Infinite

by Jeremy Robinson

  “Well, this… Ugh, this is bad.”

  44

  “Bad?” Capria says, near hysterics. “Bad? Will, they’re going to eat us. This is worse than bad.”

  When I don’t reply, she shakes my arm. “Will.”

  I can’t speak. My silence is born of shock. If I’m right, the images depicted on the tapestry tell the history of the Cognatan people, and not just the locals populating Renfro. The fate of the Galahad’s crew has finally been revealed.

  “I need to know everything,” I manage to say, moving back to the first tapestry. It’s a twelve-foot-tall, fifteen-foot-wide masterpiece. Each point of vivid color, like pixels made of fabric, completes a montage of pictures depicting the Galahad’s crew descending from the stars. The next panel shows the first signs of civilization, including several human-sized pregnant women. I move down the row of images, seeing thousands of years of Cognatan history unfold. After just a few generations, the children of the Galahad’s survivors had become stocky and strong. The population grew, factions split, cities were built. I move across the vast room to the second set of images.

  My breath catches at the sight of war, each side led by human-sized men and women. The Galahad’s crew turned on each other, using their children to fight battles on a massive scale. The images are hard to look at and devolve into a kind of dark madness. Inhuman violence. Forced labor. The destruction of cities. All of humanity’s worst attributes on display, foisted upon the naïve Cognatan population created by the Galahad’s immortal crew—the Lords.

  The next panel has a decidedly different tone. Gone are the deep blacks, grays, and reds used in the violent images. The Lords, six of them, are gathered together, hands bound behind their backs. The image is a montage of sorts, showing various locations surrounding the bound Lords at the center, but the theme unites them: celebration. The Cognatan people, after generations of war, rebelled against their Lords and captured them.

  This brings me back to the end, back to that fateful image revealing the final fate of the Galahad’s crew. Three skeletons lie on the ground, their proportions human, picked clean of flesh, their skulls open and empty. Three more are bound to posts. Two are whole and the third…my God…the third.

  “This is what they’re going to do to us,” Capria says.

  Horns wail outside the keep, the sound muffled by the thick stone walls, but probably easy to hear for miles around. The call going out. The Lords have returned. The feast Rolf spoke of, the one we’re meant to rest for, won’t be in honor of us.

  It will be us.

  The focus on the final tapestry is a man, bound to a post. His head is turned up in a scream. Liquid is being poured into his open mouth by a Cognatan on a ladder. At the base of the image is a second Cognatan with a blade, carving a sheet of flesh from the man’s thigh. His lower leg is missing entirely. Behind the butcher is a ceremonial table covered in bits of meat that are being handed out to a line of Cognatans, some in the process of accepting the gift, others dropping the bits of flesh into their mouths. It’s the line that makes me the most uncomfortable, twisting back and forth into the background. My eyes move back to the carved man, to the water being poured down his throat.

  “They kept them alive for as long as possible, regenerating their bodies so all of them could have a bite.”

  Capria’s tears beat mine by just a few seconds. “W-why?”

  I wipe my eyes. We knew these people.

  “Revenge. Some kind of religious ceremony normally performed with animals. They could have believed that by eating the Lords, they would prolong their own lives.” I shrug. “Does it matter?”

  “We shouldn’t have buried him,” Capria says.

  My forehead slowly furrows. “Buried who?”

  “Tom,” she says, scowling. She stabs her finger against the carved man. “This is his fault. I hate him.”

  It feels odd coming to Tom’s defense, but the words come out before I really think about it. “I don’t know. All of this still could have happened. We would have just been a part of it. But earlier. You know, when all that happened.” I motion to the tapestry.

  “With access to the Galahad’s resources and technology, nothing on Cognata would have played out the same. And if it did, we could have left. Without Tom, they’d all still be alive. He created nothing but death and suffering. And for what? For me? I don’t want that kind of twisted love. Not from him, and not from you.”

  What’s this now? “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying…I don’t know. I’m responsible for this, too. I didn’t stop him from waking up early. From changing the genetic match registry. I could have, but I didn’t. We were selfish, and it led to nothing but horror.”

