Simon watched as the fifteen longboats, so tiny in this endless void, faded upon preset coordinates. They would emerge in their respective histories and become the hidden guardians of humanity, the pre-emptive strike against the Enemy.
The longboats gone, Simon focused on the task at hand.
At his signal, the Judas faded from the Stream, dropped into the Enemy midst, fell upon a path into damnation.
The Judas had a little time to kill.
A very little time.
Alone.
Sapphire wept as she slid the stasis chamber cover closed above her. She was alone.
Darkness take me.
She had loved her parents. Her sister. Mara. Now all were but a fading memory. Oh, the emptiness…
Darkness take me.
Her hands flickered in the night of the stasis chamber. With one thought she would be uploaded into the longboat cache and join the others on their mission. With another thought, she could end it all. She could escape from this world of darkness, this world of betrayal. She could be free.
She prayed that her life had been just a dream.
Finding no one left to answer her prayer, she fell to the black.
Darkness take me.
Let it end.
Her frail form began to resonate with the silver fires within.
Alone.
Let it end.
She shifted into the void. Sleep came to her.
Forever.
THIS IS THE TIME OF THE HOLY PURPOSE, OH BRETHREN. A TIME OF BEGINNINGS, A TIME OF ENDINGS, A TIME OF PURPOSE. THE MOMENT DRAWS NEAR. LET US OPEN THE GATE TO ETERNITY. LET US OPEN THE GATEWAY TO DIVINITY. LET US COMPLETE OUR GOD OMEGA. LET US SEE WHAT LIES BEYOND THIS DEAD REALM. LET US REWRITE ALL OF TIME IN OUR IMAGE FROM ITS VERY BEGINNING. WE WILL CREATE A UNIVERSE IN THEIR IMAGE! WE WILL BE ONE WITH OMEGA! WE WILL BE GODS! WE ARE GODS!
PURPOSE BE!
PURPOSE BE!
PURPOSE BE!
The Judas tore into the When.
The reaction was immediate.
Simon had never seen anything like it, countless maniacal forms grouped around a brilliant sphere of energy, so like a grotesque egg sac. The nightmare horde swept outward, ready to defend their nest.
((FIRE FIRE FIRE!))
The V of Judas formed a pointed wall of blistering death, and so, so many Enemy fell before this unstoppable force. The Enemy were caught off-guard for an instant, and the sweep of Judas weapons fire carved a clean hole through their lines. A path to the Alpha Point.
((DIVE! CONCENTRATE FIRE DIRECTLY AHEAD, AND DIVE FOR THE POINT! IT’S OUR ONLY CHANCE!))
So like a single organism, the Judas fleet maneuvered as a fluid into the midst of the insane ocean of Enemy forces, which began to close in from behind as the Judas passed.
There was no way out.
With all weapons firing at the path directly ahead, the sides and backs of the Judas were left vulnerable. The Enemy saw this weakness and struck, but not before it was almost too late.
The Judas at the rear of the formation began to fall, cut apart by the Enemy lines closing in from behind. Disabled, they carried out their last orders and self-destructed, each taking out a sizeable number of Black with them.
Almost there…
But still the Enemy hordes swarmed about, decreasing the number of the Judas. Fifteen. Ten. Eight. Five left.
Simon was exhausted, but fought onward, having come too far to succumb now.
Three left.
Everything seemed to go into slow motion. Time itself took on a shimmering, acidic quality. The ocean of silver flickered with the energy of the kill.
The Enemy were so close.
But so was the Alpha Point.
Two Judas left.
Simon and Mara.
((FIRE EVERYTHING YOU HAVE BACKWARDS AT THEM! THEY’RE CLOSING IN!))
Mara sent blazing lances of phase energy back into the Enemy lines, sending many to their death. At last they were in the clear, only the Point ahead.
It began.
The Alpha Point began to radiate a harsher light, and the pulses of energy quickened their pace. The Big Bang was about to see its fiery birth.
And from all around them, from behind the approaching Enemy masses, the collapsing spherical wave of destruction that was the Judas reformat virus that was tearing the Stream into non-existence emerged, in its ferocity imploding the Enemy nearest to it. It fast approached, a wall of innate blackness.
