The Sunseed Saga

by Brett Bam

  The great pull of forces plucks the silver from my hand, the current drops me and I find myself in calm water again. Foamed and bubbling, but calm. I swim towards a light, conscious of my empty right hand. It feels light and empty, like the flesh has been stripped, along with the silver, and all I have left flailing in the water is bone. The glove is gone. I swim harder, stroking longer. The surface is visible, a swirling patch of light. My head breaks free and I take a breath, which feels like velvet.

  The water is calm. The current has stabilised. Floating on the surface, I'm looking straight down the round valley of the chamber. I see lights and electricity. There is smoke and alarms are sounding. I see small flying machines everywhere. People are emerging from their shelters, realising that salvation is at hand. They are all alive, I did it, I saved them. But I have dropped the machine and I am far from the shore. With a nervous grimace, I lift my hand to look at the damage. Surprisingly, the palm and fingers are perfect, unharmed, but naked. The skin screams at the air. The glove is gone.

  Jeremiah Comfort watched from afar as the wave swallowed the pinprick of light. It was swept under the lip of the turbid mass and swallowed deep into the blackness of the tube. Nothing could survive such a maelstrom. Jeremiah watched as the light resurfaced but the boy did not. It glimmered suddenly among the waves on a beach far away, halfway around the endcap sea on the opposite side of the chamber. It had come to ground. As soon as he saw that, Jeremiah stood from his resting place and strode forth.

  The man in black had vanished, Comfort had not seen him for more than an hour now, and he was starting to think clearly again. He made his way carefully around the circumference of the chamber, keeping the water on his left and the ruined city on his right. He approached the flotsam-filled beach from a high promontory, so he could see the shining object lying in the sand long before he reached it. He climbed down, through a thicket of grass and came at last to the point where the greenery met the sand.

  And there it was, simply lying there, shining brightly, like a mirror reflecting the sun. All he had to do was walk forward and claim it. Because after all, isn't this what he'd wanted all along? The power, the ability, to live forever. Wasn't this the tool to machine such wishes into reality? With this in his hand he could consume anything he wanted, with this in his hand he could consume everything. The water lapped at the hem of his robes as he approached the object. A wave spilled across the sand and left long rips in the smoothness where he placed his feet. It seemed to become brighter as he came closer. And suddenly Jeremiah found he could get no closer. This was the limit. It felt hot, and was it sparking and hissing? It was hard to tell. He couldn't look directly at it, it was too bright, he was afraid of it. He couldn't hold this thing in his hand. The realisation made him desperate and he looked up and down the beach for something, anything, to help him.

  And then he saw the boy. He was in the surf, swimming hard. The waves reared high up above him and crashed down on top of him, but as it rolled on towards the beach, the boy could be seen still stroking. He was making good time, and the next wave seemed to collect him in its rush and push him along to the shallows. The boy stood in the shallow water and faced Comfort, who was between him and the machine. He was naked but for a pair of briefs, his clothes torn from him in the surge of water, his long black hair obscuring his face and hiding his eyes. He was dripping wet and cold, but his torso was hard and immaculate. Comfort felt the hunger twitch inside.

  Fear grabs my exhausted soul when I stand and see what awaits me on the beach. It is the predator. This man will consume me if I give him the chance, and he is between my soul and I. The swim took nearly all my faculties. My legs feel like rubber, as if they will simply fold and drop me into the water to finally drown. Yet the song of the machine sings to me in the wind. I can hear it, but it is discordant, something is wrong.

  I still can't feel my arms, they hang uselessly by my side. How can I face this terrible creature now? Though I must, because he is in my way.

  I walk forward clumsily in the swash. It foams around my ankles, and the sand is soft. I look down and it is a mistake. The rushing water tilts my perception and I think I am falling for a second. That's all it takes to upset my balance and I do fall. I topple forward into the salty wet sand. The water invades me in its gentle rush. It spikes its way into my nose and sinuses, and swirls sand into my mouth. I can't breathe again. I suspend the panic before it clasps me and simply wait, allowing the water to rinse through my head. I finally find the energy to struggle to my feet, and as I lift my head the water and sand drain out, allowing me to breathe comfortably again without spluttering. And then Comfort is upon me.

  His heavy robe is wet and cloying. He drapes it across my face and winds it tight behind my head, then forces me face down into the water. Again, I cannot breathe, and again I do not allow the panic to set in. Instead I twist and fling my legs around his. I clasp them tightly together like scissors and he falls alongside me. I swing my elbow into his face and it knocks hard, bone against bone. He shrieks and lets me go.

  I slide my head out of his robe and get swiftly to my feet, Comfort is standing too. His robe is wet and heavy, dripping sand and water. He slides it off his shoulders and drops it, kicking it away. He is naked now, tall, thin and cadaverous. He is grey and hairless and his eyes are burning with insanity. He has a blade in his hand.

  Jeremiah’s knife was sharp. He maintained it himself. It was straight, simple steel, but he rolled it across flint every day. It was always in his sleeve. Many adherents, disciples and even fellow clergy had been surprised to see him suddenly present it when something sharp was needed. It was long and thin, the handle was bone, and both sides of the blade were as sharp as daily attention could possibly make it.

