Third Chronicles of Illumination

by C. A. Pack

  “Was Odyon with him?”

  “I don’t know. It was way too fast.”

  No sooner had she spoken than Ryden Simmdry appeared.

  Mal nodded in acknowledgement of the overseer. “You just missed a momentary visit by Nero 51.”

  RS:⌘ Not at all. He’s trapped in the portals. I detected him transporting and realized he’d found a way to continue his travels. But now that I’ve sealed off this library and his own, he’s trapped in the portals between the layers of time and space. I stopped here to warn you. I must go tell the others.

  Jackson and Chris fell into step with Logan outside the high school.

  “Where’s Cassie?” Jackson asked.

  Logan shrugged. “She has the mumps.”

  Jackson stopped walking. “Didn’t she just get over them?”

  Logan turned and made a face. “What have you been smoking?”

  “Today’s April 6th, right?” Chris said a little too loud.

  Jackson felt a chill wash over his body. “Yeah. April 6th.” He had forgotten about the time warp that occurred while he and Johanna were in Wales. He’d have to be very careful about what he said or did.”

  The three boys split up as they made their ways to separate classrooms. Jackson stopped by the boy’s room and heard the bell signal the start of homeroom. Late again.

  The classroom door was closed and he looked inside through its small glass window and stopped in his tracks. He could clearly see himself already sitting at a desk. He started to sweat. Okay, okay, okay. This happened to Johanna. Go home. Now. So, you don’t meet yourself.

  —LOI—

  9

  The platoons on Romantica worked diligently to perfect their skills. As the day wore on, several people moved between sections so each platoon contained females who were strongest in that particular ability. There were some small sacrifices—friends separated from each other, women hurt by the critiques of their abilities—but the platoons grew stronger.

  Grappling was an especially uncomfortable pursuit, and the Romanticans voluminous skirts did nothing to aid the process. Instead, flying fabric added spectacle when the diaphanous material ballooned around the wearers as they rolled in the grass.

  Furst stood with his hands on his hips as he observed hand-to-hand combat. “Uniforms, they need,” he said aloud.

  Horatio Blastoe nodded. HB:✠ A splendid observation.

  “To Dramatica, it is what Pru Tellerence and Master Ryden Simmdry contributed.”

  HB:✠ I will speak of it to the overseers.

  “Know what women need, Pru Tellerence will.”

  HB:✠ Of course. Can I leave these women in your capable hands?

  “Do my best, I will, to train them.”

  Dame Erato walked over to Furst and the overseer. “Pru Tellerence could visit to see the women in action. She will understand the problems they face.”

  HB:✠ You listened in on our conversation?

  “I may have been eavesdropping. It is a necessary evil in times of war.”

  Furst jerked his head back. “But, the enemy, we are not.”

  “Listening-in is a common practice on Romantica. A hobby of sorts. We are known for sharing in the triumphs and agonies of our friends and neighbors. When it comes to uniforms, I think Pru Tellerence would be especially insightful.”

  Horatio Blastoe smiled. HB:✠ I will make your request. If I’m unable to return before day’s end, please find lodging for my friend Furst.

  Dame Erato smiled. “That will be no problem at all.”

  Dungen stomped up the Dramatican library steps, the hem of his long blue velvet cloak sending up swirls of dust in his wake. He howled when he could get no farther than the outer vestibule and yelled for Furst to unlock the door. He continued screaming for several minutes, even though he got no answer.

  Lenc observed the head of the Library Council’s tirade from across the square. Finally, when he couldn’t take the racket any longer, he approached Dungen. “Here, Furst is not. Off-world, he has traveled.”

  “Mean, what do you? Gone, where has he?”

  “Not sure, I am,” the boy replied. “To help others fight the war, he has gone. To train them, he is helping.”

  Dungen scrunched up his chin, causing his lower lip to jut out. “Here, he should be. Running this library, he should be.” He stomped off in the direction of Town Hall.

  Lenc watched as the wind lifted the edge of Dungen’s cloak, revealing the weapon hidden beneath its folds.

