The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption

by YS Pascal

  “Not an illogical supposition, Rush. Which presents more questions than it answers.” Spud tamped out the cigarette on the Zoom Cruiser’s titanium door and X-fanned the stub with his Ergal. “The only way then to prove that there is more than one Fleece is to find a second.”

  “That could take forever. And Yeshua, too, could be anywhere. Maybe we should time loop while we search?” Time loops allowed time travelers to spend hours or days in the target century and return to the present right after leaving. We could hunt as long as we needed without delaying our rescue mission.

  Spud favored me with two raised eyebrows. “Ev was kind enough not to play, as you Americans say, the stool pigeon about your unauthorized trips to draft me and Yeshua for your quest. I hardly think that you should expend your capital for time loop authorizations until we have a clearer picture of where and when—and if--we can find a Somalderis. Agreed?”

  I shrugged, but made it look like a nod. And kept my fingers crossed.

  * * *

  Earth Core Station—present day

  The library suite at Earth Core was deserted when Spud and I entered. Spud took a seat before the bank of holo screens and instructed them to respond in search mode.

  “As I recall from my previous research, sheepskins were very common in the Southern Black Sea and were used to capture flecks of gold.” Spud called up images of fishermen in the region. “The fleeces were stretched over wood frames and submerged in the water downstream, collecting the precious metal.”

  Spud panned towards a bank of trees from which several sheepskins were hanging. “Hung out to dry, and then the gold would be combed out. Voila.” He pointed to a grizzled bronze-skinned treasure hunter who was shaking one of the fleeces to trap the shiny flakes.

  “Looks promising. So I should ask Ev if we can go back to ancient Georgia?”

  “Not yet. There is nothing here to suggest that these sheepskins would provide us with anything more than a warm coat—or the ability to at least barter for one.” Spud played his nimble fingers on the screen and the scene dissolved to display some Acropolis-style buildings.

  “Athens? Rome?”

  Spud shook his head. “Alexandria. See the Pharos, the lighthouse, in the distance? I shall try to track the Argonautica writings from Apollonius of Rhodes in the Great Library. It may lead us to the source of the original story.”

  Great. That could take hours. I, and John, didn’t have time to wait. As Spud zoomed the holo view in through the columns of a stately marble building, I started hopping on one foot and then the other. Spud finally noticed. “If you are in need of the water closet, I can continue the research by myself.”

  I patted him on the shoulder and scurried out of the suite. Actually, the bathroom wasn’t a bad place to prep for my time loop. Spud may be clever, but I couldn’t believe that the equally clever Theodore Benedict wouldn’t have tried to find another Fleece in Colchis or wherever to fuel his inter-dimensional trip. With a real Fleece he could have avoided all those years he spent struggling, unsuccessfully, to cross over to Paradise with fission and fusion support. So, if Benedict, with all his resources, hadn’t found another Somalderis of sheepskin, how could we? I hated to admit it, but Spud had probably been more on target than he knew when he’d implied there was only one Golden Fleece, and only one man who now had it. Yeshua Bar Maryam.

  Secreted in the rest room, I pulled out my Ergal. After we’d escaped from Benedict’s Planet Ship and returned to Zygint Central last month, I had found Spud examining holo images of an older Yeshua preaching to a group of his countrymen on a desert hill. Clearly, Yeshua had survived to adulthood, perhaps under the old Keeper’s watchful eye. Had the Fleece we’d seen on his adolescent shoulders in Phonecia survived the years as well?

  I dug into the cache where I’d shelved a mirror file I’d created of Spud’s holo data. My Ergal screen quickly displayed the scene that Spud had been reviewing. Yes! Adult Yeshua was standing atop a rolling hill in Judea, decked in a flowing white robe which flapped in the howling desert wind. Underneath the robe, I could catch glimpses of the Somalderis, which he’d wrapped around his legs from his waist to his thighs. Excellent. I instructed my Ergal to anamorph my tank top and jeans into a ‘modest vestment’. I would soon be on my way to Judea to ask Yeshua for, as my jokester friend Sarion of Megara might say, a sheepish loan.

