The Sigian Bracelet

by George Tome

  Soon, it became clear why the abomination tortured him like that. The jure most likely didn’t need his neurons to transfer Uralia—the bracelet should have been able to communicate with the ship’s interfaces without such intermediaries—but he paralyzed his movements so that Gill couldn’t stop the process. It would be a disaster if he managed to disconnect the bracelet during the transfer—especially near the end, when the monster would move his hideous algorithms. Breaking the contact might kill him…

  Suddenly cheered by the happy prospect, he decided to resist the savage assaults.

  Unfortunately, despite his un-Antyran efforts, after a while, it became clear that his endeavor was bound to fail; he tried to babble a curse, but he passed out, missing an ideal opportunity to rid the universe of the monster.

  After some time, the terrible pain stopped. As he had promised, Ugo finally released his ganglions. For the first time after many days, he felt his kyi free, truly free from the shadow of the hideous parasite.

  “Ugo! Ugo, where are you?” he shouted.

  No one replied. He scrambled to his feet, wobbling, and dragged himself to the nearest wall to lean on. He looked around as if he expected the incarnation of the virtual monster to appear from somewhere.

  “When are you going to kill me?” he shouted hoarsely at the surrounding nothingness.

  There was no sign of pseudo-life. He calmed down, wondering what to do next. It was pretty clear he couldn’t drive the Sigian ship without the jure’s help, and somehow, he doubted that Ugo would help him fly to the aliens. It crossed his kyi to go out of the catacombs, reach the Grammian vessel, and try to steer it to the Federals.

  But regardless if he could make it or not, everything was lost! Ugo would fly the destroyer and hide in a crack for a while… and then, on a nice morning, the universe would wake up changed. The new god, greater than all the gods from time immemorial, would reveal himself. Whatever face he would give to reality, nothing would be the same anymore. Any sentient creature of the galaxy, including the present-day-Ugo, would find it impossible to fathom the magnitude of the change.

  But Gill had no hope that the individuality of the billions and billions of beings eaten by the metamorphosis would be preserved in one form or another. After all, what reason would Ugo have to keep them alive—and especially, what reason would the creatures have to want to live? Most likely, the god would crush them like a bunch of parasitic dolmecs. Their feeble, ephemeral shells would have to make way for the purity of the virtual monster, for the technological singularity evolved at the end of the metamorphosis. The age of biological creatures would end in all the worlds of the universe…

  Gill had heard only vague stories about the subspace whirls,93 considered by most Antyrans to be little more than a bunch of wild assumptions and known in detail by just a few theorists from the Matter Tower in Alixxor. Although the Antyrans had mastered nuclear fusion, they had serious gaps in understanding the laws of nature—not the least due to the cage of the firewall, which didn’t allow them to see the universe and test their assumptions. But for all the meagerness of his knowledge, he imagined that falling into the center of a subspace whirl had to be the same as touching Ugo’s expansion.

  Even though the jure’s singularity would need a humongous amount of time to reach all the corners of space and time, even though the change would truly stop only at the end of all things, for those close to the god—like the neighboring worlds of Mapu and Antyra—the expansion front would arrive swiftly, without the slightest warning. His civilization would become extinct faster than a tailbeat.

  Perhaps tired of loneliness, the god would dream. And what dreams! He could dream of anything—or, better to say, he could dream everything. That would be the only consolation, to live again—even briefly—in an abomination’s infinite imagination. Sandara once told him: “We are what we dream!” Could it be that this resumed the whole existence, the whole experience of being alive? The whole struggle, all the suffering of his little world ripped by conflict, would end up as a dream of a giant cannibal bacteria—lonely and bored to death—its tentacles as long as the universe?

  If he left the destroyer, he risked letting the madness unfold. It was true that after reaching the Federals, he could tell them about the Sigian ship and the abomination hidden in its memory. He had a foreboding that the prospect of Ugo’s expansion wouldn’t necessarily overwhelm them with joy. In fact, he was pretty sure that their fleets would start hunting the monster to solve the crisis—that is, of course, if the jure’s intelligence didn’t prove to be above theirs, allowing him to hide too well to be found…

  But why would Ugo risk being hunted by the Federal armies instead of killing Gill before he could raise the alarm?