  Perog 2 moved closer to the tree where Mope 98 hid to see if it was visible to the Juveniles who had settled around a small fire. The trunk was out of sight, hidden by the corner of the building; however, some of the branches remained in full view. Any movement could draw unwanted attention.

  Perog 2 closed his eyes as he thought. We were sent here to destroy books and capture kiddlets in a force field. We are not prepared to be set upon by mercenaries. His imagination churned as he tried to think up a plan of escape. He motioned to Mope 98 to stretch his tentacles and grasp a ledge on the roof. He mimicked stretching and pulling himself onto the roof. He will need a diversion. Again, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A plan formed in his mind. He opened his eyes, startled to find a young girl standing in front of him clutching a rag doll. The kiddlet was tiny with a round face and very large eyes. Her eyelashes reminded him of drit—spiders—that infested parts of Terroria.

  He stretched his tentacles toward the roof. “Mope 98, now!” he commanded as he hauled himself up. The two soldiers nearly collided on top of the library.

  Down below, the youngster emitted an ear-piercing scream.

  Perog 2 surveyed the area around them. There were no adjacent roofs to aid their escape. They attempted to flatten themselves against the roof to avoid detection.

  The Juveniles abandoned the fire and ran to the side of the library. “What’s wrong, Dee-Dee?”

  The little girl pointed up at the sky. “Bugga-boos go up, up, up.”

  “Where’s Marbol and the scorchers?” another boy asked.

  “I’m pretty sure they’re patrolling the pond,” a girl named Rika said. “Rascal, Looper, take your BB guns and tell a couple of them to bring their scorchers. The rest of you, ready your weapons.”

  The Terrorians found no solace on the Juvenile library roof. It was clad in metal and shaped like a dome. A small foothold existed but proved inadequate for the fat, flat feet of the Terrorians who desperately clung to the top of the dome, afraid of losing their perch. Unfortunately, their sweat glands worked against them.

  Mope 98 felt his tentacle slipping. “My grasp is weakening. I don’t think I can last much longer. What should I do?”

  “Land on the kiddlets. They’ll soften your fall, and you in turn will soften mine,” Perog 2 answered.

  “Couldn’t you fall on some kiddlets of your own?”

  “I will do my…eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” A hail of BBs bounced off Perog 2, but one injured his eye. He thrashed out with his free tentacles smacking Mope 98, who lashed out with one of his own, and the two of them lost their grips and plummeted downward.

  The Mysterians spoke among themselves about taxes long after Proteus Bligh left. They had reluctantly agreed to create a pool of reserves by turning raw mineral ore into coinage. But they were unsure how to disburse the coin and collect it as taxes. They had always traded in raw minerals and herbs, which could be used for poultices, charms, and favors. Dealing in coins created a new set of problems. All the residents communally owned the mineral ore, so they each had a right to coinage. But if they just gave everyone coins, there would be no mineral reserves for lean times.

  They were reluctant to ask the Chancellor of the Exchequer for recommendations. He might ask too much in return. It would be better to control their tax system themselves, but they hardly knew how to do that.

  Ryden Simmdry departed Fantasia, only to return an hour later.

  “To what do we owe the honor of your return?”
Mal asked.

  RS:⌘ I’ve come to inform you, you’re needed on Mysteriose. Apparently, Proteus Bligh has suggested the Mysterians speak to you about taxes. They were reluctant to pay them until asked how they would feel if they alone suffered losses and had to bear the entire cost while their neighbors did not. That concept did a lot to motivate them. Proteus Bligh addressed their discomfort by saying you could make objective recommendations without requiring any compensation whatsoever in return. Ever. They are now ready for your visit.

  “I’ll go at once.” Mal turned toward Johanna. “Stay alert.”

  “I will,” she replied. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to underestimate Odyon, or Nero 51.”

  After they left, Johanna realized she was quite alone. The Roth siblings were all in school, and Mrs. Roth had gone to work. She checked the day’s mail and phone messages and started putting orders together. It felt so normal. I should enjoy the peace and quiet while I can.

  But in reality, she was bored. Being busy had made time pass faster, but now that she had finished her chores, time stood still while she waited for something to happen.

