Dragonvein Book Five

by Brian D. Anderson

  This claim produced a loud snort of derision from his visitor. “So you have discovered a way of extending your life, have you? I should think that is beyond even your renowned capabilities.” Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a small handheld communicator. “Here. This is the choice you have to make.”

  Hesitating only for a moment, Ta’ Mar walked over and accepted the offering. On the screen was a familiar schematic. It was the containment he had built for his creation, but with a few minor alterations. After studying the symbols, he caught his breath. “You can’t be suggesting…”

  “Can you think of another way?” Bur’ Molica took back the communicator. “I can make the modifications easily enough, but you would then have to send it away immediately. And if I do this for you, you must swear not to tell anyone of my help.”

  Ta’ Mar lowered his head. So this was the choice he had to make: Save the life of his creation by sending it into the deepest depths of space, or allow the powers that ruled their world to destroy him. If he chose the former, exile would be a certainty. But the idea of doing nothing…

  “Very well, you have my word,” he said. “I assume I can return to the lab.”

  “Yes, if you leave right away. Everything is already in place. All you need to do is activate it.”

  “So... you already knew what my decision would be.”

  “Of course I did. You and I are not as different as you would like to admit.”

  Ta’ Mar sighed. At that moment, he knew this claim to be true. He had long despised Bur’ Molica for his pandering and placation of lesser minds; by doing so, the man had risen through the ranks to be second in importance only to the committee members themselves. But in spite of this antipathy, he had always known that Bur’ Molica possessed a great intelligence. And perhaps that was the root of the problem. Though not an intellect equal to his own, it had been close enough to challenge him on many issues throughout the years.

  “I have allowed my pride to cloud my judgment,” he said finally. “I…thank you.”

  “Don’t. This will end your career. Worse still, it will rob us of a once-in-a-generation mind.” He blew out a long sigh. “But what else can I do? As you told the committee: We don’t kill.”

  Without so much as another word or even a brief meeting of eyes, he exited the house.

  Ta’ Mar remained at the window, staring out at the still waters for several minutes before making a call for transportation back to the lab. While waiting for this to arrive, he shuffled from room to room, examining the various odds and ends he’d collected throughout his life. In his younger days, he had been something of an amateur archaeologist, exploring the ruins of his people’s ancient past, going back to a time even before they had stepped upon the coarse sands of the second moon. In those days the stars had been mysterious things of wonder, populated with beings of unfathomable power.

  He picked up a wooden flute from the ruins at Yalin – his first real find. The carvings along the shaft were worn and barely discernible; it had taken many months to decipher them. The curator of the site had encouraged him to pursue his interest in far greater earnest, and for a time he had actually given the proposal serious consideration. But in the end it was his professors who dissuaded him. He possessed too keen a mind to be wasted digging in the dirt, they told him. Though at this moment, he dearly wished he had ignored their advice.

  The door chime told him that the transport had arrived. Shoving the flute into his pocket, he took a deep breath. He would not be returning. There was no reason to.

  With his mind completely occupied with the series of events he was about to set into motion, the ride back seemed unusually short. Naturally, they would try to stop him if they knew what he was about to do, but he was betting that Bur’ Molica had done his best to ensure he would not be disturbed. For a start, he noticed on entering the building that the bio-scanners had not yet been reset for the day. If they had, the committee would have been alerted to his presence very quickly indeed. Even so, once the deed was done, he would not have a hope of being able to pass again through the main lobby.

  He took a route through the facility he knew would not be busy at this time in the afternoon. After spending nearly all of his adult life inside its walls, no one knew the place better. Over the years he had witnessed its steady expansion until it became indisputably the planet’s premier research center – and all largely due to discoveries he had made.

  The door to his lab was slightly ajar. He paused. This is it, he told himself. The lights inside were dimmed and the air cold and still. Not that this was a problem; even if it had been pitch dark, he still could have found his way around effortlessly. The lock clicked behind him with grim finality. Only three other people were capable of opening the door now, and two of those were almost certainly at home with their families. Not even the committee members could get in without breaking it down. He had made sure of that on the very first day he began work here.

  A second door at the rear was shut tight. Ta’Mar touched the keypad, causing it to slide open with a thin hiss. By contrast, this room was brightly lit. His creation did not enjoy the dark. It wasn’t quite fear – more like extreme discomfort.

  The modifications Bur’ Molica had made would not be evident; they had been built into the structure itself. He ran his hand over the smooth silver metal section of the prison. Almost instantly it vibrated in response. It knew he was there.

  “Shin’ Zan,” he whispered. “My creation. I am so very sorry.”

  Left for him on a table in the near corner was the small pulse generator to carry Shin’ Zan into the heavens. It would function for only a few hours, but that would be enough. Once he had broken orbit, he would drift eternally – sustained by the energy of the stars themselves.

  Pressing his cheek against the vessel, Ta’ Mar said in little more than a whisper: “Can you hear me?” A tiny vibration followed by a low hum came to him as confirmation. “You are not evil,” he continued. “You can’t be. I know it. And I won’t let them destroy you.”

