by Derek Baker
He said nothing, looking at my mom, who was writhing on the floor sobbing uncontrollably. He shot her too right in front of me.
“You bitch!” I tried to grab the gun out of his hand, and he kneed me in the stomach, sending me backwards on the couch. Then he pointed the gun right at my face.
“Just for resisting, I think a punishment is in order.”
“Oh, damn!” I laughed sarcastically, “What in the hell could you possibly do now?”
“I’m glad you’re as enthusiastic as I am,” he said, walking around the couch, kneeling down to meet me eye to eye. I saw sweat running down his forehead into his eyes, and he blinked them away.
“All these prior tortures were safely carried out in this alternate dimension that I was instructed to build for you. You and I both realize this is only a waste of energy,” he said, smiling.
“Ok, that doesn’t answer my question, though…” I licked my lips. They tasted of blood, disgusting me and causing me to spit out on the floor of the living room.
“Have you been especially terrified at all, Delvon? At any point did you feel as if you were experiencing any genuine turmoil?”
“I suppose not,” I admitted.
“I know. Tell you what, I apologize for this… insufficiency. This was not productive for either you or I, it would seem.” He nodded apologetically, holstering his pistol, “Let me help you up.”
Skeptical as ever, I allowed him to assist me. Suddenly the room and house disappeared, and sure enough we were at the fountain for the final time in the same old town square. Our features went back to animated.
“See that greenhouse, over there?” he pointed it out; it was the last building I hadn’t entered.
“Yes…” I was certain he wished to deceive me.
“I have made the door a portal back to your realm. I can’t get you exactly back to where you were, but you will be back on the planet Wendra, in your own universe. I may be able to get you within a five to ten kilometer range to the palace where Albalon and the others are.”
I looked at him shocked, “Why would I want to go back to where everyone wants me dead? Why don’t you put me somewhere on Mars, where my family is? That way I know you didn’t actually somehow murder them…”
“That would be beyond my grasp,” he frowned, “but don’t worry: I’ll give you ample supplies and you will be able to properly escape. Other than that I am afraid I can assist you no further.”
“What’s changed your mind, clown? How do I know you’re not just setting me up for more torture?”
“I suppose you won’t know until you go through the portal,” he cocked his head to one side, reaching his hand out as if to guide me towards it.
I looked back around it. I knew I had no choice either way. My own realm had to be better than this strange one.
“Fine then, I’ll go along with it.”
~~~~~
I woke up to find a respirator over my nose and mouth. My head shot upward, and I took in the landscape around me. The sky was purple; the grass was a deep green. I was on a hillside, looking down into a valley with exotic trees scattered here and there, a river running through the middle. For all I could tell, I was indeed on Wendra, but no idea of exactly where.
I stood up and I realized that everything felt absolutely normal physically. There was no doubting it as I began walking and measuring my muscle’s responses: this was no longer a simulation. I checked a watch that hung from my wrist. The date was right on: July 2135.
I was back.
I stretched all my limbs and curled to crack my back, breathing excitedly through my respirator. I realized I had a fanny pack around my waist. I opened it to find a small hand-held laser, a compass and a note folded neatly into quarters.
I quickly unfolded it to read: Reality is truly a spectacle, isn’t it? Nothing like seeing what is real, hearing what is real, tasting, smelling, feeling, and whatever else your species might sense. There is definitely nothing that compares to breathing healthy, clean air, to feel it go in and out of your lungs. Better hurry though, someone important is two clicks due north of you, who can’t enjoy breathing as you do while you read this note. Welcome to your last torture, Delvon: completely real and genuinely dangerous. Yours sincerely, The Clown.
I had already checked my compass and was sprinting as fast as I could muster halfway through reading the note, cursing myself and the clown for his obvious deception and cruelty. Thankfully the voyage was downhill and I carefully stepped where I wouldn’t trip and fall.