  I also Ergaled myself some coins of the era and secreted them inside my robes. The Tetradrachms, Tyrian shekels, might come in handy if I needed to bargain for the temporary use of the Fleece.

  Checking for contact metrics, I pulled up Spud’s Ergal screens again showing Yeshua and his activities in the distant past. The images had fast-forwarded from the mountain to a banquet, at which I could see Yeshua breaking bread with a lively group of diners. Better not to interrupt his meal, so I advanced the action by one more Earth hour, uploaded the contact metrics, and clicked the Ergal to send me back in time.

  * * *

  Judea—two thousand years ago

  I almost scraped my scalp on the gnarly branches as I M-fanned under a craggy olive tree in the Garden of Gathsmani in ancient Judea. In the distance, Yeshua was exiting a cenacle, and was followed by several robe-clad bearded men. I squinted to see through the loop of my Ergal; yes, good, he was still wearing the Somalderis.

  Yeshua was twenty years older than the last time I’d seen him up close. Now in his early thirties, he already had some streaks of gray along his temples and salting his beard. Wasn’t likely he’d remember me either. I’d taken a chance and traveled as a woman this time, instead of the young Danel. Figured I’d be less threatening as a female if I approached him in the crowd begging for ovine alms. I pulled my scarf back over my head and ventured into the field.

  Yeshua’s steps were slow and deliberate as he ambled down the dirt path in front of the younger men. His face was in the shadows, but his sagging posture seemed so different from the sturdy vigor he’d demonstrated in Phoenicia in his youth. Frankly, he looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his narrow shoulders. I surveyed the garden for a glimpse of the Keeper, but the elderly caregiver was nowhere in sight. Twenty years can be a very long time.

  A few yards from me, Yeshua paused and knelt on the ground, hiding his head in his hands, and muttered and moaned unintelligibly. I could see beads of sweat dripping through his fingers from his brow Uh, oh. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to hit him up with my own desperate plea.

  The memory of John, crying out to me from that elusive other brane, flashed before my eyes again. I took a step closer to Yeshua. Ready or not, I had to get the Somalderis. For John.

  Yeshua’s eyes were bloodshot, and brimming with unshed tears as he looked up at my flowing white vestments, backlit brightly by a moonbeam through the olive branches above my hood. He blinked a few times, his expression puzzled, and then, after glancing back to confirm that his fellow revelers had fallen asleep on the ground off in the distance, asked me hoarsely if I was a messenger from his father.

  Did he mean the Keeper? I wasn’t sure. In any case, it wouldn’t hurt to say yes. Yeshua might be more likely to let me borrow the Somalderis for a day or two if he saw me as a friend of a friend. I’d return to the modern day a few minutes after X-fanning out of Judea, grab Spud, and we’d use another time loop to rescue John. With a little luck and my well-known pluck, I could be back in Jerusalem before morning.

  I nodded, stumbling through the truth in Aramaic, “I return to you from a world far beyond this one.”

  Yeshua’s eyes radiated relief. “I await his wisdom and his behest. Though I shall obey his commandments, I have prayed that my father might ease me this burden.”

  From what I could make out in Ergal-translated Aramaic, Yeshua seemed to have me confused with someone else—an ancient Aggelaphor messenger perhaps. His last remark threw me for a loop, but also gave me an opening. Catascope training had taught us t
o be quick on our feet and to jump in when an opportunity arises. Yeshua’s plea had offered me that opportunity. I wasn’t going to let the sudden unwelcome tightness in my gut sabotage my mission to save my brother.

  I laid a comforting hand on Yeshua’s bony shoulder. “The Χρυσόμαλλον Δέρας is a burden, is it not?” I whispered. “Let me carry it forthwith and present it to your father, and I shall return a-morn’ with his reply.”

  Yeshua hesitated for what seemed like an eternity before nodding and unwinding the treasured fleece from his waist. He handed me the Somalderis with an expression of concern. “He must know that I will not forsake my duty.”

  I nodded, numb. If there had only been some other way…

  Off in the distance, an advancing crowd clad only in robes and sandals caught my eye. Most of the angry-looking men had long, tangled grey hair and bushy beards; leading the group was a short, stocky man who pointed towards us with a cry of “The Teacher”. The noise awakened Yeshua’s companions who leapt up and rushed over in our direction, shouting something that sounded like “parasols”. Sure smelled like trouble brewing; time for me to “exit, stage left”. Fast.