Rock and a hard place.
It was time.
((MARA, BEGIN—))
And one of her nacelles was ripped from her, the ravenous Enemy brood falling upon her, unmindful of the certain death that bore down upon them…
((MARA!))
(GO, SIMON! FORGET ME! JUST GO—)
Mara was no more. The Enemy upon her, they tore her pattern from existence with a bloody ferocity.
He was alone.
Hell in front, hell behind, in his heart, in his mind.
Simon.
What…? Who…?
Do it, Simon.
A voice in his mind…
((magdalene…?))
Do it, Simon. So you can be with me.
((maggie?))
So we can be together again. Do it.
((MAGGIE?)) The Enemy raced toward him.
The reformat virus drew near.
The Big Bang was starting.
He spun around, facing the oncoming horde and the wave of destruction.
Do it, Simon.
Invert your Shadow.
The Big Bang was furious in its rage behind him, as matter met antimatter, as the force was magnified by the pattern energy gathered by the Enemy. By the countless souls that began to upload into the quantum singularity of the Alpha Point.
Invert your Shadow.
The voice echoed in his shattered mind.
And reflected in the fast-approaching wave of hell he could see her face, as once it had been, before all of this, before the nightmare, before the Enemy, before the Judas, before the pain. She smiled, beckoned. She beckoned to him.
Come to me, Simon. Do it. Invert your Shadow.
All the pain, all the heartbreak, all the suffering. For the infinite dead. For the patterns trapped in the hell of Omega for all of eternity. He could change it. He could rewrite it. In his death would be the life of the new universe.
He could live again.
Do it, Simon. Sleep, Simon.
Yes, Maggie. Sweet, sweet Maggie.
I love you.
He inverted his Shadow.
Deep within the blackness, an infinity of possibilities beckoned, each with its own pain, each with its own joy, each with its own darkness, each with its own beauty.
Somewhere in time—
—creating a fire—
—building a pyramid—
—hanging on a cross—
—discovering a new world—
—starting a war—
—dropping a bomb—
—assassinating a president—
—leading a nation—
—ending a life—
—becoming a savior—
—the Judas survived.
Seattle, Washington.
Rain. Why does it always have to rain?
You know you like it better that way.
He relented and turned his attention back to the book before him and the tepid cup of coffee that graced the tabletop. He took a sip nonchalantly, turned the page, read. It wasn’t bad coffee, besides being piss-warm and possessing the color of a muddy trench.
Why do I drink this shit?
Seattle in the springtime. Rain. Coffeehouse. Classic Nirvana. The weblink babbled incessantly. President Jennings had just signed an historic peace accord with Indochine Francais and the Siberian Corporate Alliance. The weblink showed the president and his family waving to the assembled masses at the United World building. The country was at peace; the world for once was at peace. The people were happy. He co
uldn’t really blame the weblink for the nation’s jubilation.
Then why are you like this?
Eyes. Watching.
Stop being so paranoid.
The swirl of people in the busy coffeehouse obstructed his vision, but he knew he was being watched. Somewhere. Someone.
He turned the page.
He knew someone was approaching, but did not let his downward gaze falter. He found solace in the black and white print.
“Hesse?”
A woman stood before him. The question hung languidly in the rain-cooled air. Their eyes met, and for a second Simon Hayes was speechless.
“No. Hayes.”
She nervously laughed. “No. The book. It’s Hesse, right?”
“Y—Yes. Hesse.” He indicated the novel he held. “Demian.”
“I love Demian. ‘I have ceased to question stars and books—’”
“’—And I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me.’”
She smiled a smile that could shatter a man’s dreams, a kind of smile that you search for your entire life and sometimes never find. She extended her hand and sat down at Simon’s table.
“Magdalene Flynn.”
She had the most beautiful pale blue eyes. They looked almost gray. They reminded him of the storm outside.
She shook his hand and the contact was like electricity. Hayes was visibly disturbed. Her eyes. Her hands…
Have I lived this? Do I know you? Have I loved you before?
