Micah Trace and the Shattered Gate

by Eric Swanson

  Pollai’s eyes shone as he flashed another expectant smile. Setting others up to lavish him with praise was one of Pollai’s sharpest skills.

  “I needed…” Micah turned away from Pollai and walked a few steps nearer to the wall which the doorway shared with many framed photos. “Privacy.”

  Disappointment took Pollai’s smile for a beat before he forced its return.

  Micah scanned the pictures for a moment, numerous grinning Pollais before him. One photo stole his focus for a moment: Pollai with his arm around Eaton, the Hybrid younger, vital. Alive. The pair stood in front of ship Micah recognized as Pollai’s expeditionary vehicle, the Loocheng. Micah shook his head quickly and forced his mind back into the room with Pollai. His hood continued to move for a moment. “Discretion.”

  “… And why, Micah,” Pollai used the Hybrid’s name with emphasis, the mere knowledge of it a rare trophy he relished. “Are your privacy and my discretion so important when asking about Earth?”

  “Because I’m going to ask you things about Earth…” Micah turned away from the photo of his dead friend and father figure, his face still angled toward the floor just a little. Micah took a deep breath, confident in the fact that nothing he said to Pollai would be kept in confidence. “Things only someone who wants to see Earth would ask.”

  Pollai’s face lit once more, fully this time. His scarcely contained excitement meant that Micah was sure to have his answers and just as sure to be outed as a pursuer of his half-home (genetically speaking) in short order.

  News of Micah’s desires would reach the Pillar well in advance of his audience with Artax and Hanani. Under his hood, Micah reflected Pollai’s smile then opened his mouth to begin the inquiry.

  The Burning Valley

  1800 Hours

  After hours spent in the presence of a Ceran who always seemed to be yelling, Micah found the serenity of the Boson cliffs at sunset even more satisfying. The warm orange light fell over a shrinking portion of the valley as the sun set just beyond the tree line.

  The first time Micah came to the cliffs to enjoy a sunset, he did so as alone as he could manage. Over time, Rooman and Reeman recognized the value of solitude for the Mimic wherever he could steal it in life and took positions further from Micah and the cliff. Years in, they stood watch a few hundred feet away, dozens of feet below the beige stone plateau.

  Micah closed his eyes and let the warm fading light soak his eyelids. His breathing slowed and shoulders slacked and sleep nearly found Micah.

  “Meeting you here is the highlight of any day it happens, Micah.” Boleen’s kind voice broke the calm.

  “I value my time with you as much as the time I have here alone…” Micah shifted himself and pushed off the ground. When he stood, the hood flopped back and off his head. His face exposed, Micah’s reaction surprised him as well as the holy man. A smile came and Micah shook his head. Calmly, he reached back for the hood. “Someday, maybe that won’t be a big deal.” The hood fell back into place with a light jostle.

  “Not today, I guess.”

  Micah gestured to the cliff and the pair walked to the edge. Micah lowered himself to the precipice more quickly than the older Ceran, but soon both hung their feet off the rock. The low light of the dying star warmed only their feet.

  After a few calm moments, Micah let a long-drawn-in breath out.

  “So, what’s on your mind, Micah?” Boleen asked. He squinted lightly against the faded sunlight.

  “Word travels fast around the Pillar.” Micah replied; his gaze set on the sky in the distance. Micah’s plan to spread word of his desire seemed to have worked precisely as he’d envisioned. Now Boleen was here, in the waning light of a dying sun, to see how deeply his commitment ran.

  “Certain words from certain people…” Boleen said, a light groan issued from him as he twisted toward Micah.

  “Spoken to certain people.” Micah finished the thought, and both chuckled for a moment.

  “Too true, Micah.”

  “Something has been on my mind lately, Boleen.” Micah spoke slowly, unsure how the words might come, whether they would make or damage his case with the holy man. “I’ve felt… compelled to do something I’m pretty sure is completely insane lately…”

  “Many examples of greatness in history were preceded by thoughts like that,” Boleen said as he placed a hand on Micah’s shoulder. Boleen pointed to his own head with his free hand and spoke in a playful tone. “I’m crazy, why do I want to do this?” He smiled as his wacky voice faded and seriousness crept back onto his face. “So you’re in good company there, at the very least.”