After running faster and more intense than I had thought possible, I noticed a lone tree with a basket lying underneath. I quickly ran over to it, only to discover my worst nightmare. Lying in the basket, wheezing and coughing, was my daughter Violet.
“You twisted fuck!” I shouted at the horizon, meaning it for the clown.
I picked her up in my arms, vulnerable and delicate as always. I looked in my fanny pack, no respirator was to be found. I took my own off and put it over her face, rocking her back and forth, hoping to keep her with me. Her relief was instant, but I realized the air felt toxic in this environment. There were no signs of civilization for miles around, and the respirator could only keep one person alive.
“What do you expect me to do, asshole? Run until one of us dies?” I told the horizon again, indubitably receiving no response.
I looked back at Violet as I stood there beginning to wheeze and cough for my own. I took the respirator off her and took a quick breath before giving it back to her.
So this is how it’s going to be.
I sat down, cradling my daughter in my arms, periodically switching the respirator back and forth. My lungs felt weak, like they were going to shrivel up inside my chest from the strange Wendran air. I looked down at my angel of a child, looking at me expectantly. One of us wasn’t going to last.
I remembered the first time I had ever seen my daughter, when Claire brought her into the hospital room where I lay recovering from the damned Havenist/Wendran narcotic. She had said to me: “Her name is Violet, it means to have a purpose.”
I looked at the sky and it too was a violet color, here on Wendra. Then back at my daughter. Had the clown been trying to give me some weird message of symbolism? Something about purpose?
“Your mother meant for you to have a purpose, she just wasn’t sure,” I said to my daughter, struggling to get the words out in the frightful air. “Whatever that purpose was, you won’t be able to find out unless you live. As for your father here, I must say: you’re my purpose. My purpose to live…and well, die, too.”
I took one last breath from the respirator and permanently attached it to Violet’s face. I lay down, conserving my energy, with Violet lying content and oblivious on my chest, face down.
“So this is how it’s going to be…” I whispered, stroking my daughter’s hair.
Minutes passed, and I knew I was suffocating. Maybe someone would find us out here, when the battle was over in Riveron, whoever might win. My eyes took in fleeting images of the meadow and valley around us, the tree with its leaves of blue sprouting up towards the violet, yet also violent sky.
This was no torture, this was a release. My resolve had been met, it was time to fulfill my purpose…
My lungs were giving out, and my eyes began to close shut for the final time…
“…Human? Are you alive?”
Chapter 30
I nodded subconsciously.
Something went over my face. “Breathe, man!”
I inhaled, the air tasted sweet. I inhaled again, far sweeter this time. I coughed and coughed until my eyes opened and I was back in the chamber with Albalon, Chym, and this Quansor person lying next to me.
The guard was gone, and a new Wendran was there in my face trying to revive me.
“It’s okay, the torture’s over,” he said, patting my cheek, a concerned look in his eye.
“Who…” I coughed, “are you?”
“He is the Prince Be
ltrush, the son of Albalon,” it was Chym who answered.
“Chym, you son of a bitch, I’ll –”
“No, no, calm down, human, save your strength,” Beltrush reassured me.
“So you can join in on killing me?” I gritted my teeth.
“That is the last of my intentions, human. I’m here to slay my father.”
“Wait…what?”
My eyes were fully open and aware now. I rescanned the room: Albalon was tied down to his chair at head of his conference table, gagged and blindfolded. Chym stood close behind, weapon aimed at the back of the Emperor’s head and ready to fire at any second.
Beltrush walked around to the other side of me, trying to revive Quansor from whatever torture he was experiencing.
“Will he live, Prince?” Chym asked.
Beltrush held up a scanner to the Wendran’s head. He sighed heavily. “He’s brain-dead, Ambassador.”
“Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on here?” I flexed my muscles against the restraints, still trying to break free. The last vision, with Violet in the Wendran wilderness, my new-found purpose, all of it had seemed so real, how could I be sure any of this was actually real now? What if I was still in the nightmare?