  He stood in mournful silence for a short time, sorrow pouring down his cheeks in salty streams. The thin whistle of the alarm then snapped him back into the moment, warning him that someone was trying to gain entry to the lab. Quickly, he retrieved the pulse generator and fastened it securely around the vessel. Muffled voices could now be heard from the other side of the far door. In spite of his precautions, he must have been spotted, because he heard his name mentioned. Even so, it was clear they did not have any idea what he was intending to do. If they did, they would have immediately set about breaching the door with a plasma cutter.

  Hurrying over to a panel on the far wall, he punched in a code – one that he had never used before. For a tense moment, nothing happened. Then, with a rush of air, the ceiling began to slide open at the center. Whoever was outside must have heard it as well because they were now banging loudly and barking orders for him to let them in.

  They were too late. After activating the pulse generator, Ta’ Mar took several paces back. By now the ceiling was fully open, allowing pink moonlight to shine directly down into the lab. He gazed up at the endless expanse of night sky that was about to become his creation’s new home. It would certainly hide him from those who wished him harm; but to survive for what kind of existence? Lonely and devoid of love, Shin’ Zan would undoubtedly evolve, and there was no way of knowing how long his life would last. From all that Ta’ Mar could ascertain, his creation could well be eternal. An everlasting life without a single soul to keep him company.

  The cruelty of such a fate struck deeply. Suddenly, Ta’ Mar began experiencing severe doubts over his choice of action. Perhaps it would be better for Shin’ Zan to die after all? Wouldn’t that be the lesser of two evils?

  It was a waste of time allowing such thoughts to form. He no longer had any choice in the matter; the point of no return had been reached. With its engine humming and crackling, the vessel containing his creation was already ris
ing.

  Ta’ Mar squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “Please forgive me,” he murmured.

  * * * * *

  He felt empty. Cold. The worlds he knew were rapidly fading. Only the small points of light ahead convinced him that he was not actually tumbling all the way into oblivion. Even the grief-stricken face of…father?...yes, that word seemed to fit...was becoming difficult to recall. He had named him something. Evil? Monster? Devil? No, that was what the others had called him. Father had named him something different. Sinza…Shilzam…Shinzan. Yes, that was it. Shinzan. But what did it mean?

  How long had it been since he had heard father’s voice? Would he ever see him again? No. He had been abandoned. And now he was doomed to drift. The tiny amount of energy seeping in from the darkness only served to make him aware of just how hungry he was. If only he could get closer to those tantalizing points of light. Surely one of them would be enough to satisfy his appetite. But they were still so far away. How would he get there?

  He imagined himself hurtling toward a bright red light off to his left. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the red light was suddenly directly ahead. How had he done this? All at once, he was excited. What else was he capable of? Could he return home if he concentrated on this hard enough? Could he return to the place where the voices had kept him company?

  * * * * *

  The hunger was never ending. Not even the inferno of this latest star had been enough. The empty void inside caused him incessant pain. How long would he be forced to endure? Why had they done this to him?

  After the first star had failed to fill him, he moved on. But with each one he fed upon, he was becoming more and more aware of the passage of time. The loneliness had taken on a new meaning. It dug into the core of his being and twisted his mind to dark thoughts. He wanted it to end, but there was no way to bring that about. The hunger drove him. It was relentless.

  The blue haze of the rocky body below created a flicker of hope. It felt somehow different…tasted different, too. It made him see the universe with a different perspective. He was inexorably drawn to it. He needed to make it a part of who he was. This place reminded him of something. Something from long ago.

  While penetrating the planet’s upper atmosphere, he could see strange beings scattered about the surface. They were unaware of him for the moment. But soon that would change. He would no longer be alone. At long last there were other voices.

  * * * * *

  Shinzan brushed the dirt from his bare arms and chest while surveying the ground around him. It was littered with bodies. The people living on this planet were no different to the ones who had abandoned him. But they were much easier to kill.

  The energy...the life...that had enticed him when first arriving was nearly extinct. All of it consumed by him. Yet still he felt the hunger. Even though it was far less demanding than it had been in the early days, it still needed to be satisfied. This, he knew, would never change.

  So he must find more life elsewhere to devour.

  His thoughts drifted back over the years he had spent on this now-desolate world. The first body he had taken over was that of a child. He could still see the horrified expressions on the faces of its parents when they had discovered him soaked in blood and grinning from ear to ear. They hadn’t the intelligence to understand him or to fathom what had happened. He had been careful to hide his vessel. And though he could leave it, he was still bound to its power. Should it ever be damaged or destroyed, he knew beyond doubt that his life would end.

  He quickly realized that although he was now among other voices, the loneliness had not been not banished. These were simple minds, who had yet to leave the confines of their own world. It made his longing for home that much greater. In the years that followed, he had learned to hate his maker with an ever-increasing ferocity. He had been sent into the bleak and everlasting expanse of the universe without any self-knowledge or purpose. He had been banished from all he had known by the very being whom he had trusted… and loved.

