by Blaze Ward
“That was actually part of my original logic,” Morty admitted. “They already do crazy shit. What’s one thing more?”
He reached out and grabbed the second-to-last slider, ramming it to the top of the scale with a hard click. Several floors below, a dozen generators began to hum. In moments, they were singing. Shortly, the metal would begin to scream.
Around them, overhead lights flickered and then a few exploded, throwing rooster tails of sparks and smoke in all directions as Morty’s device started pumping too much power through the entire building. At least nobody would be using this tube generator station again.
But boy, was Maximus going to be pissed.
“Ready?” Morty yelled.
“Do it,” Xiomber shouted over the rising din. “We’re not going to hold this much longer.”
Morty grabbed the last slider and pushed it slowly forward.
“Energizing,” he hollered back.
In the area beyond the control console, a golden nimbus of energy formed, and quickly resolved itself into a pair of tube openings, like a hose that had been sliced neatly in half.
Morty stared hard at the zone controls, watching the screen’s targeting array home in on the target he had selected.
“Almost got it,” he yelled, starting to smell smoke rising.
The console was probably close to catching fire, with the energy they were processing through it.
“Now, Morty,” Xiomber screamed. “It’s not going to stay intact much longer.”
Morty slammed a fist down on the big, purple button and listened to the generators reach for that last two percent.
Definitely getting bright in here. Maybe a little warm.
“Let’s go,” he scrambled around the console and began to run towards the nexus of the bounce-tube.
“What if you missed?” Xiomber was a step behind him.
“Then our goose is right cooked when Maximus finds out, and we’ve got nobody to hide behind,” Morty replied.
Something was coming through the first tunnel. Morty could see the left-hand tube pulsate, like a snake swallowing a rat. Hope to the Gods this worked, because he also saw a door open at the far end of the lab.
“What’s going on in here?”
Field Agent
Gareth St. John Dankworth. Field Agent of the Earth Force Sky Patrol.
Gods, that sounded awesome. And looked even better. He had finally made it. He was a Field Agent now. Lawman extraordinaire. Respected across the entire Solar System.
Gareth stared again at his reflection in the wall mirror of his quarters. He was at The Arsenal, Sky Patrol’s base in the Earth/Moon L2 point, over beyond the dark side of the moon. Affectionately called Shadow Base One.
His new uniform was amazing. Still the black riding boots and white hotpants of a Sky Patrol Agent, but now his maroon tunic finally said Field Agent. Three white rings around the big, stylized SP in the center of his chest, offset by gold buttons up both sides of the bib and the gold wing-protectors on his shoulders like short fins.
He tugged the tunic down a little, settling it a little tighter beneath the black, Sam Brown belt. He ran a hand back through his curly, blond hair, just getting long enough to blow in the wind, so it was probably time to get it shorn again, as it had reached the maximum length that the regulations allowed.
Field Agent.
Damn, he looked good.
Best of all, he could finally propose to Philippa, after they had both waited for so long, both of them staying chaste and pure, until he could make it all the way to Field Agent and they could be married. Gareth reached a hand down into his pocket and pulled out the tiny, leather pouch he kept with him at all times.
From inside, he extracted the gold ring with the single, white diamond in the middle, surrounded by ruby and gold stones representing Sky Patrol. Tonight was the night. He’d catch a shuttle over to the Earth/Moon L1 point in an hour. She was working as a research assistant for her father these days, at Earth Force Headquarters, so it would be easy enough to take her aside after dinner, during a walk along the Promenade overlooking the Moon’s bright side, and propose to her properly.
He was a Field Agent now. All that waiting would be over, and they could finally become man and wife.
He smiled at the ring, tucking it back into the pouch and stashing it in his pocket.
Not long now.
A sound brought his head up.
It was a strange humming sound, almost imperceptible, hovering right at the point of audibility. Almost as if a fly was trying to sneak around the room behind him, but wasn’t succeeding.