  “That’s not entirely true.” It’s mostly true, but there is a silver lining. Us. Even as I think the thought, I realize I’m being as selfish as she and Tom had once been.

  Capria shakes her head. “We haven’t learned anything. History will repeat itself forever.” She turns her head to the slate ceiling. “You hear that! That’s the lesson of your simulation! You’ve created a Ferris wheel of horrors. Is that what you wanted? Just pull the fucking plug. End us!”

  I wrestle Capria into my arms, as she devolves into sobs. I’m crying, too, sharing the pain, but also still aware that it’s only going to get worse. We need to escape, and soon. But how? We’re being held in an oversized stone tomb, which is no doubt guarded by handfuls of Cognatan warriors, on a world where running the few miles back to the lander will take several exhausting hours.

  Gal is still out there, no doubt assessing the situation and working on a way to help us, but I’m not sure the combined might of her drones will be enough to overwhelm the powerful Cognatans.

  “How the hell did we end up here?” I ask.

  It’s a rhetorical question, but Capria takes it seriously. Sniffing back tears, she says, “What do you mean?”

  “A day ago, we were on Earth, in a paradise, and rather than staying there, we’re here, captured by the descendants of our crewmates, facing their same horrible fate. It’s too much, too fast. The pacing is wrong. Life doesn’t move like this.”

  “We’re not really alive,” Capria says. “Remember? And we’re cheating. It should have taken us ten years of FTL travel to reach Cognata.”

  A laugh huffs from my lips when I remember something my mother used to tell me. “Cheaters never win.”

  “Tom disagreed with that notion,” she says, “but look at how things turned out for him.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “It’s just… I feel like we’re stuck in fast forward. Our lives are a series of events, most of them not too pleasant.”

  “Ready for the Great Escape?” she asks. “For two?”

  “I don’t know…” Could we have had a real life Great Escape on Earth? Or would Antarctica prove to be populated by savage penguins with tentacles? The one thing I’m sure of is that we should have stayed and found out. Screw the Galahad. Screw our mission. Screw all the unanswered questions. If we survive this mess, we’re going to just live, and be happy.

  A cool breeze tickles the back of my neck, sending a shiver through my body.

  Capria leans back. “What is it?”

  “A draft.” I scan the vast space for windows, but find none. The solid door is so well crafted that its seam along all sides is hard to see. The orange light allows us to see the tapestries well enough, but the corners of the room are cast in shadow. I wrench one of the crystals from its post and make a hasty search of the room. Nothing. Like the doors, the walls are built from large stones, perfectly shaped, like a puzzle. Then where… A torrent of cool air, like stepping under an invisible waterfall, draws my eyes upward. The ceiling is vented, allowing fresh air in and moisture to get out, preventing mold growth. But how big is the opening? I doubt it’s large enough for one of the broad shouldered Cognatans, but Capria and I are far more slender. “We might be able to—”

  The doors at the front of the keep thunk. The
lock has been disengaged.

  I wave Capria to the wall, ready to hoist her up, but before she can place her foot in my extended fingers, the doors crash open.

  The large Cognatan, standing a full five feet tall, and nearly as wide, is a barrel-chested female. But unlike the well dressed women we saw on our way to the keep, this one is dressed in gilded armor. A shield is mounted to her back and a sword hangs from her hip. This must be the Kozna that Rolf spoke of, the matriarch of Renfro.

  “If we can kill her,” I whisper to Capria.

  Her eyes go wide. “Kill her? Look at her.”

  “It might be our only chance to claim dominance.”

  “Or get us killed faster.”

  “Which would be better than being—”

  “No talk,” Kozna says. Her deep voice vibrates inside my chest. She strokes the braided hair hanging from her cheeks, giving us a careful once-over. Her footsteps, buffered by the furs lining the floor, still manage to shake the stone beneath us. She approaches with a lack of caution, but keeps a hand on her sword’s handle. “You Lords.”

  I shake my head. “Not Lords.”

  She stops a few feet short, close enough for me to smell her fishy breath. She squints at my face. “Then what?”