  Three quick steps and the boy was within reach. Kulen was surprised and but still managed to sidestep the lunge, only to feel the cut of the edge across his chest as Comfort reversed his attack. A long scarlet line dripped blood, enough to smear the boy’s torso red. His scream was music to Comfort and his carnivore grin spread wider. He stepped in close with a thrust again, and Kulen met the blade with his hand. The steel slid through his palm horribly, it stopped against the handle. Jeremiah twisted it out and Kulen’s hand was pulled down with the force. The blade slid free and Jeremiah pushed it quickly into Kulen’s chest.

  The boy stood transfixed at the imposition of the blade into his body. He could feel it's cold touch deep inside where it cut mercilessly. Comfort’s smile widened as he slowly pulled the blade out. He knew he had pierced the heart. When the knife left the boy's body, he dropped to his knees. Blood blobbed from the wide wound, dark and heavy. Comfort stepped up behind him and grasped his hair with a skeletal hand. He pulled his head back, exposing a smooth vulnerable throat.

  “Well, well. Look at that. So clean and beautiful.” He touched the blade to Kulen’s throat and pricked the skin slightly. A drop of blood oozed out and mixed with the water.

  “You're not old enough to shave yet are you? I'll bet this throat has never felt the touch of steel, it’s pure, virgin skin. Unblemished.” Jeremiah put his mouth close to the boy’s ear.

  “How do I make it work for me boy? How do I pick it up?”

  Kulen laughed despite everything. “I can't help you with that. Either you can pick it up or you can't.”

  “Maybe if I eat your heart it will heed me then.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth before he drew the blade hard across the boy’s throat, slitting it from jaw to jaw. Blood burst forth, and his head rolled backward.

  The cold steel slices through me and my blood runs out. In my perceptions of the otherplace, a mighty wall looms above me, higher even than the wave. It sweeps over me, plunging me into its otherness, I am dying…

  And everything calms. Time slows and stops, and I have strength enough to stand on my feet. Although as I do so, I leave my body behind. That tenuous link was there, but now I am free of the physical and the limits it imposed. I
turn and look at myself. The wounds are horrible, they will no doubt kill me. Behind me is Comfort’s smile. That predator’s grin, all teeth and darkness. He hides behind it, and he can because that split in his face is as wide as the slice in my neck. This is the creature in all its foul glory. At the moment of murder, it shines forth and only I, the victim, can see it truly.

  I look past him and on to the singing machine which shines a short way away. I walk across the water without disturbing its frozen surface and pick up the small glimmering jewel. The faraway waves are beautiful in their immobile curls. Then, with my soul heavy in my hand, I return to myself and kneel back into my dying, pain-wrecked body…

  Except there is no pain. I feel the glove on my hand again here in the real and the physical both. The hole in my palm is gone. I lift my hand to my shoulder in time to feel the cut there close. When I place my hand on my throat, it is smooth and clean, virgin again.

  I turn and look at Jeremiah with the rainbows in my eyes. He screams and falls backward, scrambling away, eyes wide and terrified. I have plenty of energy now, and the pain is gone. I stand and stride towards the naked priest. He flings the knife at me, but it sails harmlessly by, I don't even need to flinch. Comfort stops moving and I stand over him. He quails as I reach for him. With my silver-gloved hand, I grab him by the neck and lift him to his feet.

  The feat takes almost no effort, and I lift him as if he is made of feathers. He is choking, my grip is killing him. I drop him into the sand contemptuously. He is on his knees before me, helpless now.

  “You want this Jeremiah?” I am holding the machine in the palm of my hand, it is a globe again.

  “Then take it.” I thrust the globe at him and drop it into his surprised hands. The moment it makes contact, Jeremiah Comfort turns as hard as marble, like a convulsion which cannot release. His skin, muscles and bones shocked into impermeability by a current too strong for those tortured molecules. The energy begins to burn, and Jeremiah’s face twists horribly into a soundless scream. His face becomes a rictus of pain. And then smoke comes from his mouth and his nails turn black. His eyelashes begin to smoke and his eyes turn to coals. His tongue glows brightly and his skin darkens and splits.

  The process smoulders, life leaves the man and he turns to ash. I reach forward when he has been transformed into an ebony statue of carbonised matter. The globe is cool in my hand and lifts easily. It flows across my skin with a caress softer than a lover’s palm. I am whole again. All that is left of Jeremiah Comfort crumbles into the water as a fresh wave sweeps across the shallow bank. The statue tilts, falls, and is overwhelmed. The third wave which hits it turns it into a long black smear across the wet white sand, but by then I am walking swiftly away.

  The song of the machine has stopped now. It is quiet, but hangs heavily on my hand. I lift it and turn my hand this way and that, examining the surface of reflected steel. I can see myself in the palm of my own hand. And then I see a sharp light reflected on my fingertips and I hear a sweet trill sound across the chamber. I turn to look across the chamber at the sharpness I saw reflected. A short distance away, at the top of a headland, stands a man. He is tall and powerful and as I watch him he raises his hand and sets his feet. The sweet trill becomes a sharp whistle which quickly changes into a howl. The silver glove on his upraised hand sends out a bass pulse which my glove acknowledges without hesitation. A deep sense of danger and terror rise up in my chest, and as the man in black on the other side of this long beach begins to run, so do I, and the chase begins.