  Now that he was rid of the parasite, Gill decided it made sense to test the nodes of the continuum, even though he held no hope of finding a saving crack. And just as expected, as soon as he smelled the paths opened in the fabric of the future, certainty took the place of suspicion: Ugo had left him alive not because he had a head injury and suddenly felt he couldn't kill him, but because the jure needed him alive to copy his algorithms—more exactly, to move them, because he was unable to copy his code, as Sandara explained. After he transferred Uralia, Ugo moved his hideous entity inside the destroyer’s memory, thus being forced—probably to his great regret—to let go of his grip. That’s why Gill was still alive, apparently free to roam the ship… but not free to leave the planet.

  Of course, in Ugo’s present situation, there were some small technicalities in the way of an ordinary murder, like the fact that the jure—being a bit dead—was lacking the required limbs with which to handle various skull-crushing objects. And he couldn’t repeat the elegant method used to get rid of Baila’s fat initiate. Nevertheless, Gill was convinced that the jure would manage to overcome the obstacles with the characteristic ingenuity he had always shown. What if he hid a “surprise” in the bracelet? Perhaps he overwrote some commands, turning it into a lethal trap. Or maybe he didn’t waste time with such risky finesses—after all, Gill could keep the bracelet deactivated until he reached Antyra’s outskirts—and would just fly the Sigian destroyer out of the hill to blast the Grammian ship to pieces before it even reached orbit. Or perhaps he had prepared another, even more spectacular way to shut off his kyi’s smell… After all, it didn’t matter how Ugo planned for him to die, as long as the jure followed the paths before him to ensure that all were leading to the same end.

  “Ugo!” he shouted again.

  And suddenly, as he stood gloomy and confused, he realized that he knew all too well what he had to do, because there was only one alternative. The idea had landed in his kyi some time ago, but he chased it out of his way, refusing to consciously think about it. And not only out of fear that Ugo-of-the-bracelet might have read his intentions, but mostly because it wasn’t meant for him to contemplate it. Now, however, the time had come to accept it bravely, to step on a path from where he’d have little chance to return alive. But Ugo would lose anyway. He had already lost without knowing it. Yet.

  Gill gathered all his strength to put in motion what he had to do. He knew the monster was way too smart to be fooled by some clumsy pretense—he had to be truly decided to go to the bitter end to defeat the abomination.

  He took a deep breath, realizing with satisfaction that he again became the one who picked his future, even if the future was going to be short and soaked in blood—and he wasn’t choosing only his future but that of the other beings in the galaxy.

  He tensed his whole body, prepared to fight the terror of the approaching death, the begging for a minute of delay… Instead of that, he felt an un-Antyran feeling of tranquility, and for the first time in his life, his thoughts really quelled, letting him hear the silence from behind the words hidden in the depths of his kyi.

  “Death is only the beginning,” he whispered the first sentence of the Sacred Book Inrumiral, hoping—after so many years of heresy—that behind the proph
et’s words lay a crumble of truth.

  Gill pulled out the bracelet. He put it back on his arm and then immediately tried to take it off, without activating it. The self-destruct alarm started to shrill loudly, and he realized, surprised, that it didn’t terrify him as he was afraid it would. He didn’t have to fight the impulse to enter the code, to stop the devastating blast about to come. He had gotten accustomed to the sight of death; it became part of his kyi. He had the feeling that he wasn’t on the destroyer’s floor—he was a spectator, watching with cold indifference the drama unfolding under the ruins of an alien city.

  A portion of a wall awoke to life, becoming a screen, and Ugo’s mug appeared on it. He was in a meadow, surrounded by a tekal forest about to yield.

  “Gill, did you cry for me?” he asked in a seemingly calm voice.