  I search for an answer that will make sense, but can’t speak, and not just because I can’t think of the words. Kozna draws her sword faster than should be possible for such a stocky woman. The blade sings through the air, and then through my throat.

  Kozna wipes the blade clean on her leather clad leg, sheaths it, and waits patiently while my gurgling gasps fade and the wound heals. When I’m breathing normally again and not bleeding out all over myself, she points at me. “Lord of lies.”

  She turns her attention to Capria. Reaches out and grazes her cheek with a thick finger. Then she grasps Capria’s coverall and yanks. The magnetic seal opens, and the loose fitting garment peels downward, revealing tight-fitting Thermals. Kozna gazes at Capria with hungry eyes that I’m not sure have anything to do with a feast. And it’s all I can take.

  Fighting against gravity, I lunge around Kozna’s broad body, leap onto her back, and wrap my arms around her thick neck. Latching my arms, I flex and squeeze with every ounce of strength I possess, bracing myself for a thrashing. But Kozna doesn’t fight. She simply turns her head and looks back at me. “You…hug?”

  My actions are having so little effect on her that she hasn’t recognized them as violent.

  “No,” she says. “Lord of lies attacks.”

  When she draws her sword again, there’s nothing I can do to stop her. But she doesn’t try to assault me with the blade. Instead, she plunges it into Capria’s gut. The blade punches through her body, coming out the far side coated in red.

  Capria’s eyes meet mine as she crumples to the floor, hands clutching the sword’s hilt. My heart breaks for her, not because of the pain she’s suffering, or because she might die temporarily, but because I can see in her eyes, that she wishes this would be the end, that she wouldn’t wake up.

  45

  “No!” I spot a bit of flesh in the mass of hair flowing from Kozna’s head and face. Like a beast, I bite down on it, getting a mouthful of hair and what turns out to be a thick ear. Kozna roars in pain, as I taste blood. But my assault is short-lived. The matriarch reaches over her back, grasps my coveralls, and throws me against the stone wall. I crumple to the floor, concussed, but still conscious.

  Kozna wears a lopsided grin. She rubs her ear, hand coming away slick with blood. She bends down over me, and traces her wet fingers across both cheeks, either decorating me or marking me. “You, we eat. She—” Kozna places her thick hand on Capria’s thigh, giving her a shake. “I keep.”

  Capria screams, her voice booming out from some deep reservoir of rage. She pulls the long blade from her stomach, inflicting even more damage to her body, but knowing it will heal. Even Kozna looks surprised, and in the moment of distraction, I kick, hard.

  My heel collides with the Cognatan’s thick nose. She reels back, blood pouring, filling the air with a still-human scent of copper. I draw my leg back to kick again, but a blood-soaked Capria is there, shouting a battle cry and diving forward, sword in hand. The blade stabs toward Kozna’s chest—a killing blow—but strikes armor plating and deflects away. There’s not even a scratch left behind.

  Still clutching her bloodied nose, Kozna swings a thick backhand, connecting with Capria’s side and sprawling her to the ground. The sword clatters away.

  Fully healed, I attempt a different tack, driving my fist at Kozna’s face. I might not outmuscle her, but I’ve got height and reach on my side. I connect with her nose again, drawing a howl of pain. My second punch is slapped away by her meaty hand with enough force to fracture my arm. Vision going dark from the pain, I stumble back, making it just two steps before Kozna barrels into me, hoists me in the air, and slams me against the wall. I feel things inside me burst and shatter, but I don’t bother trying to figure out what. I simply give myself over to the dark abyss of death and wait for the pain of rebirth.

  I’m not sure how long it takes to come back, but it can’t be long. Capria is on her feet again, holding the sword, facing down Kozna, who is slowly stalking toward her.

  “Kozna,” a voice says from the entrance. It’s a short warrior, spear in hand, with several more behind him. “Need help?”

  “Away!” Kozna roars, and the warrior slinks away, back into the orange-lit night.