Gareth looked all directions with a concerned scowl on his face. He was in his personal quarters at The Arsenal. Nobody ever came in except the cleaning crew, so the room was as pristine as his bunk had always been in school, bed made so taut that a shilling coin could bounce a foot high.
Except that the room had taken on a golden hue. Odd.
There was nothing wrong with the lights. They still put out the perfect, crisp white of the fifth generation organic diodes, but the air itself was turning golden.
Bizarre.
And now something faded into existence across the room, like a film of fog melting, only run in reverse. This mirage appeared to be the source of the gold, and it was growing, both in size and intensity.
Panic woke up at the back of Gareth’s brain. He had always been noted for his bravery and leadership, but today, those parts of his mind seemed to be having second thoughts. There was no science he could think of that explained a portable whirlpool suddenly appearing in the air in the middle of his cabin.
Maybe it was time to do something.
A wind came up suddenly, inside his cabin at the center of a space station, ruffling his hair as greedy fingers began to pluck at his soul.
His soul?
Very much not good.
Gareth sprang into action, like the hero he had always been. He raced to the door, keying the internal telephone system and picking up the headset.
“Base Operator,” a woman’s bored voice answered.
“This is Field Agent Dankworth,” he said, voice struggling to remain calm. “Cabin 24-575. Something’s happening in my room. Something bad.”
“Could you be clearer, Field Agent?” the laconic operator replied. It sounded like maybe she had one hand up, inspecting her nails as she spoke.
“I’ve got an emergency here, miss,” he yelled, feeling those golden fingers begin to caress his back.
The wind was stronger now, tugging insistently closer to the hole in the universe that was growing over in the corner.
Hole in the universe?
“Please state the nature of your emergency,” she replied, maybe reading from a script now.
Gareth tried to think of the right words, but the pull of the tempest was too great now. Fight it as he tried, the force literally dragged him across the cabin, stretching the cord of the handset until it was pulled right out of his hands, falling to the wall with a thunk as Gareth’s legs went numb.
Looking down, his lower half appeared to be fading out of existence, right at the event horizon of that golden light. The golden fingers crept up his nerves, pulling him under with grim determination.
Oh, shit.
Wormhole
It was like going down a waterslide as a kid, vacationing with his parents at a theme park dedicated to the South Seas, back home in Indiana. Gareth couldn’t see anything except the sides of a golden tube of light, but when he put his hand out to touch, they pulled back.
He couldn’t fall any slower, or faster, regardless of what he did. And it felt like he was simultaneously the size of a mouse and of a whale.
Screaming like a little girl didn’t seem to help, either. Or rather, nobody was listening, which was probably good. Gareth wondered if he was going to keep on falling forever.
There, in the distance between his toes, Gareth saw something. Darkness, perhaps. A gap. Maybe the end of the tunnel, th
ank God.
He seemed to be slowing down. Or something.
Yes. The tunnel ended there. He could sense a room just beyond it.
Gareth felt his brain and his soul drop back into phase with the rest of the universe. What the name of Heaven was that?
He found himself standing in a clearing. Surrounded by trees out of the worst nightmares the ancient artist Dali had ever dreamt up: bark the wrong color, trunks somehow the wrong shape, and with leaves that looked like nothing so much as feathers.
The space here was that same golden hue of his cabin, and the tunnel.
Standing in front of him were a pair of three-foot-tall lizards, dressed in pants and t-shirts, standing upright and eyeing him like dinner. Gareth would have given a month’s salary to be holding his Sonic Stunner right now, but it was safely locked up, back at The Arsenal.
Wait, lizards?
The room howled as well. Gareth considered joining it, but one of the lizard-men hopped into the air and tossed something into his mouth, rather like a jelly bean.
Jelly bean? What the hell is wrong with you people?
Gareth went to spit it out, but the bean had already dissolved and melted itself to his tongue, like the best peanut butter on a PBJ sandwich.
Gareth chewed frantically, trying to escape its clutches.
“That work?” the closer lizard-man asked.
