by Lesley Young
The hangar doors open.
Freedom’s almost ours.
I tell Lor to get into one of the holds, since he doesn’t have a neural interface chip. I search for a way to keep him pinned in the controls, and find it. He’s the right size, and the unit grips around him.
I figure we’ve got four hours tops before the stunned Thell’eons gain consciousness. By then I’ll be long, long gone.
Radar up. I grab hold of the control with my mind’s own engine and think, “How do you like me now?”
Part Three
Chapter 29
When do you know you’ve made a mistake? Does merely asking the question make it de facto?
I’ve been obsessing about what happened every waking hour I’ve spent aboard this tiny ship next to an alien who murdered a Thell’eon without a moment’s hesitation.
Knowing the outcome, would I do it all over again?
Probably.
Maybe not.
I should have told Lor no killing. How could I have been so naïve? Would he have even listened?
Regret’s a repugnant compulsion, isn’t it? It absolves you of behavior you claim you would change given the chance to do it over. But it’s not even remotely authentic since you can’t ever change what you’ve already done. That Thell’eon guard is dead. Dead and done.
I glance over at Lor warily. He’s totally healed and all the more a stranger now that I can see his face unmarred by damage. Exotic. Rugged. He appears physically stronger, much more than I ever realized, a result of this new healthy appearance. Or maybe it’s because there are no giant Thell’eons around, beating on him, though he’s just as strong if not stronger than an average Thell’eon. I know that now.
Maybe he could protect me from Aeon until I get to ESE? Now that I don’t have a Horde, I’m in even greater fear of sifting. Will I ever be safe again, I wonder, unable to prevent myself from admiring Lor’s physical form.
He wears only the pants he left the warship in and the belt of weapons he stole from his victim. He broke off his neckband as soon as we were safe with self-applied bursts of gamma from the rifle he took, a seemingly mad maneuver that had me look away in panic.
He has fashioned his long, thick, dark hair in wide ropes that pull up and back from his face. The Thell’eon’s weapons move silently with him as he stretches and exercises in the cramped quarters. His muscles flex in response to the slightest focused movement, as though his body is an instrument. A light sweat coats his smooth skin. He pays little attention to me, though consciously so, almost as though he’s trying to put me at ease.
We have spoken very little since the escape more than 48 hours ago. When we were safely away, I told him where we were going, a planet called Taxata, he seemed to know it, and briefly why, because I need to get back to my people. Oddly, he didn’t seem to care. He fell asleep not long after that exchange, and woke little during our journey, mostly to eat. I, on the other hand, haven’t slept at all for fear of Or’ic, who’s in distant pursuit—the drug must have worn off quicker than anticipated and he’s somehow gaining ground—or that I might wake up to my throat being slit by an Aeon, or Lor, take your pick.
I thought about trying to get rid of Lor while he slept. But there are no nearby planets along the way. Plus, that would have been wrong. I try to remember the tenderness and strength Lor showed to me when I was damaged by the Thell’eons. I try to focus on how the Thell’eons mistreated him. I would be angry, too.
In fact, I should be angry at them. But how can you be mad at someone for not knowing better? Having a sift isn’t a selfish desire on their part; it’s fundamental to their belief system. Being free of them, I have the impartiality I need to understand what Or’ic tried to tell me when he said he would let me choose.
He knew giving me a sense of freedom was vital, but he was unable to really offer it because he didn’t truly understand it himself. Just as they have put aside their individualism for thousands of years to fight Aeons, to protect the universe, they expect the same of a sift. A sift’s feelings and desires don’t matter. A sift’s merely a tool. A tool that’s necessary. A sadness pervades me that I can’t explain away.
Now, Lor, he’s different. I could see it in him from the moment we met. He’s an individual through and through. You should try to learn more about him.
At the very least, we need to discuss where he’ll go, what will become of him when we arrive at Taxata.
I check the sensors for a thousandth time, relieved to see Or’ic’s warship and his three pursuit vessels are still too far away to reach us.
I stare out at the black space but find no comfort there. I used to think of that blackness as eternal and divine. Now I know it’s finite. Through the darkness come other universes, membranes attracted to each other’s magnetic forces, creating portals for perceptive beings, like me, to be used as pawns, to cross over and interfere with the next universe, messing with the expanse in ways that are wholly unnatural and ultimately wrong. I’d give anything to be in Daz’s Dome, eating cheese rolls, blissfully ignorant to the ways of the expanse, back when my biggest worries came in the form of nonsensical, utterly harmless déjà vu’s.
I sigh deeply and broach the necessary. “What will you do when we get to Taxata, to my people?”
Lor stops mid-pose, glancing at me with soft chocolate eyes, fringed with thick black eyelashes, his eyebrows peaked.
Is he younger than I originally believed? I thought he bore an old soul, but that charming, curious, innocent, glance is his greatest weapon. It belies a cold heart.
“Help you. Reach human.” He smiles, slightly, revealing a pleasant set of teeth. He rests casually against a Thell’eon hold, his fingers interlaced.