As if reading my mind, Beltrush grabbed my shoulder and said, “Your brain is going through a lot right now. Soon everything will stabilize and you will be back to normal. Not everyone can go in and out of the trans-dimensional portal and return not brain-dead. Until you’re stable, we’re going to keep you in the restraints. Besides, we have some business to attend to.”
“I still wanna know what the hell is going on. You, Chym, somebody. Tell me before I really do go insane!”
“Calm yourself, Delvon,” Chym said, “the Prince Beltrush has broken into the palace here to put a stop to the Emperor’s nonsense. You see, I was on your side all along, Delvon. My conspiracy with Albalon was only the surface of what was really happening. It was indeed my intention all the while to help Prince Beltrush ascend the throne and end the war.”
My mouth gaped open, “Chym…you’re…not a traitor then?”
He chuckled softly, “Only in the sense that I went against my promise to the Emperor here. But no, I managed to outsmart the self-proclaimed genius of the entire galactic sector!”
“That’s….fucking awesome!” I was smiling wide, shocked and happy at the same time.
Beep!
Chym’s head darted back to the Emperor. “You asshole! What you have done!”
The Emperor pulled the gag out of his mouth. In the distraction, the Emperor had managed to free one of his hands and alert the security signal!
“You bastards will never get away with this,” Albalon spat his words, “I am the fucking Sovereign of this entire Empire and you think some little scheme will end this entire operation. And you, little cunt,” he pointed at his son, “I expected better of you. I had some high hopes that you’d take our Empire to glory once it was your rightful time to take the throne. But no, you pathetic, insolent, lying twat, you had the guile to go against your own blood.”
The Prince seemed unaffected by his father’s words. “You speak of glory, yet you know nothing of it. You sit in this palace while your armies and mother ships do all the work for you. You’ve never even visited the planets you’ve conquered. You care not at all for the billions of souls you’ve enslaved. All of Wendra carries out your every whim merely because they fear you. They secretly despise you and what you’ve done, father. You’re nothing but a spineless coward who swims in his spoils while leaving the masses to suffer.”
The doors to the chamber opened, and in ran a small group of Wendran soldiers, lasers drawn and pointed at Chym and Beltrush. “Drop your weapon!” They shouted at Chym, to which he complied. They ran over to their Emperor, freeing him and then restraining both Chym and the Prince.
“You call me a coward, son, yet you will not face your father in the honorable way. If you wish to end my reign so badly, you would fight me according to the Ancient customs,” the Emperor said, standing and stretching his entire body to shake off the clustered state in which the restraints had put him.
“Yet while you accuse me of cowardice, father, you have your men holding me back from doing just the thing you seek,” the Prince retorted, held back by the guards.
The Emperor smiled, shrugging. “Fine.” He turned around, gazing out the window to the violet sky, brilliantly illuminated by the Wendran sun that shone down upon the palace garden. “Let’s do this, then. We shall fight, hand-to-hand, the old and proper way. Me and my strength, against you and your strength. To the death, naturally. If I win, I will continue as I had before without the further help of Chym’Buk’Tai. I will win the war as I had planned and consolidate my power of the galactic sector, thereby finally reaching my goals of domination. If you win, if you strike down your own father, your Emperor, you will have the throne and power to do whatever you damn well please.”
“Fine,” the Prince accepted calmly.
“Very well. Guards, if you please,” the Emperor made a hand gesture and his lackeys set the Prince free.
The two Wendran men faced each other, fifteen feet apart, circling about and shouting Wendran insults at one another. They each in turn stripped down to nothing. Then they sprang.
Imagine two wolves dancing about a circle until one lunged at the other, teeth bared, snarling, ripping apart the other with fangs and claws. To this day I have seen no greater savagery and ferocity than the combat that ensued between father and son.
They crawled on all fours on the ground, roaring, kicking, punching, scratching, drawing blood. Not an eye blinked around the chamber.