  Wrapping the Somalderis around my own waist and reaching into my pocket with my free hand for my Ergal, I set off towards the heart of the grove of olive trees. I hid behind the largest trunk I could find, peeking out to make sure I hadn’t been followed. As I activated my Ergal to X-fan, I glimpsed the stocky bearded man reach Yeshua and lean in to give him a respectful kiss.

  * * *

  Earth Core Station—present day

  “Ev, you are an angel,” I said as I kissed him on his chubby cheek. “I’ll drag Spud out of the library and we’ll be on our way.” After Ergaling back into my comfy costume of sweater and jeans, I’d carried the Somalderis into Earth Core Control like a championship trophy.

  “So this is a Somalderis,” Ev said with a sprinkle of awe, as he ran his hands up and down the Golden Fleece. “Wow.”

  Spud burst out of the library suite brimming with enthusiasm. “I have uncovered an obscure reference in the Alexandria records that guides us to—“ His face paled as he saw Ev caressing the Somalderis. “Where did you--?”

  “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, research. Come on, John’s waiting for us. We’ve got to hurry. Ev’s authorized us to time loop through that portal Wart had commed us about near Area 51. Let’s go.

  Spud’s frown lasted until we’d M-fanned in Nevada.

  Chapter 4

  If I Only Had A Brane

  Area 51, Nevada—present day

  The moon hadn’t yet risen above the Tonapah Hills to spotlight our arrival, but we’d invisible-ized just in case a curious US Army MP or two decided to drive through Groom Lake with too many questions. Seeing as we were invisible anyway, I wish we hadn’t arrived after sunset. The desert in the night was frigid.

  “Now what do we do?” I ventured to Spud.

  “Hold my hand,” Spud ordered as he finished adjusting the settings on his Ergal to align with Wart’s recommendations. “Wrap the fleece around us both like a greatcoat.”

  I shivered as I took his arm. “Glad this thing is warm.”

  “Hold on tightly. We must stay together, else we may not survive. Are you ready?”

  I nodded.

  “On your mark, get set, g—“

  Blinding light flashed into my eyes, and I felt the weight of a thousand suns upon my chest. My body exploded into a million pieces, a big bang that scattered my essence beyond my severed arm’s reach. I was nowhere, and yet I was everywhere, my soul inhabiting each molecule that flew through the blackness of the light. Before I could scream, the scene rewound and my molecules rushed to reform my corpus with a giant roar.

  I lay supine for several minutes, until my panting eased. The ground under my fingers felt so much softer than the desert dust. “Damn.” I sat up, still gasping for breath, fortunately in a decently oxygenated environment. “What a ride.”

  “Don’t move,” Spud cried, shooting out a hand to pull me back down flat. “Just lie perfectly still. Do not even breathe.”

  A giant shadow swept over us, as the winged reptile soared across the pink sky, its beak seesawing open to reveal enormous teeth.

  “We are fortunate to be little desired by predators on Earth. Our story might be prematurely terminated here.”

  “So where’s here?” I whispered after the gynormous pterodactyl had glided towards the red horizon. All I could see around us was an expanse of white cotton balls on which we lay. “Brane 5? Level Three? Hell? ”

  Spud shrugged as he hopped to his feet. “It remains to be seen. The same should not be said for us, however. The Somalderis?”

  Intact, but a bit smaller than before. I reached for the Fleece and tied it once again around my hips. Then instinct kicked in and I felt for my Ergal. It was gone!

  “Our Ergals did not seem to survive the transition,” Spud intoned. “I am afraid we are mortal visitors in heaven.”

  I didn’t like that he stressed the word “mortal”. And my definition of heaven didn’t include predators. Spud was right. We were sitting ducks in this field of fluff. “Wonder why Wart sent us here. We’re miles from nowhere. Glad I wore my sneakers, uh, trainers.”