  “I guess…” Micah said with a small smile. He dropped his eyes to the red-brown dust on the cliff below them and nervously played with a bit of sand between his fingertips for a moment. “So, where does Ahma fall on the subject of destiny?”

  “That’s a heated topic of discussion at seminaries all over Ceres, Micah.” Boleen smiled for a beat and looked lost in a far-flung memory. “But most of my Brothers and Sisters in our sect believe one very simple truth about destiny: We can be set on a path, but free will gives us the ability and, some would say, the duty to wander from our path every so often…” Boleen paused and in that brief moment of quiet, Micah locked eyes with him. “Just to see what the rest of the universe, other paths, might have to offer.”

  “Isn’t that a little…” Micah struggled to find the right word or phrase. “Disrespectful to the author of our fate to try to write our own story?”

  “Eh,” Boleen shrugged, uncharacteristically informal in his response. “Sometimes, conflating the ideas of destiny and fate can be dangerous.”

  “How are they different?” Micah asked, genuinely confused.

  “In my mind,” Boleen said as he stared off in the distance at the setting sun. “Destiny is the path you walk, your story that’s told, until you reach your true fate. Your fate is what’s likely written in stone, Micah.” Boleen turned back toward Micah and his dark robes jostled and kicked up more dust. “You can’t change the end of the story, but you can change the voice the story is told in and some of the plot points before the end.”

  “Do you think it’s my destiny to see Earth before I die?” Micah asked, his gaze on the dirt once more. “Will I help my people?”

  “Micah,” Boleen’s head shook as an automatic reply. The holy man quickly caught himself and stopped the movement. “I think you serve an incredibly important purpose to the Crown, the Pillar and the people of this world.”

  “So, I’m too important to be allowed to live my own life?”

  “Perhaps.” Boleen said plainly after a moment of quiet passed between them. The older Ceran gestured to himself with one hand. “I find myself wondering when I’ll be allowed choices beyond the color of robe I wear each day.”

  “That why you’re always wearing the same thing?” Micah asked, a teasing glimmer in his eyes under the hood. He angled his face so Boleen could see the smile on his lips.

  “Hey,” Boleen began, feigned hurt pride in his voice. He pinched the robe’s material and pulled it toward Micah. “This robe is made of some of the most comfortable stuff I’ve ever come in contact with… I’m still surprised I don’t end up sleeping in it sometimes.”

  Another moment of levity came and went quietly. A mere sliver of orange sunlight touched the cliff below their feet, broken ragged by the tree line in the distance.

  “So…” Micah started, unsure how to keep the conversation moving. His blue eyes dulled a bit by the coming darkness and the looming disappointment of the King’s denial, Micah dropped his gaze to the dirt once more.

  “It’s unlikely they’ll allow you to leave.” Boleen said, a strong tone of finality to his voice. “But others will make the trip soon.”

  “Garreous.” Micah whispered to himself with a nod. In a flash, Micah jerked his head up and the motion flopped his hood back onto his shoulders. “The gate.” A cool evening wind blew in from the valley and tossed Micah
’s hair about. The lightness in his head returned as thoughts of Earth flooded Micah’s mind. Micah nearly hugged the holy man as the both watched the sun finally set. “Thank you, Boleen.”

  Boleen glanced around the plateau, nervous for a moment about the face of King being exposed so publicly, for so long. The High Priest saw that they were still alone on the dusty mesa and slacked a bit in his shoulders.

  “I think I know how to make this work…” Micah said, mostly to himself. They sat for another few moments in silence as the sun’s burnt light disappeared entirely. After a handful of quiet minutes in the dark, the twins plodded up the path at the back of the plateau and the foursome made their way back down the mountain together.

  Hybrid Training Gymnasium

  1930 Hours

  Back in the training gym, Micah and Wes circled each other, fully geared. Black padded helmets, gloves and kneepads covered gray tight-fitted shirts and pants on each of them. The pair sparred on a white pad with a large red circle on it, moving and shifting their feet but never leaving the circle. Wes dodged a right hand from Micah and landed a low right hook of his own on Micah’s lower ribs.

  “You keep over-committing…” Wes said between even breaths. He trapped a mouthguard between his cheek and the side of his teeth and Wes’s speech came clearly. Wes feigned to his left and Micah dropped his right glove down to defend those same ribs. With unnatural speed, Wes pulled back and swung his left fist.

