by Paul Anlee
Stralasi couldn’t bear to think of his beloved flock suffering that way. "Brother Westlock, I could graphically and emphatically describe to you how utterly dependent the physical wellbeing—the very survival—of the Colony is on our disciplined, pious observance. But I will let you imagine for yourself the horrors they will face, should you fail in this duty and Alumston become separated from The Realm."
Westlock's innocent face broadcasted his distress at the thought of such isolation. His mentor watched with a soft heart, anxious to see the result. Would this so far untested novitiate be up to the difficult task ahead?
The younger monk filled his lungs, straightened his back with confidence, and lifted a steady, even gaze to meet Brother Stralasi's own. “You can count on me.”
Seeing the soft, boyish face transformed by firm resolve, the Good Brother relaxed. He was pleased, and tremendously relieved, to see this promising young man he’d hand-selected stepping up to his new responsibilities so intently. Yes, he will do fine.
After having made certain Brother Westlock was fully informed of his required duties, Stralasi turned to his own needs for the upcoming journey to the Home World with Darak.
He packed lightly, adding only a heavy jacket, bamboo fiber leggings, and wool socks to his spare robe in case they encountered harsher climates. He expected the communities through which they were to travel would see to their basic needs for nourishment and toiletries. After all, he was going to be journeying as the companion of a Shard of Alum.
Despite a restless night trying not to obsessively relive the events of the spectacular dinner party earlier that evening, or to anticipate the adventures he would face on the journey, Stralasi woke early, feeling refreshed and eager.
Darak was already up and walking around the gardens, visiting with the birds, insects, and frogs. “Good morning, Brother Stralasi. I hope you rested well,” the Shard said, and he returned a small, fuzzy caterpillar to its branch.
“Yes, surprisingly,” Stralasi replied with an enthusiastic smile.
They headed to Rose’s for breakfast and one more opportunity to meet with the local folk before they departed.
Two hours later, with well-wishers off to their daily work, Stralasi and Darak sat nursing their coffees.
”Will we be leaving by the normal means or would you prefer to…you know…,” Brother Stralasi lowered his voice to a whisper, “…use your secret starstep?”
Darak selected his words carefully. “We shall leave the same way that I arrived.”
“Is your private starstep far to the west?” Stralasi asked. “Will it be a long walk?”
“It will be as far as needed. No more. No less.”
“Do I need to dress for a colder elevation?” Stralasi probed, fishing for details.
“I believe your current attire will suffice.”
Stralasi opened his mouth to try another approach. Before he could utter the first syllable, Darak held up a pre-emptive hand.
“We shall leave,” he said, placing the hand firmly on the Good Brother’s shoulder, “now.” He did not look inclined to entertain further delay or dissent.
Stralasi dutifully suppressed his curiosity. “Yes, my Lord.” The monk turned and made quick apologies to the staff, patrons, and small gathering of well-wishers outside.
Darak set out for the Alumita residences with single-minded purpose. Stralasi hurried to catch up. They paused only long enough for Stralasi to fetch his pack and issue a perfunctory goodbye to Brother Westlock, before they were off again.
The Alumit monk, a fast walker by most people's measure, found himself nearly running to keep up with Darak’s ground-eating strides. He was not afforded a single moment to wallow in regret over having to leave his latest project before its success could be ensured.
The pair marched ten kilometers or more past the original blast field. They waded across a small stream, and put the first ridges of the low foothills behind them before Darak slowed to a more reasonable pace.
“How…” Brother Stralasi gasped, trying to catch his breath. “How much… further…to your starstep,…my Lord?”
Darak took stock of the low hills around him. “This will do.”
Stralasi looked around, seeing nothing special about the chosen spot. Granted, he might not have recognized a well-hidden starstep among the yellow rocks and dull blue-green native plant life, but the exposed landscape didn’t seem capable of hiding anything important.