  Capria takes advantage of the distraction, swinging the sword in a wide arc. Kozna blocks the blow with her shield, now mounted on her arm instead of her back. Laughing, she reaches her hand out for Capria’s head. The thick digits, capable of crushing a human skull, are extended one moment, and then in the next, falling to the floor.

  Capria has heaved the heavy sword in the other direction, severing the fingers.

  Kozna seems stunned, looking from her hands to her fingers lying on the floor. She’s no stranger to pain, but I don’t think she’s ever experienced a wound like this before. But her confusion has nothing to do with the strangeness of being separated from her fingers, and more to do with the fact that they’re growing back.

  The regeneration is slower than mine or Capria’s, but it appears Kozna has inherited the trait from her Galahadian ancestors, or perhaps acquired them upon eating their immortal flesh. Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we’re never going to get a better chance.

  I crawl across the floor using one arm, and when the other heals, I pick up the glowing orange crystal. It’s heavy and hard in my hand. I stand up slowly, mostly because it’s all I can manage, but Capria sees me and starts swinging the sword wildly, using all her energy, but driving Kozna back.

  This time, when I leap on the broad back, I wrap just a single arm around the uncrushable neck. With my free hand, I strike, driving the hard crystal into Kozna’s thick skull. The first two strikes appear to have no effect, but the third cracks something and drops the matriarch to one knee. The crystal’s glow is diminished by the thick blood coating it. I drive it down again, but this time, my hand is caught.

  Once again, I find myself propelled through the air, upside down. But this time, I collide with the floor, rather than a wall, and I manage to stay both uninjured and conscious. I stand behind Capria, who still holds the sword, but is weighed down by it.

  We face off with Kozna, whose fingers are nearly finished regenerating. She stands again, looking as strong as ever.

  I point at her, hoping a war of words will have a more profound effect. “Kozna Lord.”

  She shakes her head with a grunt. “No.”

  “Lord of lies, both.” I thump a fist against my chest. “You like me.” I point to the mural depicting the Galahad’s crew being eaten. “Like them.”

  Kozna snarls. Looks down at her severed digits on the floor. She lifts her wide foot and slams it down on the fingers, smearing the flesh to paste, smothering the evidence. Then she turns her head toward t
he door.

  “She’s going to shout for help!” I say.

  Capria dives forward, swinging the sword. Sparks fly as the blade and shield collide.

  Kozna opens her mouth, and I do the only thing I can think of: I hurl the crystal. It bounces off her thick, now-healed skull. She takes a moment to laugh at me while Capria does her best to lift the sword again, battling exhaustion more than Kozna now. But there’s nothing we can do to stop her.

  As the first squawk of Kozna’s voice fills the chamber, it’s cut short by a blur of black motion. Kozna stumbles back, clutching her throat, eyeing the ruined object now lying on the floor.

  It’s a small drone, destroyed by the collision.

  But where there is one drone, there are more—there is Gal!

  Shouts erupt outside the keep, growing louder. But it’s not Cognatan warriors who charge through the open doors, it’s twelve drones, moving fast, the blue glow of their repulse discs mingling with the orange light to create overlapping streaks of luminous brown. They hum loudly, buzzing around Kozna, who appears mortified by the futuristic devices.

  But all of the swarming drones are just a distraction for the largest of them, cruising through the door, making a wide arc through the keep and plowing its girth into Kozna. The Cognatan leader is lifted off her feet and slammed into the wall with all the force the engineering drone can muster. And it’s more than the wall can handle.

  Stones grind and give way, toppling the wall out into the dark night and atop Kozna, who’s going to have a lot of explaining to do when she emerges from the tons of crushing stone unharmed.

  Despite Kozna’s sudden and dramatic defeat, the scene outside the keep doesn’t convince me that surviving our fate is possible. A large courtyard has been revealed. At the center of it are six stakes, each accompanied by a statue vaguely resembling our six consumed crewmates. They’ve commemorated the event that freed them from tyranny. Probably made a holiday of it. Given the new restraints attached to two of the posts, the ceremonial table lined with carving tools, and the long line already leading far into the distance, they are eager to repeat the ceremony with actual Lords.