“Oh, well, thanks, but I won’t need it,” I answer quickly. I think of the kind of help he has given me so far. “I plan to land in their camp.” My exaggerated hand gestures, which accompany my speech, appear to amuse Lor. I stop making them. “I’ve been sending them a subspace signal letting them know of my arrival.”
“ESE?”
Now how does he know that? By way of explanation he adds, “Speak Thell’eon little. Shhh. I . . . ” He points at his head and then ear, and then makes an expansive gesture with this arms to indicate, I suppose, that he knows plenty by eavesdropping.
I smile, acknowledging that I understand. He’s far more devious than I imagined.
Holding my eyes, he says, “Sifter.”
Uh-oh.
Nerves flutter up and I try to read his expression. Will Ire know what a sifter is? Of course they will, you idiot. They destroyed their own home world rather than provide a home base for Aeons. No doubt they could have used a sifter or two to help. I search for things like avarice or ulterior motive in his assessing gaze, but all I read is . . . charm? Yup, and plenty of it. Did he just wink at me?
“What about you?” I ask nervously, glancing away, deciding not to acknowledge what he knows about me.
“I big . . .” He touches his chest. “Prime. Prime,” he repeats, as if to be sure I understand. “Ires. Ires fight Aeons.” He slams his fist into his hand. “Fight Thell’eon. Fight Aeon.”
I didn’t mean to ask what was he. I meant, what will he do when we arrive on Taxata.
But it doesn’t surprise me that he’s a leader. He can’t have many followers, though, since Kell’an told me his species is almost extinct. Then again, if they were crazy enough to blow up their planet, all five or so of them would probably be crazy enough to seek out the right to fight Aeon. Is that noble or stupid?
“I meant, when we land, where or what will you do?” I ask. Maybe, just maybe ESE will take him in. “Us, humans, we may be willing to assist you.”
“The others?”
I don’t know who he’s referring to.
“Thell’eons,”
he says, pointing down to where he thinks the planet might be. It is actually in Vector 69-15.
Oh, he must mean the encampments on Taxata. From what my long-range scanner showed me, there are two encampments, one Thell’eon, one ESE. There must be thousands of soldiers on both sides.
“They won’t know we are com—” I stop myself. Uh, wait. Would Or’ic risk letting all those other Thell’eon Hordes on Taxata know about me in order to capture me? But Or’ic would never tell the truth, that I escaped. But he would make up something. Yup, he would send them after me.
When I glance back, Lor’s checking me out, appearing mildly amused at my naivety, I suppose. His lips are bright red, like they’ve just been kissed.
As far as men go, this one spells ‘Trouble,’ the kind my mother probably would have warned me about if she’d lived long enough.
He shifts, and his expression turns somber. “Not let you go.” For a moment I think he won’t let me go before he finishes, “Not let me go.”
No. I don’t suppose the Thell’eons will let either of us go.
I recall Kell’an’s words, about hunting me to the ends of the universes. I think this would apply to his archenemy, too. And yet, as deep as I can see into Lor, which probably isn’t very deep, I don’t pick up any fear. He’s . . . brazen.
Who’s this guy? How can he be so collected, so poised, so soon after just being rescued from nebula knows how many years of torture?
“Why?” I ask, eyeing him suspiciously. “Why you help me?” I asked in stilted English, remembering that probably translates into less coherent Thell’eon for him.
His smile fades. Sympathy softens his face, like it did more than once for me on Or’ic’s warship. What does he see in me that warrants sympathy now?
“I help you.” He says this plainly, finally.
Oh, well, I’m not going to say no. I have to land with him anyway. And I hate the idea of ever being alone again thanks to my newfound knowledge of what, who, I am.
My mind’s fuzzy. My neck strains to hold up the weight of my head. My back aches from sitting so long. I rub my eyes, realizing just how exhausted I am. I need to rest.
Soon. When I get to ESE.
He returns to his exercises. “You good now,” he adds, his back to me.
I think he means safe. If only!
But I sure could use some shut-eye. I trust him a wee bit more, so I decide to give my eyes a rest while sitting in the ‘pilot seat.’ I don’t intend to fall to asleep. Just to rest my burning eyes . . .
I awaken to an awful sensation. Someone’s shaking the wits right out of me. But, wait. No, no, no. Worse, we’re free falling. Have . . . have we been hit? I awaken fully.
Lor’s holding onto a bar above me and shouting at me like a maniac. Panicked, I check the sensors. Yup, another ship, a Thell’eon ship, fired on us. WHERE DID IT COME FROM?
Or’ic’s ships are still way out there.
I suspect that the shot was meant to be warning, or an alarm. Instead, it disabled us and hurtled us into the atmosphere because the pilot was ASLEEP at the helm!
How could I?
Hey, wait, are those ESE ships hot in pursuit of my attacker in my sensors?
Yes, they are! They’ve come to rescue you! Thank the celestial makers! For the first time, I experience true relief in the form of a burst of goosebumps.
I briefly note that the Thell’eon pursuer follows us closely as we descend at a dangerous velocity. Weird. He should be pulling away to get away from ESE velos.
