Interphase

by Kira Wilson

  "I'll rest when I can. I've still got things I need to take care of."

  "Well, keep me posted. Let me know if I can do anything to help."

  "Yep." The call ended, and David put the earpiece back on the nightstand. His thoughts, still muddled with drowsiness, could only brush against the surface of the sea of changes that had occurred in the last three days. He still felt a sharp pang of grief at the loss of Jessica, mixed with mind-blowing wonder at the fact that they'd just fought an inter-planetary war. How the future would turn out from here was anyone's guess.

  David felt his eyelids starting to droop when the phone rang again. Stifling a groan, he reached for it. "Hello?"

  "Good morning, David."

  "Roger?"

  "Could you do me a favor and come down to the station? There are several gaps in our reports on the recent V-Net… activities. I was hoping you could help fill them in. It shouldn't take long."

  Nap time was over. With a faint sigh, David threw off the covers and sat up. "Yeah, I'll be over shortly."

  The 9th V-Squad station seemed to have calmed down since the last time he had been there, though it was noticeably emptier. Several officers wore slings, and more were moving about on crutches, testaments to the injuries sustained during the recent battles. None of the wounds had been wholly physical, but nerve systems required time to heal the same as normal cuts, breaks and bruises. As David passed through toward Roger's office, he heard soft murmurs following in his wake.

  Roger sat behind his desk and stood up when David entered. They shook hands in greeting, and both sat down. "How are you feeling?" Roger asked.

  David shrugged. "Tired, mostly. You?"

  "I'll live. My head is still a little sore from the cut, but there's not much to be done until my mind realizes that I wasn't actually hurt." Roger tapped a short sequence on his computer, and turned to David. He folded his hands as a red light began to blink from the recorder on the desk.

  With a touch of self-consciousness, David described his first entrance into Analath as a result of the Crash Storm, though he left out a few details regarding the nature and purpose of the racing module. From there, he moved on to describing Ilinar, telling Roger all he knew about their ways and beliefs. He spoke of the Crash Storms and the things he'd learned about their existence and origins. Finally, he talked about Totarakh and the war.

  David described the first incursion of the Siathrak in detail, and emphasized Clyde's role in defending the people within the stadium. It was hard to gauge Roger's reaction accurately, but it seemed that he wasn't as surprised as he would have been a week ago.

  The story turned to the battles at the portal itself, and the ultimate defeat of Totarakh. David left out the details of VERA's death and revival, unsure how such news would be taken, as well as any mention of Jessica's death or Analara's presence on Phoenix. But he ended the account with the assurance that the gateway was now gone.

  "You're certain of all of this?" Roger asked.

  David nodded. "Whatever connection existed between our two worlds is closed now."

  Roger sat back in his chair. For a while neither of them spoke, as the details of the past month and a half settled like motes of dust in the air. At last, Roger gave a short laugh and shook his head. "So you literally fought back an alien invasion."

  "Doesn't seem quite so outrageous now?"

  "Actually, yes, it does. That's the irony of it though. It is completely outrageous, but completely true."

  David wasn't quite sure how to respond, so he sat and smiled.

  At length Roger rose to his feet and offered David his hand. "Thanks for coming down and filling in the blanks. Why don't you go home and get some rest? Don't forget to call your mother, of course."

  David laughed at that and shook Roger's hand. "Thanks for listening this time."

  "You're welcome. Come on, I'll walk you to the door."

  They left the office and walked down the hallway toward the main room. David felt Roger's hand grip his shoulder, and he looked up.

  Every officer of the 9th V-Squad had stopped their activities to look at him. Someone, David couldn't be sure who, began a steady rhythm that soon swept through the entire office.

  Over the sound of shouts and cheers… the V-Cops were all applauding him.

  ***

  The home that had once belonged to Jessica and her family seemed quiet and lifeless. Analara wandered the sunlit hallways, studying decorations and objects with a strangely detached curiosity. She was having difficulty wrapping her mind around the fact that this place was now hers. The death of Jessica's parents still lingered like a painful knot beneath her ribs, but it gave her some comfort to know that they had been spared the truth of their daughter's fate. Perhaps they were with Jessica now, wherever the spirits of humans returned to when their journeys were done.