Gareth turned, utterly shocked that these things spoke English. Had somebody slipped a Mickey Finn into his drink at dinner? Was this all some sort of hallucination as part of a failed seduction attempt? Who would he wake up next to in the morning?
He chewed, unable to speak. The one who had spoken wore a logo on his shirt, but it honestly looked like an old, ratty concert T-shirt, rather than the more stylized Sky Patrol SP on Gareth’s chest.
“You can understand me?” the lizard asked. “Just nod.”
Gareth complied, nightmares of Alice and toadstools haunting him. He scanned the feathered trees nearby for Cheshire Cats.
“We need to get gone,” the other lizard-man told the first. “Somebody’s going to remember us.”
“Okay,” the first said, staring hard at Gareth like he was a badly-trained puppy. “You need to come with us, so we can get someplace private and I can explain everything. This is not a dream, but it could become a nightmare, without too much effort. Are you safe to touch?”
“What?” Gareth managed around the peanut butter. “What’s the meaning of this?”
The lizard-man sighed and his shoulders slumped. A twinkle came into his eyes after a second and he smiled.
“Humans are the most dangerous, lethal species in the galaxy, okay?” he said. “You’ve been kept confined in your solar system until you matured enough to not be a threat to everyone else, which is not today. Except one of your kind got loose, and it threatening to destroy all galactic civilization. Nobody can stop this killer, so we took a gamble and kidnapped you. You might be the only person who can save us.”
Gareth felt a surge of pride rush through him. Earth Force Sky Patrol. The Good Guys.
Field Agent Gareth St. John Dankworth, ready to serve.
He stood taller, shoulders back and head up. Which kind of ruined the scene, since these two might have been three and a half feet tall.
“Who is my foe?” Gareth announced boldly. “What do I need to do?”
The two lizard-men shared a glance, and a smile, it seemed.
“Marc Sarzynski,” the first one said. “Called Maximus.”
“That bastard’s here?” Gareth growled in shock. “No wonder he escaped me. Where are we?”
“The planet is named Orgoth Vortai,” the second one said. “Home of a species known as The Grace.”
“Species?” Gareth wasn’t sure he heard the word right.
“You got it, pal,” the first said. “There are over a dozen sentient, technological species in the Accord of Souls. The Grace are not quite the weirdest, but they’re close. And when one wants to talk to you, and they will, be prepared to be touched. Now, can we go get some tea and hide out?”
“Maximus is here?” Gareth reiterated.
“Not on this planet, but we know where he is, once you’re ready,” the tiny lizardman said.
“And I’m not stoned out of my mind on Bennies and Smack?” he continued.
“On what?” the second one asked.
“Mind-altering, hallucinogenic narcotics,” Gareth explained. “Humans take them as an escape from everyday life.”
“Nope, we need you sober, pal,” the first lizard-man said. “It’s already going to be weird enough as is.”
“What was that thing you put in my mouth?” Gareth asked, finally having swallowed the last bits. Or maybe they had dissolved completely.
“A transform virus programmed for humans,” the little man said. “It inoculated you against most diseases, as well as programmed your brain to be able to speak our language. You don’t think the rest of us spoke English, do you?”
“Oh,” Gareth said. “Maybe I do need a drink.”
“Tea first,” the lizard-man said. “I’m sure we’ll need something stronger later. Ready to join us?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Gareth said, pretty unsure of all of this, but willing to stay put. Maybe.
“Good,” the first said. “Now, we’re going to exit this park, cross a couple of blocks, and hit a tea shop nearby. If anyone asks, you’re just a runt Vanir, okay? Humans are the absolute embodiment of evil, as far as anyone knows, but nobody really knows what a human looks like, and you’re close enough to pass for a Vanir for now. We good?”
“What are your names?” Gareth asked. “I am Field Agent Gareth St. John Dankworth, of the Earth Force Sky Patrol, Missile Division, 6th Cavalry Troop.”