  The library door swung open just as the grandfather clock chimed three o’clock.

  “Did you miss me?” Jackson leaned across the circulation desk and planted a quick kiss on Johanna’s lips.

  “I did.” She answered. “I had to personally deliver several orders of books. It was like old times. It reminded me of when I first started working at the library. But all I could think about was leaving the cupola unprotected. If you had been with me, at least one of us would have been here to protect everything.”

  His jaw dropped. “No one guarded the portals while you were gone?”

  “No. We’ve had a couple of flash sightings of Nero 51. However, Ryden Simmdry says he’s trapped in the portals between the layers of space and time.”

  Jackson hoisted himself into sitting position on the circulation desk. “Is that even possible?”

  “It is according to Ryden Simmdry. He says space-time is curved, so even though space and time are intrinsically linked, they’re located on different planes of existence.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Don’t look at me. I’m not Stephen Hawking.”

  “You are the smartest, most beautiful, most wonderful girlfriend ever.” He leaned over and gave her another kiss, this one lasting a little longer than the first. “Where can I find books by Stephen Hawking?”

  “Look in the science section. There should be several.”

  Jackson disappeared into the stacks while Johanna thought about their trapped enemies. Her co-curator quickly returned carrying two copies of A Brief History of Time.

  “You brought one for each of us?” she asked.

  “No. This one,” he laid a book on the desk, “is a first edition. This book,” he placed the second one on top of the first, “was printed just a few years ago and contains updated material. I guess we should use the second one.”

  “Probably.”

  “Here goes.” Jackson looked at the table of contents and opened the book to the appropriate chapter. Stephen Hawking appeared. He stared at the two teens in front of him.

  “You gotta help us out,” Jackson said. “There are a couple of guys in a time machine stuck between the layers of space and time, and we want to make sure they can’t get out.”

  The theoretical physicist’s synthesized voice caught Jackson by surprise. “Time travel used to be thought of as just science fiction, but Einstein’s general theory of relativity allows for the possibility that we could warp space-time so much that you could go off in a rocket and return before you set out.”

  Jackson nodded. “Oh, we know there’s time travel. We’ve done it. And let me tell you, it’s not pleasant on a full stomach, if you get my drift.”

  Johanna stepped forward. “The people—if you could call them that—who are trapped are not very nice. We need to know how easy it would be for them to escape?”

  Hawking answered, “Before 1915, space and time were thought of as a fixed arena in which events took place, but which was not affected by what happened in it. Space and time are now dynamic quantities…. they not only affect but also are affected by everything that happens in the universe.”

  “So what can we do in this universe to prevent them from getting out?” Jackson asked.

  “I cannot answer that without more information.” The physicist paused. “If I had a time machine, I’d visit Marilyn Monroe in her prime or drop in on Galileo as he turned his telescope to the heavens.”

  Jackson closed the cover on the book. “I don’t think he’s going to be able to help us.”

  “Neither do I,” Johanna said. “As a scientist, he relies on proven data, statistics he’s seen and comprehends.

  “We’re talking about a Terrorian and a shapeshifter,” she continued. “While he might believe there is other life in the universe, I don’t know if Nero 51 and Odyon are what he has in mind.”

  Jackson’s face lit up. “Do you think H. G. Wells can help? He wrote The Time Machine and thought up the Morlocks and all, so he might understand what we need.” He hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Doh! The War of the Worlds. If he wrote that, he believes there are beings totally unlike us who live in other parts of the universe.”

  “He’s primarily a writer. A fiction writer. He may know a lot about science, but I don’t think he could help us.” She tilted her head. “I wonder if Myrddin could help us?”

  “A magician? Really. You think a guy who’s been long dead is going to know more about this than Stephen Hawking?”

  “You wanted to ask H. G. Wells just a moment ago, and he’s not exactly alive.”

  “I’m brainstorming, here!”

  “So am I,” she replied.