  A chiming sound startled Analara from her thoughts. It came from a device on the nearby table, something that allowed people to speak to one another over long distances. David had told her how to use it, and she wondered if he was trying to reach her. She picked it up, placed it against her ear and switched it on.

  "Hello?"

  "Jessica, hon, it's Jen." It was a woman's voice, and it sounded slightly frantic. "I'm so sorry, sweetie, but two staff members are out because of the V-Net troubles last Thursday, and the elementary group has no one to watch them this morning. Can you come down?"

  Analara felt her chest tighten. She leaned against a wall, slid into a sitting position and closed her eyes tightly. "I-I'm… I'm sorry, but I'm not—"

  "With all of the things that have been happening lately, the kids are scared." The unknown woman paused, and Analara could hear a deep intake of breath. "Sky asked for you yesterday, and she started crying when I told her you weren't scheduled to be here for another week. But they would all love to see you."

  Analara couldn't speak. A group of children, frightened from the recent upheavals. In her mind she saw the faces of her young brothers and sisters in Varlath's home, their eyes all turned up at her, imploring her for comfort and safety. The need in Jen's voice was real. Part of her wanted to apologize and run away to hide someplace, while the rest of her was overwhelmed by a protective urge.

  "All right, I'll come."

  "Thank you so much, honey! The kids will be so happy."

  "Wait. There's something you should know." Analara drew in a deep breath, willing herself to be calm. "There was an… accident in V-Net. I got hurt, so I've been… forgetting things."

  "Oh, Jess," Jen consoled. "I didn't know. If you're hurt then don't even worry ab—"

  "No," Analara interrupted. "No, I will come. But I need help. I don't remember how to get there, or any of the children's names."

  It was as close to the truth as anyone needed to hear for now. Analara thought of Thomas and knew that most of Jessica's acquaintances would not be able to accept the reality of the situation.

  Jen sounded doubtful, but she was helpful and explained exactly where Analara needed to go. Thanking her, Analara put the device down and went to get dressed.

  Soon she exited the towering building that contained her home and was on her way. Morning was passing, and the sun shone off the white stone streets as it floated up through the sky. People nodded and smiled in greeting as she passed by, and she did her best to return the gestures, but her stomach churned with nervousness the entire way.

  Thankfully, Analara did not have to walk far. She arrived at a small building nestled amongst a crowd of towers. She opened the door and heard the distinct sound of children at play.

  A woman with curly red hair met her at the door with a smile and a hug, and Analara immediately guessed this was Jen. She bade Analara follow her down the hall to a room where at least twenty children played. She peered into the room, while trying to stay out of sight. "These are all orphans, aren't they?" she asked.

  Jen nodded and glanced at Analara with concern in her eyes. "Are you sure you'll be all right with this
?"

  Analara nodded.

  "Then go say hello."

  Analara had barely stepped inside the room when a voice squealed Jessica's name, and a brown-haired blur crashed into her. She looked down in surprise at the young girl now firmly affixed to her waist. The other children followed suit, until she was almost buried in small bodies and happy, chattering voices.

  Something inside Analara broke loose, and the flood she hadn't realized she'd been holding back burst free. She dropped to her knees and gathered as many of the children as she could into her arms, and her body shuddered with silent sobs.

  "Jessica?"

  It was the little girl who had first greeted her. She gazed up with wide brown eyes, and her expression reminded Analara so sharply of Tirii that a fresh wave of tears flowed from her eyes. "Why are you crying?"

  Analara opened her arms wide, and the girl hugged her around the neck. "I'm just very happy to see you," she whispered.

  The next several hours slipped away quickly. As Analara played games with the children, the grief she'd been carrying began to lessen, her soul easing beneath the sound of young laughter. The children chatted aimlessly and asked countless questions, while barely listening to the halting answers she gave. They seemed most concerned with filling their little worlds with sound. Smiling to herself, Analara came to the realization that children were children, no matter their species. Throughout the day, the little brunette girl stayed at her side, another stark reminder of the baby sister she'd left back home on Analath. Eventually the attention of the children wandered, and Analara found the two of them alone. The little girl snuggled into her arms and settled into Analara's lap.