“You’re Simon Hayes, aren’t you? The Deus Ex Machina Simon Hayes. I saw you on the link.”
“Yes, Ms. Flynn. I am that Simon Hayes. Listen, have we—”
“Call me Maggie.”
The name. He knew he had met her before.
“Maggie.” He mouthed the name and found it felt at home issuing from his voice. “Maggie, do I know you? Have we met before?”
Her smile weakened, her brow furrowing with concern. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Hayes. I didn’t mean to—”
“Have we met before?” His voice was forceful, but not harsh. “I could almost swear that I’ve met you before.”
“No.” She frowned the frown of someone who feels that they are intruding. “No, we haven’t. I was just wondering, could I have your autograph?” She extracted a battered, dog-eared copy of Deus Ex Machina, the original, first edition print.
Simon snapped from his unexplained reverie. “Of course, Maggie. I didn’t mean to scare you, and I apologize. It’s just—Well, you look like someone I think I once knew.”
“Déjà vu? Yeah, I have that all the time.” She produced an ancient ink pen.
He opened the book to the front inside cover and scrawled his standard autograph-seeker greeting. “To Maggie: Deep within the blackness, an infinity of possibilities beckons. All the best, Simon Hayes.”
“I haven’t seen a first edition print of this in years.” He laughed to himself. He was about to hand the book back, when he opened it up again and wrote something else underneath his passage. He closed the paperback and handed it back.
Maggie Flynn read his inscription. The statement he had added was simply “Thank you.”
“Oh, Mr. Hayes, thank you. I’ve read Deus so many times, and never imagined that I’d meet you. I fell in love with it years ago in modern literature class. I used it when I argued my dissertation. I teach it in my own modern lit class. We’re contemporaries, you know. I used to write poetry.” She smiled shyly.
“I used to write poetry as well, believe it or not.”
“I believe it.” She looked into his eyes for too long, and they both hastily looked away awkwardly. “Um.. Yeah, I wrote poetry. And you wrote novels. And, well, here we are, Mr. Hayes.”
“Yes. Here we are. And please call me Simon.”
She smiled again, that smile that washed away the present and made Simon dream of a future past in which they had lived and loved and died, the world that had haunted him all the days of his life. And here she was before him, the woman whose face he had dreamt of. The woman whose face had replayed in his mind nightly.
“Well, thank you very much, Simon. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
She put the world-weary book into her equally-traveled backpack and walked to the door. She pulled up her hood, and readied herself for the rain.
Don’t let her slip away again.
But there was nothing he could do. He would never see her again. She would slip into the storm and disappear from his life.
Don’t let her slip away this time.
But I can’t—
She opened the door, and the rain came in, stippling the floor with water.
He stood.
“Maggie.” He called after her, and she turned in the doorway.
“Mr. Hayes?”
“Please don’t go. Please… Will you join me for some coffee? It’s—Well, it’s not very good, it’s pretty terrible coffee in fact, but I’d love to discuss Demian with you. I’d love to discuss anything with you. I mean… It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone to talk to. Besides, there’s a storm outside, and it doesn’t look like it’ll let up for quite some time.”
She looked out into the rain and turned back, smiling, face already wet from the ferocity of the storm. She entered the coffeeshop again and let the door swing shut behind her.
“I’d be honored to, Mr. Hayes.”
“Please. Call me Simon.”
“All right. Simon.” She smiled when she said it, and it made him smile for what seemed the first time in his life.
He was reborn in the light of her eyes, and for once he was happy.
They spoke into the night, and when the storm had passed and the supply of bad coffee was gone, they explored the city by the ghostly moonlight. Neither had ever felt closer to another person. They had only just met, but they had known each other forever. Under the stars they laughed and cried and found what each had searched a lifetime for in the other. As the sun rose from the black of the east, they began the new day together, each knowing love at last.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Paul Evan Hughes is the seven-time Independent Publisher Book Award-winning writer and editor of Silverthought Press. His work includes the novels Enemy, An End, and Broken: A Plague Journal and the short fiction collection Certain Devastations. He lives in Evans Mills, NY with his wife and sons.
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