“Should I begin the prayer now, my Lord?” he asked. The breeze wafting off the mountains carried the odd metallic taste of the native vegetation.
The words of the Entreaty for Connection framed themselves effortlessly in his mind, the result of countless repetitions: Alum, Lord Protector of Yov’s creation, Light of the People, permit us to be joined again with our Brothers and Sisters on their blessed planets around distant stars. When we are lost in the Da’arkness, disconnected from Your People, alone and afraid, we ask that You grant us communion, that You welcome us into the Holy Web of Your Great Realm.
The Entreaty usually required around ten repetitions before a starstep received Alum’s blessing and became activated, sometimes more at the frontier. In the case of larger Alumitas in more established centers, the use of pleasing melodic instruments or complicated vocal harmonies might speed Alum’s approval, reducing the number of repetitions required.
Once established, a connection would remain open for as long as the chanting continued and remained pleasing to Alum. Breaks in the connection before the completion of a transfer were dreadful embarrassments to the local Alumita. In populous centers supporting higher volumes of inter-planetary travel, multiple starsteps were kept continuously open by the never-ending songs of large choirs. One might surmise that the secret starstep for a Shard would require much less effort to acquire Alum’s attention.
“What? Oh, that. Uhh…, no.” Darak replied, only half-listening, while directing most of his auditory attention to something as yet unseen.
What could the Shard be listening for?—Stralasi wondered. He could hear nothing at all.
Eventually satisfied, Darak took a seat on a large boulder. “Now is not the time for prayer,” he said. “Now is the time for patience, and for paying attention. Soon we will learn something new.”
He closed his eyes, and enjoyed the gentle breeze and warm sun on his face while he still could.
15
THE SHRILL WARNING CHIME announcing an imminent starstep transfer broke through the blessedly perfect stillness of the Alumston Transportation Ceraffice.
Startled to attention, Brother Yonteg swung his feet from the desk and dropped his skillfully balanced chair back onto all four legs.
That’s weird. We don’t have any shipments of goods or personnel scheduled. He queried the InterLat. No, nothing scheduled, and nothing ordered since I came on duty.
Thankfully, he hadn’t allowed another request to slip by again. The last time that happened, he received a probationary warning and threat of reassignment outside the Alumita should he be found less than diligent in future.
Yonteg fired off a quick message to notify Brother Stralasi of the unexpected activation. An immediate reply bounced back from the InterLat: Brother Stralasi is currently unavailable.
Oh, that’s right—he realized. Brother Stralasi went off-world with the Shard of Alum. Brother Westlock is the acting Head Brother. I wish I could stay awake through the morning meetings.
He refocused, and set about compiling an InterLat alert to the Acting Head Brother. A second chime signaled the completion of the starstep transfer. He glanced over. Who would arrive outside the scheduled transfers?—he wondered. The answer drained the color from his face. Great Alum, save us!
Standing on the clean white disk of the starstep was an Angel of Alum, accompanied by two hovering spherical Securitors. Yonteg gulped.
The Angel was fearsome to behold. Over three meters tall, his quicksilver skin flowed continuously, reflecting distorted images o
f the surrounding chamber. Opalescent wings shone with a brilliant internal light. His muscular body was naked except for his sandals and a black loincloth secured with a strap holding a sapphire sword in its scabbard. He was magnificent to behold, but the arrogant sneer curling his upper lip brought terror to the heart.
Most people only ever glimpsed an Angel as it left Home World for battle. They were few—they numbered under a million across all of The Realm—but their power was unrivaled.
One hundred Angels could vaporize an entire solar system; the sparsely scattered nebulae in remote, untraveled parts of several galaxies were a testament to their proclivity for destructive enforcement of Alum’s Law. Where a Shard of Alum might be seen as gathering intelligence, evaluating, and judging, an Angel simply meant death. Quick and merciless death. Often in mind-numbing scope.