  "Jessica, are you sick?" she asked in a timid voice.

  Analara smoothed the brown hair away from the girl's eyes. "What makes you ask?"

  "You seem different. You keep forgetting names, and you walk different. You keep saying weird words too."

  A soft, bittersweet laugh built in Analara's chest. "Weird words?" She had noticed that already. While her body was used to certain tasks and would perform them without thought, occasionally Analara's memories would collide with her new instincts, and her words would sometimes come out in Anrathian. It was difficult at times to keep the two tongues separated. Earlier, David had told her that code from V-Net had probably served as a translator while they were in Analath or inside the system, but out here, no one else could understand her native tongue.

  Analara was reminded of one of Varlath's sayings: "Children are the wisest Sages of all."

  "It's Sky, isn't it?" she asked. The little girl nodded. "I'm not sick, but I was hurt in an accident. I'm not quite the same as you remember me."

  "Will you get better?"

  Analara sighed and shook her head. "I'm afraid it's not that easy."

  "Will you still be my friend, even if you're different?"

  As a reply, she gave Sky a gentle squeeze. Her thoughts filled with memories of home, and she let a familiar tune slip from her lips. The words came easily, and she murmured them to Sky, quietly sharing a piece of her childhood.

  When the melody ended, Sky's head rested against her shoulder. "That's so pretty," she sighed.

  "I learned it a long time ago. It's a song that's meant as a gift for your truest friends, so that you will never forget them."

  Analara felt small arms tighten around her waist. "Can you teach it to me?"

  ***

  It was the smell that first drew him back to awareness. Shalaron had no way of knowing how long he'd been unconscious, but the scent cut through his mental fog like a blade. His lips curled in disgust. He opened his eyes and found himself lying on a cold stone floor, a sickening taste lingering on his tongue.

  Throwing off a rough blanket, Shalaron fought to sit up. His muscles groaned with protest, and his head beat like a drum. He was unsurprised by his surroundings: a small stone enclosure, dark, save for the trickle of fading light coming from an open slit near the top of the room. He reached out with his senses and could feel the stone slab covering the entryway, a slab that had been created with his own power. His intuition had been correct. He was in a cell in Ilinar.

  Shalaron also discovered he was not alone. There was just enough light to distinguish two figures sprawled along the floor of the room.

  "Identify yourselves," he rasped, his throat parched.

  "My lord Shalaron?" The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it. One of the figures crawled forward, and Shalaron could barely make out a long, bushy beard. "Praise Siath, you have awakened!"

  "Varlath." The memory of Ilinar's most notable patriarch solidified in Shalaron's mind.

  "Yes, my Sage," Varlath whispered. "Please forgive the state of this place. I am glad to see you awake. We feared the staleness of the air here would do your injuries ill."

  "Why are you here?"

  Varlath sighed bitterly. "Because I put my faith and trust in those who did not deserve it."

  "What—"

  The sound of stone scraping against stone filled the cell as the slab was rolled away. Light smote Shalaron in the face, but he refused to blink. He watched Varlath scoot back against the wall, fear written plainly on his squinting face. The other prisoner stirred from his place on the floor and muttered something sleepily.

  Two guards garbed in Siathrak white stood at the entrance. A third figure approached and entered the chamber. His gaze fell upon Shalaron, and a foul smile twisted his lips. "So the great Sage has stirred from his rest. How fortunate for us all."

  "Is that the captain I hear?" a voice slurred. The prone figure beside Varlath propped himself up by an elbow and regarded the Siathrak with a somnolent glare. "Come to bleat in our ears further, Sarolkh? If the Siathrak priests' voices are anything like yours, one of their sermons could make a nightmare seem welcoming."

  Shalaron's gaze pierced through the shadows surrounding the warrior's face, and he recognized the insignia of a guard captain of the Holy Army.

  "Ever charming, boy," Sarolkh sneered, but his gaze remained fixed on Shalaron. "I wonder if you will ever tire of the beatings over your ill-mannered tongue. My soldiers do enjoy the exercise."