  Gill utterly ignored him, focused on what the most important thing was. Life. He became aware more than ever that it whirled through his veins with the force of Belamia’s storm, pulsing from each cell and sipping gratefully every little shred of time offered. He felt his recessive gills dry. Zhan won’t accept me at his bosom. He imagined himself smiling ironically at the stupidity of the thought. Maybe I should be afraid of this, but I don’t feel any fear, he thought, surprised by the finding. His wounded kyi was screaming for silence, for the eternal peace he knew he richly deserved. He closed his eyes, waiting for the blast, waiting for the end of all madness, deciding to enjoy the force of the explosion.

  “Have you lost your kyi? Activate the bracelet immediately!” Ugo ordered sharply. Then, in a split second, he realized he had been defeated.

  The harrowing change, the crossing to the land of death that turned Ugo into a malformed creature affected—imperceptibly, at first smell—the way he analyzed Gill’s options. His arrogance, his desire turned into conviction that he was a god, erased from his kyi the very notion of suicide. In vain he was now thinking that he had no way of foreseeing the Antyran’s choice, because he had hundreds of years to smell his paths…

  “Gill! Gill! Stop the bracelet! Have you fought for nothing to reach this far?” Gill heard Ugo’s wailings coming through the shadows.

  The fear in Ugo’s voice convinced him he had won the first battle. He knew all too well that the right moment of the second fight would come when he glimpsed the cold darkness in the realm of the dead through the Ijmahal trance, when the tiny possibility of returning among the living would no longer be of any use.

  Like all good Antyrans, he had been trained since early childhood on what words he should use, but he found, unsurprised, that the old ritual before Zhan’s coming, unchanged by Bailas’ litanies,94 was the closest to him. Therefore, he decided to invoke it: “Ijmahal! I look at myself in all my nakedness and see my kyi’s wounds! Come to heal me in the muddy water-of-the-border, come to reconcile me with my life!” he muttered, starting the process. The auspicious silence around meant that Laixan was right. Then came the lesson from a distant past:

  Ijmahal isn’t meant for anyone—or, better to say, isn’t meant for any time. Many Antyrans went into the wilderness to find their healing in the plight’s aroma, many scattered their bones yellowed by time and elements through the thorn-filled valleys or in the holes of the beasts satiated with their flesh, many searched for Ijmahal, and few found it—when they wanted. In truth, even fewer remained alive to tell. For Ijmahal is the bridge to the realm of the afterlife. It is the moment when—although still alive—we find the answer to all questions, we find the enlightenment that only the being-after-life could offer. The ones who, like me, came back with death’s perfume in their nostrils became the great aromaries of the world, Antyrans with the kyi’s wounds forever healed, Antyrans dressed in the heavy armor of silence, Antyrans eternally reconciled with time’s mercilessness…

  Gill allowed the afterlife silence to imbue his every cell, to heal his kyi from the minor troubles that defined him as being alive. He deeply inhaled death’s aroma, convinced he could smell its paths, convinced that the moment had come to find the answer to any question… and immediately he realized that he had no question. He was living the secret of the Ijmahal, but he had no answer to seek… and then came the revelation: that was the mystery of the passage! When there are no more questions, when there can’t be more questions, you’re ready to go!

  The avalanche budged forward, the destiny of the worlds reaching a precarious equilibrium on a sarpan’s edge. He felt instinctively that the time had come for the second blow, the one meant to push reality on the desired track. “I’m happy with my life and wouldn’t change a bit, even if I could start all over again!” He whispered the ritual words to seal the Ijmahal transformation, the abandonment of all that was supposed-to-come. But to his great surprise, instead of feeling reconciled with himself, he felt painfully stung by the thorn of the falsity for-the-ritual’s-sake. What an egregious lie! he realized, upset. Why would I be happy with my life if I didn’t get to be really alive, to enjoy the tranquility of a cozy nest together with my kyi-mate, sheltered from the storm?