The pair of companion Securitors, as big around as the Angel was tall, were almost as terrifying. They were profoundly black, absorbing light from their surroundings. Their appearance gave the impression of an absence of anything tangible, holes in space, rather than discrete objects. It was practically impossible to discern their precise boundaries and, if you dared look closely, you could imagine falling into an infinite well. The sensation was said to have a basis in fact. Rumor also had it that, among many other magical and miraculous powers, the Securitors contained their own internal hells, capable of swallowing entire cities into an endlessly imploding nothingness.
Stepkeeper Yonteg fell to the floor. He cried for the imminent loss of his own life, and that of his friends and co-workers, and for the end of this promising little planet. He couldn’t imagine what crime brought an Angel to rain destruction on Gargus 718.5, but he was certain that it must have been a great affront to Alum to cause Him to dispatch one of His most feared and powerful agents.
The Angel stepped from the disc and stopped in front of the quivering Yonteg, extending a hand to help the monk to his feet. “Rise, Brother!” His mellifluous voice filled the chamber from all directions at once with a blend of love, compassion, humor, and a compelling strength of command.
Brother Yonteg looked up, amazed that he was not yet dead.
The two Securitors moved to cover the main entrances to the Starstep Reception.
The Angel pulled the astonished Brother effortlessly to his feet. The man struggled not to run screaming. He swallowed his terror and squeaked out, “H…H…How may I serve you, my Lord?”
The Angel smiled his beautiful, terrifying smile and thrummed his powerful wings once. “You may address me as Lord Mika. I understand you recently received a visitor?”
Brother Yonteg had no doubt about whom the Angel was speaking. “Yes, Lord Mika. The Lord Darak, Shard of Alum.”
Lord Mika smiled more broadly, which somehow only made him more terrifying. “Yes, Shard Darak.” His voice slithered over the holy man’s title. “And where is Shard Darak at the moment?”
“He left this morning with Brother Stralasi to journey to Home World.”
The Angel mulled that over. “I have scanned the activation records for this starstep and detect no transfer record other than my own. Nothing was documented passing in or out since the last recorded shipment over eighty-seven hours, twenty-one minutes ago.”
“Shard Darak arrived by means other than the public starstep, Lord Mika, Sir. He and Brother Stralasi left on foot, presumably to return to his secret starstep to the west.”
“Interesting,” remarked the Angel. He scanned the room, and settled his gaze on the anxious man before him.
Brother Yonteg’s head exploded in pain. His jaw opened to scream, but no sound escaped. In no more than a few seconds, his head was completely and mercilessly reamed to extract every detail of the past two days.
Every vision, sound, smell, and feeling was wrenched forcefully to the front of the monk’s conscious attention in one overwhelming, excruciating, cacophonous burst. His mind struggled without success to make sense of the re-experiencing.
And then it was over. Brother Yonteg was left reeling and nauseated from the whirl of unbidden memories. Released, he collapsed to the floor holding his pounding head in his hands. Lord Mika’s mind scan had not been gentle.
16
“WHO ON EARTH COULD THAT BE AT THIS TIME OF NIGHT?” Debbie Franti asked her husband on the second ring of the doorbell. They’d just finished locking up and settling into bed with their books. Nick looked out the bedroom window to the covered porch.
“I can’t see who it is,” he replied. The car parked in front of their house wasn’t familiar. He scanned both ways down the block. A quiet night, nobody else around.
The visitor pressed the doorbell again and, without waiting, started banging insistently on the stylish metal screen door.
Nick was about to call the police when he heard, “Nick? Debbie? It’s Paul. Are you up?” There must be an emergency. He threw on his bathrobe and rushed downstairs, quickly unlocking and opening the door.
“Paul, what’s wrong?”
“Darian’s got them.” The pain in Paul’s eyes matched the bracing autumn wind, but his voice was eerily matter of fact and controlled.
Nick stared at the disheveled man on the stoop. A sudden gust of wind nearly tore Paul’s coat from his shoulders; he barely noticed.