“Yeah, and if you ever mention that again, your ass will be in a jail cell so fast your head will spin, pal,” the one said. “Ours right beside you. We’ll never see the light of day again, and Maximus will end up Emperor of the Universe. So keep it quiet. We’ll just call you Gareth, for now. I’m Morty, and this is my egg-brother, Xiomber. Let’s go.”
Gareth found himself following the first little lizardman. He had been so focused earlier he hadn’t even really processed the fact that he was standing in a small clearing of an arboreal forest of some sort, next to a thing that looked remarkably like a bizarre garden maze, except the walls were only four feet tall and made of a weird mix of metal, wood, and flowering plants, with lots of open spaces allowing sunlight and breezes through.
He glanced up, trying to measure the time, and stopped so fast that Xiomber ran into him from behind.
“Hey, friend,” Xiomber barked. “Little warning next time?”
“The sky…” Gareth’s words tapered off.
It was close enough to noon, with the sun more or less overhead. But the sky was pink-orange, somewhere between cotton candy and first-run salmon from back home.
THERE WAS NO BLUE, ANYWHERE IN THE SKY!
“Quieter, please, Gareth,” Morty smacked him on the thigh, breaking the hypnotic spell that had fallen over him. “You’re not on Earth anymore, m’kay? This is Orgoth Vortai. C’mon.”
Right.
Gareth fell in behind Morty again, walking in a calm daze. Alien planet named Orgoth Vortai. Sure. Surrounded by talking lizardmen. Why the hell not?
The trees ended suddenly and Gareth was on a sidewalk. Maybe. Whatever the local, planetary equivalent was.
And it was moving. Both of them. Wow. There was a path moving to the right, with a second one, closer to the street, moving to the left.
And people.
People? Sure, why not? I’m completely stoned now. Whatever they gave me has gone all the way in and now I’m riding the lysergic acid all the way to the end of the rainbow, where I’ll find the leprechaun level monster, waiting for me to fight him to the death for his pot of gold.
Gareth must have stopped walking again. Xiomber just stepped up and took his hand, like a child lead
ing a parent around a theme park.
They got on the moving sidewalk, and Gareth smiled politely at the woman in front of him as she turned and studied him.
Except it wasn’t a woman. Or, maybe it was. She had curves. A fantastic bottom, narrow waist, ripe bosom contained in some sort of silky wrap that looked like a fairies’ cocoon.
But her skin was green. And her eyes had slits, kinda like Morty and Xiomber, rather than irises. Like a snake, or a cat. Except she looked like a snake, with long, green-black hair. Except that wasn’t hair. Those were snakes.
She was a medusa.
Gareth nearly screamed again, but Xiomber jerked his hand hard enough to nearly make him fall over. He rounded angrily on the little man.
“You’re staring,” Xiomber growled quietly up at him. “It’s impolite. And she might take it as invitation to talk. Those tentacles on her head? You know, where you have hair and I have a bone crest? Those are sensors pods that combine touch, taste, and smell. The Grace are a very tactile species. Let’s not today, okay?”
Tactile. Right. All those snake-hair-thingees slithering over his skin?
If he ignored the tentacles, she was an amazingly beautiful woman.
Medusa.
Something.
Maybe she’d turn him to stone, if he wasn’t careful.
Or if he was lucky.
Gareth smiled weakly at her and turned his attention to the rest of the city.
Oh My God!
Earth had nothing like this. It was like a fairy tale, with impossibly tall buildings of all shapes and colors. Some were stone. Others were glass. A few appeared to be forests that had been transformed, like a giant’s banzai tree experiment, plopped down in the middle of a city.
The woman behind them on the sidewalk smiled as he accidentally made eye contact.
Gareth managed not to scream. And pulled his mouth shut and held it there by grinding his teeth. She was a cat. No, a lynx, covered over with cream and gray fur, standing more than five and a half feet tall, wearing harem pants and loose top in matching baby blue silk. The face was close enough to human that it might be a mask, once he got past the magnificent, muttonchop sideburns and the ears on top, except that her ears moved, one rotating towards him like a radar dish as he watched in awe.