  Spud wasn’t listening. Shielding his eyes from the two red dwarf suns still lighting the sky, he was scanning the horizon. “It will be a long trek. I would not wish to give those avian demons another chance to ingest us. I am a bit less credulous than you about Wart’s motives.”

  “Then how about we try ka’vyr?” I suggested. The Ifestian technique had allowed us to instantly transport ourselves from one spot to another on Theodore Benedict’s planet-ship. Maybe the technique could help us find a productive destination in this world, too.

  “Now that, Rush, is an excellent idea.” Spud reached out his hands and took mine. “Together.”

  Eyes closed, breathing deeply, we began the mental gymnastics we’d learned from the Ifestian shaman T’Fal that would ease us into the transcendental state. I felt the ground begin to shift under my feet, accelerating so quickly that Spud and I were knocked down onto the cottony carpet. The movement continued so that we were soon lying supine on a surface now angled at 70 degrees. Slipping, we started to slide bottomward through the cotton balls, cascading down, down, down to…

  I opened my eyes as I felt the steep curve of the field lessen and our descent slow. We splashed directly into a lake tinted chartreuse and ecru, and, fortunately, rose to the surface without needing to tread water. Or whatever this creamy liquid around us was.

  “The nutrients will diffuse through your skin,” said a gravelly voice as we bobbed on the pond’s surface. “We will not have time to stop for din.”

  I swum around and faced the six-foot frog that sat cross-legged on an enormous lily pad. Not a Zygan species, for sure, I quickly assessed, wishing I had my stun gun. Or my Ergal.

  “Really?” I mustered. Or my wits.

  Fortunately, Spud had his. Wits, I mean. “Agriarctos sent us. I apologize for our tardiness.”

  “No time for sorry. Hop on to my lorry.”

  Spud and I each pulled ourselves onto the lily pad and bookended Mr. Giant Frog. I offered my hand. “Shiloh Rush. William Escott. And you are?”

  “Robert,” the frog croaked, as he leaned over and brushed my fingers with his nippy lips.

  I stifled a giggle. My Mingferplatoi Academy classmate Sarion the Joker would’ve started calling Robert “Ribbit”, of course. Damn, I missed Sarion. And the rest of the team of Academy dropouts. After the “Lost Boys” had helped us rescue Yeshua, they’d snuck off to explore M81 and Triangulum, galaxies beyond Zygfed. Would that I could contact them and draft them to help us rescue John now.

  My gurgle choked in my throat as the lily pad shot off on the surface of the lake like a speedboat. As we bounced on the pond’
s gentle swells, the lake of “nutrients” started to grow smaller and smaller, until it was only a drop at our nutrient-caked feet. Ribbit the frog was right. I was no longer hungry at all.

  “Flurry, scurry, hurry,” our Frog guide chided.

  “You made the pond shrink?” I jumped off the lily pad onto a winding amber stone path that stretched out before us, gingerly avoiding a three inch winged lizard that scurried by my toes.

  “No go,” Robert returned as he started ahead down the trail. “You grew big. Mega’ing, dig?”

  Spud raised an eyebrow. “Indeed.” Spud trotted up to Robert. “I assume we should now follow you along this icterine adobe path?”

  “Aye, guy.” The Frog returned as took a giant leap forward.

  “You have got to be kidding,” I grumbled, as I hopped from one yellow brick to another and caught up with Robert and Spud. “And don’t anybody ask me to sing. I am not my sister Kris.”

  Both of my companions stared at me with puzzled expressions. I sighed, and, confusing them even more, began literally skipping ahead of them both, raising my arms in a cheer and shouting out, “Road Trip!”

  * * *

  On the Yellow Brick Road—present day

  “Halt!”

  “Who is John Galt?” I ventured, picking up Robert’s rhyming rhythm, but the elephantine cockroach blocking the road before us didn’t smile.

  “A fantasy figure bred by an overreaction to a forced communal society that ignored the realities of self-preservation tendencies and familial and tribal competitiveness. If you please,” the cockroach responded with a small bow. “Now who are you?” His antennae dangled over his eyes like a brutal frown.

  Well, at least he wasn’t a rhyme freak like Robert. “Shiloh Rush,” I said, my fingers instinctively feeling for the Ergal that I knew wasn’t in my pocket.