  Love. Yes. A strange sensation. The people of this planet had spent much of their time in pursuit of its joys. Their literature and music was filled with words and melodies expressing its merits, yet for him it was only ever associated with sorrow and pain. Pain that had festered and grown, giving birth to raw anger, vengeance, and lust. These were the emotions in which he ultimately found solace. The death and fear he inspired amongst these people had brought him to realms of ecstasy that he had not believed possible.

  Am I evil? he had once wondered, recalling the words he had heard spoken of him. By the reckoning of this world, yes, he undoubtedly was. He had become its embodiment. But now it was over. They were all dead, and once again he was left with nothing but his own voice to keep him company.

  There must be other worlds, he considered. Other pleasures to be discovered.

  Already he could feel the hunger becoming increasingly demanding. It had taken thousands of lifetimes measured in the span of the mortals living here just to find this place. What if it was the only one of its kind? What would happen to him then? Would he lose all awareness? During his time on this planet, he had become far more enlightened. He could remember events, faces, voices from the past. He could envision the future and feel excited about what it might bring. To lose this was unthinkable. No. Surely there must be more. Thousands of inhabited worlds, perhaps. And he would consume every one of them.

  He allowed the body he currently possessed to falter. The heart slowed and his breathing became shallow. It was time to move on. Within seconds he was free of any constraint. It felt curious. No longer inhibited by corporeal form, he could at last fully grasp the scope of what had been done. No, not done...achieved. Once-grassy plains and lush forests had been turned to dust. Where there was once life of seemingly infinite variety, not a thing now stirred. It was amazingly beautiful.

  The vessel which was his true home beckoned him. In a way, it was as alive as he. It had evolved along with him. Often he had considered forsaking any more physical existences and completing his tasks from within its comforting embrace. But that would make interaction virtually impossible – and himself more vulnerable. Not that there was anything left here to threaten him.

  As he broke the bonds of gravity and started back toward the heavens, he could see the face of his father – racked with pain and doubt. He wondered if he still lived. Probably not. Compared with the primitives of this world he was leaving, his father’s race was immeasurably more powerful. Nonetheless, they were still mortal. Which meant vengeance against those who had abandoned him would be impossible to attain. Even if he could find his way home, he would not be able to loose his fury on them.

  Not that any of this really mattered. His memory would not allow him to find his way back again. His full awareness had not formed until recently; life had then molded it and helped it to grow. He was Shinzan. And though his creator had not seen fit to give him a purpose, he had given one to himself.

  To feed.

  * * * * *

  Fury. Rage. Revenge.

  He looked back on the desolation his hunger had wrought. This time he had almost been destroyed. The people of Garnar were far more advanced than the previous races he’d encountered. They had colonized their own solar system and were well on their way to exploring the stars beyond. They had seen through his deceptions and knew him for what he was: evil. That he had survived and triumphed was nothing short of pure luck.

  Their bodies had been difficult to possess. Even the times when he did succeed in this, three of them had been killed. On the first occasion, he had come perilously close to being permanently trapped inside the corpse. Only his connection to his vessel enabled him to break free. Both of the subsequent times were fraught with danger too, and as a result he’d almost been forced to flee the planet. But the hunger would not allow him to surrender. And now he was able to manipulate matter. The energy of this world was different, helping to speed his growth and showing him a tantalizing glimpse of h
is true potential. More than that, it had also helped him to discover his way home.

  He could now trace back his journey all the way to its origin. He could return if he chose to. He could have his revenge after all – unleash his fury. But it was not yet time. The people there were still too strong. The Garnarians were mere children by comparison, and even they had very nearly overcome him. No. He must become even more powerful. And there was only one way to accomplish this.

  As he re-entered his vessel, it pulsed as if in greeting. It was now fully self-aware. Had his creator anticipated this? Had he known to what extent he was able to evolve? Perhaps. Perhaps not. What was certain was his burning hatred. That would not be doused. With more lives and more worlds to consume, he would eventually become strong enough to take his revenge. It mattered not in the least that all those responsible were likely dead – their mortal forms turned to dust. Their descendants would pay in their stead.

  In the far reaches of space, just at the edge of his perception, something caught his attention. Life. He had become quite adept at sniffing it out from amongst the billions of uninhabited heavenly bodies. Breaking free from the confines of Garnar – or at least, what remained of its devastated world – he willed his vessel toward this new destination.

  There was something odd. Something new. He could feel a life force, far greater than anything he’d experienced before, emanating from the distant orb. But unlike other worlds, this was not coming from those scurrying about the surface like the insects he saw them to be. This was issuing from deep within. Like a star, its elemental inferno blasted radiance into the void like a beacon, calling on him to come and feast.

  Suddenly, the millennia it would take to get there gave him a feeling of desperation. Time usually held little meaning for him. Between each conquest was an ocean of cold emptiness to which he had grown accustomed. He had learned to lie dormant and conserve his power, to glide lazily toward his destination until it was time to unleash his wrath. But this…hunger to taste this new experience stabbed into him, hot and maddening.