Instead, he’s issuing me an evac signal, and attempting to lock on to our vessel to prevent us from crash landing.
I’m not going back to a Horde!
But the second I try to regain control of the vessel with my mind I know it’s impossible.
I get up with great difficulty and move over to the side slot. Where are the crash pods?
Nothing.
Frantically, I look around for more concealed pods.
Nothing.
What kind of people don’t have escape pods?
Honor bound Neanderthals, that’s who!
I glance at Lor with true fear. I don’t need to say anything. He accepts this realization without any emotion. Fool.
We’re being tossed around like Gorian hot beans. I struggle to hold on as the ship alarm announces that we have caught on fire, too. Good. I’d rather blow up before we hit the ground.
“Open!” he shouts, pointing at the entrance.
He must be mad. It would suck us right out and without gear we would eventually fall to our deaths.
He grabs my shoulders and screams “OPEN!” so loudly he rattles my eardrums.
I try to shake my head, but he grabs a knife from the belt and fights the gyrations enough to actually threaten to slit my throat. What can I do? Death by splat! Or death by gushing blood loss? Tough one.
Oh, go to Pluto, you fucker, I think, holding on tight to a bar that’s descended overhead. At least he will be sucked out, whereas I will die with my ship. The way it should be. I squeeze my eyes tight, grip even harder, and open the door with my mind.
Goodbye, universes.
Pain shoots through my arms and hands as I’m wrenched off the bar.
Being.
Skinned.
Alive.
Tossed up.
Down.
Please.
Please. Please.
Blackness.
Bright, bright, light.
Wha—
Why am I still alive?
I dare to open my eyes.
Free falling backward at a rapid rate. Terrified, I struggle to look over my shoulder. Thousands of feet above the ground. No. NO!
I do not want to be awake for the big finale.
Uh-oh. What’s that? An object coming straight for you. Piece of the vessel?
Get it together. New danger. Oncoming!
Move over. Dive away.
Can’t! Can’t!
Is it some kind of . . .?
It’s got wings that reach at least 10 feet on either side. Big blue-black feathered wings.
You’re going to be birdseed.
Weird cooing noises.
Holy fucking stars.
That is Lor. With wings.
Whumph!
He grabs me in his arms and wraps his legs around me, and I tense with him, as he strains against the force of the added weight. We sail downwards for a good stretch before he regains height.
I’m not going to die. I’m not going to die. I’m not going to die.
The heat from his body does little to protect me from the cold wind, which I just now register as whistling in my ears. Is he . . . is he a fucking bird-man? Impossible. Yet, here I am . . . flying at least 50 miles an hour.
Why can’t I breathe very well? Not enough oxygen in the atmosphere.
In the frigged temperature, I begin to shake violently and now I just want him to put me down, anywhere. I don’t even care that he has wings, that I’m flying through the sky, a long-held fantasy of mine.
My breathing’s strained. My lungs hurt. There’s not enough oxygen on this planet period.
Vaguely I note a familiar noise but a second passes before alarm sets in. That’s the sound of battle somewhere below us. Gamma fire and ground velos.
Oh . . . is it ESE and Thell’eons? I thought we had a stronghold!
Oh, no, wait, maybe Aeon are fighting humans! King!
I must get down. Learn what’s happening.
I strain to turn sideways to take in what’s going on but Lor has pulled me too tight to him. Instead, I close my eyes and will myself to trust this strange bird-man. Where’s he taking us?
Once the viol
ence is a distant din, I recognize a shift in angle and speed (the pilot in me), and I prepare for landing. I hold on for dear life (I have never liked someone else at the helm) and when I open my eyes, I realize I’m standing, on my feet, still hugging Lor for all he’s worth in the middle of a narrow humanoid-made clearing that could only be spotted from high above.
No, scratch that. I’m not standing. He’s holding me up. My legs are wet noodles. Cradling me, he crouches down, his wings still outstretched. Wide-eyed, I peer up into his steady unfamiliar face.
I’m awestruck. Thoroughly awestruck.
He lets out a deep, amused laugh. This is the first time I’ve seen real emotion from him.
He pushes my hair out of my eyes, and stares down at me with a raw intensity like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
My hero worship’s quickly replaced by fear of this new intimacy and I scramble to get away but only manage to sit upright on the ground. I need a moment, or a long time, to regain my bearings. My lungs aren’t taking in enough oxygen and the pressure creates a mild ache and severe dizziness.
He lets me move away.
Vacantly, I watch his wings retract and he spins around deliberately showing me how they shrink to nothing and tuck away underneath a flat muscle expanse in his back.
Steady he goes.
Does anything faze this guy, er, alien?
I want to ask him more about this incredible aspect of his species but I’m more concerned about our whereabouts. Taxata’s fucking cold. Colder than I imagined 32 F to be. Every way I look there is thatched shrubbery. Wall-high tumbleweeds.
Shivering from shock or the cold, or both, I manage to get out, “Where? My people.” I inhale deeply, painfully. “E-E-ESE?”
He crouches near me and reaches out with both arms grasping my shoulders.
“They fight. Thell’eon. Not safe. Rest. Here.”