Albalon jumped and tackled Beltrush, pinning him face downward on the floor, pulling his arm back to try to break it. Instead the Prince flipped him over his back, slamming the Emperor flat on his back. He body slammed him, rolling off to watch to his father cough up blood.
The Emperor jumped up to his feet, springing to slash a deep wound down his son’s torso. Beltrush roared in the searing pain. His head went down and he charged his father, sending the Emperor flying backwards upon impact, pounding against the far wall.
Beltrush was quick to follow up on the deadly blow, dashing over to grab his nearly blacked out father by the throat, slowly rising him up by the neck.
The Emperor gurgled, “Fuck you, son.” He coughed up more blood, spitting it all over Beltrush’s forearm. He looked helpless, drenched in his own bodily fluids.
“Perhaps it is good my mother died so young. She didn’t have to see the monster you’ve become,” Beltrush breathed.
The Prince twisted and broke his father’s neck with both arms.
~~~~~
“Sir! I don’t understand! The systems are going back online!”
“Let me see.”
Admiral Gup’Dis’Sev rushed over to the ensign, watching the screen in front of them.
“Alert the fleet! If we’re back online, then the Wendrans are too!”
Alexander watched the flurry of officers running about the battleship Baray’s bridge. He took a sip from his mug of coffee, wiping the leftover drips off his upper lip. Sweat began collecting along his forehead, so he wiped that too, and then rubbed his cheeks that felt rough going unshaven for two days.
“Mr. Curtis,” a voice hovered over him.
He looked up to see it was his superior, General Patrick Webb.
“Yes, sir?”
The general patted his shoulder sympathetically. “We’ll find them when this is all over, kid. We know that they made it to the surface, at least. They’re down there somewhere. Betcha anything they are.”
Alexander nodded.
“Shall I send a signal to continue as before, Admiral?” The ensign asked Gup’Dis’Sev.
“Not quite yet. Let them make the first move. Assuming they initiated the phenomenon, they may have used the opportunity to regroup or worse yet: wait on reinforcements to arrive from a neighboring star syst
em.”
“Sir, if they’re capable of that kind of technology…” General Webb started.
“Yes, it could bring a whole new factor to the war,” Gup’Dis’Sev finished.
A few hair-raising minutes passed where it felt as if each side was waiting for the other to fire the first shot. But soon it became clear that something else was afoot. The Admirals talked amongst themselves, trying to find an optimal course by which to proceed. The ensign cleared his throat in the self-imposed quiet battlefront that still lay before them, every ship holding the same position that it held before the strange burst had rendered them still, suspended in space. Wendra had continued to rotate, leaving the crews and fighters to watch the city of Riveron eventually disappear over the horizon on the planet below.
“What could they be doing?” the Admiral wondered aloud.
“Admiral, if I may…” the Ensign interrupted.
“Yes, what is it? Are they showing signs of mobility?”
“No, sir. I’m actually picking up a transmission from the planet’s surface.”
“Bring it up on screen?”
Before the array of officers, generals, and admirals, the screen propped up to show a young Wendran, caked with blood spatter, standing next to a Martian.
“Chym? Is that you?” Alexander jumped up from his seat.
Chym said nothing, but instead the Wendran spoke: “I wish to speak to the Grand Admiral Gup of the family Dis of the city Sev, better known as Gup’Dis’Sev.”
The Admiral stepped forward from the small group he had been standing by. “I am Gup’Dis’Sev, and who might you be? And what are you doing with the Earth Ambassador Chym’Buk’Tai?”
“I apologize for not first introducing myself. I,” he placed a double-thumbed hand over his chest, taking a low bow, “am the new Wendran Emperor, Beltrush the First, formerly the Prince and son of Albalon the Fourth.”
“Albalon is dead?” The Admiral’s jaw dropped open.
“By my own hand, Admiral. As the new leader of the Wendran kind and military, I would like to request a cease-fire and negotiate an end to this war as soon as possible.”