“Got who? What are you talking about?”
“He’s got dendies in his brain, Nick.”
“That’s not possible. Why don’t you come inside? It’s freezing out there,” Nick guided Paul through the foyer and into the kitchen. “Let me put on some coffee.” He dropped a filter in place and started measuring the aromatic grains. “Tell me, what makes you think there are dendies in Darian’s brain?”
“I saw the x-ray.” Paul stared at his hands folded on the table in front of him. “It looked just like Sharon’s did.”
“What? Why did you get an x-ray of Darian’s head?”
“He had a seizure, like the one Sharon had the day of her accident. The day she died, Nick.” Paul’s soft, level voice was scarier than if he’d been in a rage. Nick heard Debbie appear at the kitchen door and turned to her, silently pleading for assistance.
“Oh, Paul!” she sat down next to him and put her hands on his. Paul’s gaze rose from her hands to her face, and held her eyes. Self-consciously, she let go and tucked her hands to her chest.
“When I got home from work, Darian was sitting on the sofa, reading,” Paul began. “The pages were flying by so fast that I couldn’t tell what it was, but it looked pretty technical, full of symbols and diagrams I didn’t recognize.
“He didn’t respond when I spoke to him. He gave no sign at all that he even knew I was there. So I leaned over to take away his tablet—you know, just to get his attention—and he went berserk. He lunged at me and fought like a wildcat to get it back.
“Then he went into some kind of seizure and didn’t come out of it. It was horrible. I bundled him up and drove him to the hospital. They took x-rays, ran an EEG, and did a bunch of other tests.
“The x-rays showed those same bright little speckles Sharon had, all over his brain. The doctor said his EEG was full of electrical activity but it didn’t look like a seizure. I knew what it was, though. I recognized the dendies as soon as I saw them.”
“It must have been that blow to her head.” Nick paced the kitchen floor. “It must have sent the dendies circulating into her system; into the fetus.”
Debbie got up to pour coffee, trying to impose some sense of normalcy on the situation. “I thought they were supposed to be restricted to neural tissue. How could they move to the baby?”
“They were…are restricted. The impact must have dislocated some of them.”
“So how did they end up inside Darian? And how come they didn’t show up when he was a baby? Dr. Holden watched him closely for two years. She said he was all clear,” Paul challenged, sounding more accusatory than inquisitive.
“Well, remember they are nanotechnology, so you’ve got to think nanoscal
e. They’re much smaller than a cell, and these ones were designed to actively cross organ barriers. Getting across the placenta would be no problem. The dislodged dendies would have been lost and seeking to re-establish themselves in central neural tissue, as they were designed to do. If any of them found the baby’s developing brain, it would have provided them with a perfectly viable alternative.” Nick’s voice trailed off. He was already thinking ahead to the bigger picture.
“Paul, do you realize what this means? This is amazing!” The scientist in Nick overshadowed the concerned friend and surrogate uncle. “It's a totally serendipitous opportunity to study how dendies interact with a young human brain!”
Paul could only stare, gaping at the scientist in disbelief. “My son is NOT your test subject!” he growled, menacingly.
"No, I know that. Relax. I didn’t mean it that way. I wasn’t thinking that at all.”
“You will take them out,” Paul said, slowly and evenly. His tone made it clear there would be no discussion.
Nick rubbed his eyes. “I don’t think we can, Paul, I’m sorry, but I don’t know any way to remove a dendy lattice once it’s established.”
Paul was stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. How can you make something like this and not have a failsafe plan to un-make it? Are you crazy? No wonder the public doesn’t trust scientists!”
“Well, Sharon….That is, we….You have to understand. It was such a challenge just to construct them, to get them to replicate, and to connect to each other. You know how Sharon was—impatient and driven. We’d barely figured out how to make them when she jumped the gun and injected the dendies into herself. We were still working on them, and we’d barely started thinking about how to eliminate them.