he wasn’t the only one being racked by nerves. The tension on the bridge was palpable. Everyone watched Captain Vance, waiting for him to give the order that would determine their fates.

  Vance sat in his chair, prominently situated at the center of the bridge, his light blue eyes gazing at the computer screens in front of him, which would let him know when the N-wave engine had reached full power. Jax could hear the hum of the engine building, a sickening buzz that mixed in with the drumbeat of the blood pumping behind his ears.

  Only fifty-six people had experienced N-wave travel before – fifty-six people who had mysteriously disappeared without a trace and were presumed dead. It had all happened two years previously with the maiden voyage of the Thundercat – the very first faster-than-light spaceship. Humanity had colonized the moon. It had colonized Mars. With the advent of lightspeed travel, mankind had even made it to Jupiter’s moons.

  But that was all before Richard Pierson, of course.

  He was the revolutionary who changed the world. A certified genius who had left great minds like Einstein and Stephen Hawkings in his wake. He’d pioneered matter/anti-matter conversion, quantum computing, matter replication, and cellular medicine. His advancements in science had jumped civilization ahead by generations. He had been the most respected, the most popular, and the richest man on Earth.

  He was also Jax’s father.

  Growing up, Jax had seen his father work wonders as he made breakthrough after breakthrough in his lab. He’d watch his father in awe as he worked magic with the inventions he created. Jax always felt guilty that whatever genius his father possessed hadn’t seen fit to find its way to him as well. He was just an average mortal, like everyone else. But his father never treated him like he was lacking. Instead, he’d regaled Jax with dreams and ideas, promising him that one day he’d get to see wonders the likes of which men had never imagined. But despite his father’s kindness, Jax still harbored guilt over his inferiority.

  Space was his father’s greatest passion. He had lik
ed to tell reporters and biographers about his childhood dreams of being a space explorer. He’d spend days and weeks at a time locked away in his lab, working on figuring out the key to his passion – the ability to visit far-off worlds in a matter of minutes instead of lifetimes.

  The N-wave engine was his brainchild. With it, humanity was no longer relegated to its own solar system. Now, it was possible to traverse vast distances by contracting space in front of a vessel and expanding space behind it, resulting in a quantum gravity wave that would propel the vessel forward faster than the speed of light. The N-wave used a loophole to get around Einstein’s universal speed limit, ensuring that travel in space would be as convenient as hopping a jet to visit another country. Visiting Alpha Centauri, Earth’s nearest star, would take four seconds to travel to with an N-wave, as opposed to four years traveling at the speed of light.

  Working in conjunction with the United Nations, Pierson Labs helped foot the bill for the Thundercat, the first prototype N-wave vessel. It was to make the journey from Earth to the colonies on Jupiter’s moons and back. Jax’s father had made it a point to captain the vessel himself, not wanting to sit on the sidelines as his creation made history.

  And history it made, much to the horror of the world that had been watching.

  Live feed from the Thundercat’s bridge showed the countdown as the N-wave engine powered up. When the clock hit zero, the engine engaged, and the feed disappeared. The Thundercat never made it to the colonies. It had just vanished, never to be heard from again.

  Richard Pierson was thought to be dead by the world at large – killed by his own creation, along with the other brave members of his multi-national crew. But Jax refused to believe it. His father was the smartest man on the planet. He’d have never made a mistake that would kill so many people, let alone himself. Jax became obsessed with finding out what really happened to his father and his father’s crew.

  Once Jax had taken majority control of Pierson Labs, he had begun lobbying the governments of the United Nations to help support another mission. But after the tragedy of the first endeavor, N-wave technology had been deemed a failure, and no country had been willing to sacrifice any more of their best and brightest for another attempt.

  But Jax believed in his father’s technology. So much so, he had spent his own fortune, and most of his company’s, building a new N-wave spacecraft. It was nowhere near as grand as the Thundercat – just a small, simple, grey metal vessel, the bulk of which was dedicated to the engine necessary to propel it to the far reaches of space.

  He called the ship the Grey Mouse.

  He’d assembled the best team he could to man it. Twenty of the finest men and women he could find – astronauts, engineers, and a small team of private military contractors. All of them signed on knowing the risk. They also knew the rewards should they succeed.

  All his efforts had come down to this moment. The Grey Mouse had launched from Pierson Lab’s space station orbiting the Earth’s moon. The exact same coordinates the Thundercat had been set to follow had been punched in. Now the engine was ready to fire.

  Captain Vance looked to Jax, as if asking permission to give the order.

  Jax felt his chest tighten. His pulse raced.

  This will be the only time I get to follow in your footsteps, Dad, he thought. I pray I have it in me to do you proud…

  Jax gave the nod.

  “Engage N-wave engine,” Vance ordered.

  Sarah Smith, the pilot, flipped the switch to activate the engine. “N-wave engine engaged.”

  At first, nothing happened. Then an alarm beeped on Sarah’s console. Before she could respond, a blinding flash of light filled the bridge, accompanied by something that could only be described as a thunderclap.

  Jax grabbed onto his seat and gritted his teeth. It felt like he was being crushed by a ton of bricks. The entire ship shook violently around him. He could hear the grunts and cries of the rest of the crew. He felt his stomach leave him far behind and when he managed to open his eyes, all he could see was a bright blur as the ship seemed to shimmer before him.

  And just like that, it was over.

  No sooner did the N-wave disengage than Jax vomited. The sound of retching and the smell of bile swamped his senses as other members of the crew had similar responses. Jax’s head spun, and when it wasn’t spinning, it throbbed. He unbuckled his safety harness and slid out of his chair, falling to his hands and knees on the cold metal floor of the bridge. The room tilted at odd angles until his head recovered. When he looked up, Captain Vance was hunched over his displays, vomit staining his neatly-trimmed white beard.

  “Report,” Vance croaked.

  “N-wave jump completed, Captain,” Sarah replied checking her readouts. A relieved sigh escaped her. “We made it!”

  There was a weak cheer, followed by applause on the bridge. As far as suicide missions went, this one had gone pretty well so far.

  Jax shook his head. This doesn’t make sense, he thought. We used the same design as the Thundercat’s engine. The same coordinates. Why would we make it and not my dad?

  “Radio the Europa colony,” Vance ordered. “Let them know of our successful arrival.”

  “Um… sir,” replied Li Ying, the ship’s communications officer. “I’m not getting any colonial signals.”

  Vance gave her a curious look. “What do you mean?”

  “The colonies, sir,” she said. “They’re not there.”

  Jax got to his feet and stumbled toward Vance. “Location,” he grunted, his stomach a knot of nerves. “Where are we?”

  “Pulling up star charts,” Sarah replied.

  Everyone on the bridge waited with baited breath as Sarah ran her star charts through the computer.

  “I’m… I’m not getting a match,” she said.

  “What does that mean?” asked Colonel Dryer, the weathered head of the military contractor group.

  “It means the computer has no idea where we are,” replied Jax.

  Vance grimaced. “External cameras,” he ordered. “Put it on the screen.”

  The Captain rose out of his seat as the primary viewscreen came to life, the image outside the ship coming into focus. The scene before them caused the entire crew – to a man – to gape in surprise.

  They were surrounded by thousands of spaceships – of all shapes and sizes – floating desolately in the surrounding space. And there, at the center of them all, a small emerald planet the likes of which none had ever seen, shone bright like a sickly jewel, its red sun blazing in the distance.

  “Dear God,” muttered Vance as he turned and met Jax’s stare. “Where are we?”