  "Not so long as your soldiers throw blows like a dying neerb. They couldn't beat a baby temken into submission. I've almost come to look forward to my daily massages."

  "Truly you have no shame, wildkin. Or perhaps you were taught this insubordination. Mayhap you are actually a secret pupil of the great Sage of Ilinar. Do you claim responsibility for this one's actions, Shalaron?"

  Shalaron's eyes narrowed, and he set his gaze on the other prisoner. The presence of a mental power was unmistakable. Gray eyes met his, and Rupu's mouth fell open in astonishment. "My lord!"

  He moved to stand, but Shalaron stopped him with a gesture. Rupu crouched back down, his expression giving way to a faint hope. Shalaron turned his attention back to Sarolkh. "Why do the Siathrak occupy my city?"

  Sarolkh lifted his chin with scorn. "The Siathrak are all that stand between your city and oblivion. You have been sorely neglectful of your duties as Sage."

  "Only Totarakh himself could order me imprisoned. This begs the question of why he has come to Ilinar so quickly after my absence."

  Sarolkh hissed. "You are not worthy to speak the name of the High Priest. The will of Siath is not open to one such as you. Now you will tell me what you were doing at the black gate, before we discovered you."

  Shalaron raised an eyebrow, and a faint smirk settled on his lips. "I was fighting the invaders."

  Sarolkh snorted. "I do not believe you." He knelt down.

  Shalaron's senses instinctively slowed as the captain's hand lashed out. He watched it drift toward him and commanded his muscles to remain still while fingers gripped his hair and smashed his head against the wall. Pain exploded in flaming spots before his eyes, but he forced his mind to stay calm.

  "Foul knave," he heard Rupu snarl distantly. "You have no right to harm him."

  "Silence the whelp," S
arolkh sneered.

  Through blurred vision Shalaron saw a guard march into the cell, and he heard the sound of stone striking bone. Rupu fell into Varlath's lap. The old man curled his arms around the unconscious boy and glared at the guard.

  Sarolkh sniffed with disdain. "You sages must learn to mind your manners. Some of you don't know when to still your tongues, while others…" His hand pressed Shalaron's face into the stone. "…speak only in lies."

  Shalaron forced himself to meet Sarolkh's gaze. Blood surged within his veins, bringing a rush of heat. He drew his mind into focus and reached out for his power, but a faint barrier filled his thoughts with haze whenever he drew close. In his heart, he screamed in rage. Twenty years ago he had vowed never to be bound by malan again. Now he was at the mercy of a sadistic zealot, and his people were unprotected from the ravages of the Siathrak.

  If main force would not work, then deception was required. Shalaron made his choice. He let his body sag in Sarolkh's grip, and his eyes slid downward. Assured that his prisoner was powerless, Sarolkh regarded Shalaron with an arrogant grin. "The poor little Sage is so helpless if he doesn't watch what he eats. Don't worry, we'll make sure you have another dose of your favorite root soon. Perhaps you may even learn the folly of challenging Siath's own."

  Sarolkh drew back his arm and struck Shalaron across the jaw. The world teetered and went gray. Sarolkh stood up. "I shall allow you time to seek the truth. Then we will do this again. Search well, great Sage. The Siathrak have little patience for lies. Remember that well."

  He departed, and the disc was rolled back into place, enclosing them all in deepening shadow. Shalaron heard Varlath muttering under his breath, but whether prayers or curses he could not tell. Rupu's ragged breathing was a mere rustle in the stale air.

  Shalaron found a blanket and wrapped it about himself, settling into a relaxed position. Pressing his palm over his heart, he focused on the rhythm and returned to an inner calm, pushing the pain into the back of his mind.

  For the time being, Sarolkh was the opposition. He needed to be defeated so that Ilinar could be freed. Only then would Shalaron be able to pursue his primary goal. His thoughts returned to the visions he had seen in the other world. Sarolkh had been right about one thing. Shalaron had found the truth, and he would not let the misguided servants of a false god stand between him and his mission.