  Chapter 30

  The Ribbontail

  “Dalys! Help!”

  Dalys sat bolt upright. There had been no word from anyone in the chamber for nearly 17 minutes, and she would have been chewing her fingernails if her hands weren't so busy. She flicked from one screen to another, trying in vain to raise Oscar or Jack Mac, even Curtis. None of the crew was answering. She was suffering total information blackout and was on the verge of leaving the ship herself. And then suddenly Kulen’s voice.

  “Kulen? Where are you?”

  “I'm in the airlock right in front of you! Help me Dalys, he's right behind me, please!” There was a terrible edge of panic in Kulen’s voice and it chilled her.

  “Cycle the door behind you shut, and dress in to that suit crumpled up in the corner. I'll pull the foam out and you can come aboard.”

  “There no time Dalys! He's right behind me. He killed Moabi! He’ll kill me too Dalys please! Just pull the foam, do it now!”

  Dalys knew the situation must be desperate, so without thinking she reared back with the Ribbontail, yanking the foam plug from the cut-apart airlock. There was a puff of air and Kulen came swimming out of the cut the laser had made. He was naked to the vacuum, but his hand shone brightly. Dalys marvelled as she watched him. He pushed toward the ship, gliding quickly below the hull where she couldn't see him. An indicator on the HUD showed the staging area airlock cycle green, he was aboard.

  Then a sharp bright light appeared in the airlock, commanding Dalys’ attention. Behind the light was a figure, moving. A thick, hulking figure, large and dark and dangerous. It crowded the tear in the airlock and a face, dark with shadows, peered through the broken metal. The man leaned out of the airlock and looked around. Then he made eye contact with Dalys, gazing directly into the sensor suites as if he could see her looking out at him. He grinned a wide grin and came out of the hole, his right hand shining as if he was holding a star, drifting ominously close, straight at her. He was also naked to the vacuum and thriving despite it.

  “Fuck that. Hold tight kid, manoeuvring.” She boosted away. Her trajectory was not clean, the whole maze of transmitting towers and pipework behind her was too littered with obstacles, so she was forced to focus on the stern sensor display and take her eyes off the drifting man. She compensated three times, accelerating all the while, and made it cleanly through the first couple of hundred metres. Then she took a brushing impact on the starboard beam, picking up some cabling and an antenna array. She was forced to slow and turn. When she looked, she couldn't see the airlock through the maze of machinery. There was no sign of the attacker either, she had left him behind. She swung the Ribbontail around and faced the way out. She accelerated gently and compensated, used the grappling platform to swivel the ship, she turned in place and fired the ion boosters in tiny increments. They made their way through the maze of pipes, until the open sky beckoned.

  Then Dalys poured on the thrust and the Ribbontail carried them into space.

  She met Kulen in the staging area behind the RHS. The boy, who was becoming a man, fell to his knees, soaking wet and covered in dirt, grime and his own blood. Dalys approached him warily, she dropped delicately into a crouch next to him.

  “I don't have long Kulen. I have to get back into my chair. Are you ok?”

  The young man gasped for breath. “He chased me so hard Dalys. He was right behind me the whole time. Every time I slowed down, his clutches were at my neck. I had to run so hard. Right at the end, I thought he had me, but then you were there. I don't know what I would have done if he had caught me Dalys! I saw him chop Moabi’s head off with his bare hand. He would have killed me easily, there was nothing I could do to stop him.”

  “It's okay now Kulen. I left him there. He's behind us now, you can breathe. It's almost over, we’ll have to circle around and somehow get a message to Jack Mac.”

  “No!” Kulen interrupted her. “He's after me.” He held up his silver hand. “He’s after this. If we stay here, he has me. We have to run Dalys! The others will be safe here, the power is back on and the environment is stabilised. This is the safest place for them, as soon as we lure that thing away. It's going to chase us some more, Dalys. This is far from over.”

  They had no choice. Dalys thought of the vessel the antagonist had arrived in. It could fly rings around the Ribbontail. They wouldn’t have time to circle back for the others. They had to run, they had to abandon the crew, for their own safety. The idea
made her wince.

  “I've got to get back into my seat now Kulen. You'll have to come forward and take a couch. I'll be putting us through some heavy g’s in the next couple of hours.”

  She led him into the RHS and helped him climb into Oscar’s sleeve. As Kulen was climbing into the machine he looked around, examining the gadgetry around him. He started pushing buttons, the couch slid into lock position and the hemispherical screen slid into place in front of him. The console adjusted itself to his hands and a small fan started up, stirring his hair. He settled into the couch like he'd been doing it every day of his life.

  “Comfy?” asked Dalys and got a thumbs up through the display. By the time she sat down and retook control of the craft, Kulen was scrolling through imagery from the scanning equipment and squirting her details she would need to fly. She shook her head, amazed. He intuitively knew how everything worked, it was all very obvious to him. She was marginally jealous for a moment.