  His thoughts immediately ran to Sandara, and the simple invocation of her name caused him an immense pain, feeling the whole guilt of her absurd death in the useless attempt to save him from the jure’s claws. He’d have given anything to have Sandara by his side, even if only to tell her how much he missed her…

  Again, the specter of war grinned hideously in his face, cruelly amused by Sandara’s wasting, by the end of happiness before it even began… Sandara died, and the dead don’t return, do they? All that was left was the memory of a smile, an almost-innocent hug stolen in a lull between two fights. He still felt the touch of her fingers on his cheek when she cuddled on his chest; he could still smell the aroma of her head spikes, making him want to become lost again in her naughtily playful eyes…

  Gill gazed into the darkness from beyond life and saw Sandara’s kyi waiting for him on the other shore, feeling it rather than seeing it, as she offered herself without a pretense of shame, without hesitation.

  “Sandara, do you love me?” he babbled, his voice strangled by emotion.

  “Don’t you get it, silly?” Sandara’s shadow whispered. “Come and take me. I’m all yours!”

  The storm bred in the ritual’s crack enveloped him with brutality, shattering his armor of silence. For a moment, he had a vision of them rolling wildly in Orizabia’s foamy waves, their tails coiled together, unconcerned about Belamia’s murderous rage, untouched by the madness of the passing time poised to curb the natural order of things, without it mattering that she was dead and he was still alive. He saw himself growing old alongside her; raising a pack of kids, naughty like their mother; laughing and playing on the discoidal grass of a paradise island floating in Uralia’s skies…

  Perhaps in another reality, maybe in another universe, they’d finally tie their destiny. But not here—and especially not now. Here, they were no longer bound to meet again, not even in the dreams of a new god, for he was just killing the god. And along with Ugo, he would kill Sandara. He would kill her again, along with the other shadows archived in the destroyer’s memory…

  “Gill, you must not die!” he thought he heard the female’s voice say, coming from beyond life’s boundary. “Save yourself, my dear! Fight for us!”

  Her words had the effect of waking him up to reality like a cold shower. The realm of the dead disappeared in an instant—to his great sorrow, for the Ijmahal exaltation made him fervently wish to embrace the tranquility from beyond-life and forget that his trip had a different purpose. He realized that only a moment had passed since the abomination had asked him to stop the explosion, that the trance had frozen the flow of time for him…

  “What do you want from me?” the avatar wailed in vain. “I’ll help you with the Sigians; I’ll help you with anything—just stop the bracelet!”

  Gill heard Ugo’s voice as if in a dream. He stared at him like he just noticed the presence of the monster. He wasn’t afraid that the jure might lie
or deceive him in any way, not after he saw the land of death and returned to the living, following the steps of Azaric and the other mythical aromaries of old. He brought Ugo exactly where he wanted. Now he could ask whatever he pleased, and the avatar wouldn’t dare to refuse it.

  “What do you want from me?” Ugo lamented.

  “Wake up Sandara,” he asked simply.

  The demand fell like a bomb. The horror carved on the abomination’s mug left little doubt that the request hit him hard. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, too stunned to move his lips.

  “Die! Die! Blow yourself to pieces!” Ugo yelled defiantly. “Not in a million years!”

  Then, after a few seconds, seeing that Gill ignored him again, he calmed down.

  “I’ve joked, I’ve joked,” he exclaimed, despairing. “Let’s talk… I’ll wake her. But stop it—stop that noise! I’m losing my smell!”

  The shriek doubled in intensity.

  “Hurry up! We don’t have much time,” Gill whispered in a faint voice, exhausted by the effort of resisting being sucked into the realm of the afterlife before the ordained time.

  An eternity seemed to have passed before Sandara’s happy face brightened the display wall. Excited to see her alive, as if she had never died, he felt his blood rushing frantically to the tip of his head spikes. Despite her poor opinion of the living dead, he couldn’t help but notice a few advantages of immortality. But then he remembered the risks of losing one’s kyi (after all, Ugo was a Kaura offspring, too), so he gazed at her keenly, searching for the slightest sign of change. He found none; she was the same Sandara, the very one he dreamed of lately—a dangerous mélange of innocence and unintentional seduction worn with the ease with which she wore a tunic. He felt instinctively that she wasn’t bit by the metamorphosis that crippled Ugo—or maybe he wanted her so badly that the hope clouded his kyi, preventing him from seeing reality?