  Mope 98 slowly opened his eyes. His head ached, as did his body. He tried to rub a painful muscle and found himself immobilized. He was tied up in such an intricate way, he could not move. He could see a small fire burning next to him and remembered being on the roof of the library. Now, he found himself sitting on the ground with his back up against something lumpy. He heard a groan. “Perog 2, is that you?” he asked softly.

  “We’re tied up!” Perog 2 answered.

  “Yes. They’ve done an admirable job. They’ve braided our tentacles and bound them together at intervals with some type of cord. It’s a very effective way to subdue an enemy.”

  “Instead of praising them, think of a way to get us out of here. Where are they, anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” Mope 98 replied. “We appear to be alone.”

  “Then we must act quickly to get out of these binds and away from here.” Perog 2 began working his strongest tentacle against a knot, hoping to loosen it or break it altogether.

  It took all his strength to loosen the cord just a little. He could feel the play of extra space but not much else. The knots had been cast so tightly, his tentacles were numb. It took him a while, but he finally pulled the tip of a tentacle out of its binding, and in doing so, had more dexterity to work on the next knot.

  “Ayyiiieee!”

  The scream startled the Terrorians. They looked up to find dozens of kiddlets—each making the same sound—forming a circle around them. The kiddlets’ appearances had been altered. Each wore a different color face paint, and they had twigs and feathers stuck in their hair. Around their waists, they wore rope belts from which strings dangled, and attached to the end of each string was a rock, gemstone, shell, or polished bit of wood. Once the circle was complete, the kiddlets began to chant in an eerie singsong manner and dance around the Terrorians. Every so often, one of them would punctuate the song with a scream, and the others would hop in place in a full circle, before moving forward and continuing their chant.

  Mope 98 began shaking. Nothing good can come of this.

  —LOI—

  10

  Dean Artemus Rexana materialized in the Adventuran town square
in search of curator Prophet IAN c. As usual, the square was deserted except for detritus blowing in the wind.

  All of Adventura had a decayed and abandoned look—like a ghost town—although that hadn’t always been the case. Before the Two Millennia War, Adventura had grown into a world of burgeoning metropolises that other realms could scarcely dream of emulating. Then, Adventuran forefathers sided with the Terrorian and Mysterian realms to launch what they called The Great Battle, but would later become known as the Two Millennia War. Their descendants, unfortunately, found themselves on the losing side of that war and became intent on preventing their military adversaries from enriching themselves on Adventuran assets. In retaliation, the Adventurans detonated a series of nuclear devices aimed at depriving the victors of the spoils of war. However, that arrogant decision had a devastating effect on their world, leaving much of it derelict. Citizens had taken cover in underground caves, with sufficient supplies and food to last a solar year. When they emerged, they found their cities in ruins, their fertile farms and factories obliterated, and wild packs of mutated animals—vicious and difficult to kill—in control of the land.

  The bulk of the population, who might have known how to surmount these problems, had been killed in battle. The survivors—the thinkers—were less suited to foraging for food and necessities, and rebuilding. Radioactive fallout soon took its toll on them, causing massive health problems that couldn’t be treated because the bombs they’d planted had destroyed their hospitals and pharmaceutical laboratories.

  As radioactivity lessened on Adventura, those who had adapted to the changes on the realm were able to carve out a new life using their knowledge of cyborg technology. They repaired mechanically what they could not repair surgically. Over time, the inhabitants mutated and no longer needed some of the organs they once possessed—eventually evolving into hu*bots. They had human hearts and brains but seventy-five percent of their bodies were robotic. They no longer needed to maintain excess muscle tissue or worry about organ damage. The brain served as the control center, and the heart generated the pulse that kept the brain functioning and the hu*bots running. Scientists developed a polymer that mimicked the appearance and feel of skin but not the color. Adventurans looked like humans, but their skin was an almost artistic pattern of blues, purples, and greens. And while their brains denoted a difference between the thinking of males and females, the body design for both was identical. Ironically, what appears to be a belly button on humans became a real button on hu*bots and was used to shut down the body for sleep mode. Adventurans had no need to eat, because they were sustained by a nightly intracranial drip of nutritional fluids—distributed from the brain to the heart—and an infusion of oils and lubricants for their mechanical sections.