  The gloved blow landed with a muted thud against Micah’s padded helmet (the black safety covering wrapped around his jaw and under his chin). The Mimic blinked sharply after the strike and tried to shake away the buzz of the impact. Sweat poured down Micah’s face and flew off as he tossed his head back and forth. His hood flopped about on his shoulders for a beat after his head stopped.

  “I’m… trying…” Micah spoke between labored, raspy breaths, his mouthguard muddling the words a bit. “Quit hitting me.” He said with a wry smile. Micah head-faked to his left then pulled a tight uppercut toward Wes’s side with his right hand.

  The blow landed and Wes grunted as he stepped back.

  “See?” Wes said as he blinked away the dull pain. Another smile came. “I told you that would work, you just needed the speed.”

  They circled each other again for a moment and Micah’s mind left the gym and the ring they occupied. A clear path to Earth had occurred to him during the conversation at the cliffs with Boleen and Micah couldn’t shake the topic. Across an impossibly large sea of stars, billions of humans lived beneath an umbrella of weapons and technology that damaged more than it protected. He needed to get to Earth, convince them to let Garreous fix the gate and –

  Wes’s left glove popped Micah on the chin and interrupted his thoughts with a flash of dancing, twinkling lights.

  “You left me for a second.” Wes hopped away and laughed. “Had to bring you back into the ring, Mike. Not safe for your mind to leave your body somewhere and wander off.”

  Through another set of stunned, ragged breaths, Micah recovered and stepped toward Wes. “Thinking about our people, Wes…” Micah swung high on Wes and the larger Hybrid leaned back. Wes’s blond hair flopped as he leaned back toward his opponent and struck his side again with a hard left.

  “Shouldn’t be thinking about anything but my fists and your ribs, Mike.” Wes said with another grin, mouthguard clinched in his teeth just outside his lips. “The rest of our brothers and sisters can handle themselves…”

  “No,” Micah let a hard breath go as he stepped back toward Wes. Micah crouched slightly and wound a left hook toward Wes’s right side. Deftly, Wes stepped to his left and knocked Micah’s right hand down with his glove. The Mimic’s entire right side was undefended for a moment. “I’m just—” Wes started to swing with a surely-dizzying left hand, angled toward the temple on the right side of Micah’s skull.

  Micah pinched his eyes shut as the glove split the air around them and whooshed toward his head. When the blow didn’t come, Micah opened his eyes and saw Wes’s glove frozen next to his head in the periphery of his vision.

  “Distracted.” Wes said before he tapped Micah on the nose with the same left glove. “You keep wandering away from your opponent up here…” Wes tapped Micah’s padded helmet at his right temple. “And you won’t have any more thoughts left to get lost in, buddy. Plenty of ways our people can take care of themselves without the Hood worrying for them collectively.”

  “I know…” Micah loosened his right glove with his teeth then pulled the left off once his right hand was free. Both gloves fell to the floor and Micah pulled his helmet off immediately. The Mimic ran his hands through sweaty black hair and pulled it away from his face. “But it’s not our people here I’m worried about.”

  Realization came to Wes as he pulled his gear off to buy himself time to formulate the right response. “Humans? Earth?” Wes asked after a few seconds of quiet.

  Micah nodded. “Humans. Earth.” He confirmed. A crazy flash of nervousness came over Micah when he realized his face was exposed after a stale wind from industrial fans overhead blew past his nose. Micah pulled his hood back into place and gestured toward the gym’s exit. Still a little surprised by the subject’s sudden appearance, Wes obliged but initially fell a step behind Micah.

  Wes’s substantial advantage in stature and much longer gait made up the gap quickly and the pair left the gym side by side. “So why are your concerns for people you’ve never seen or met taking up so much mental real estate, Mike?”

  “They…” Micah tripped over a bunch of words trying to leave him at once. He stuttered for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I don’t really know, Wes. It’s almost like a switch flipped in me a few days ago. Earth is all I can think about and the idea of going there is stuck in my head in a way I didn’t even think was possible.”

  “What do you think you can do for them? What could they possibly need from us? From you?” Wes asked, genuine confusion in his voice. The danger of simply asking to leave the planet when one occupied a role like Micah’s… Actually leaving was surely a death sentence. “Whatever it is, I’m sure someone else can go, somebody else can do whatever it is you think you need to do…”

  “Maybe.” Micah shook his head for a moment. “But… I don’t think anyone else has two things going for them that I do, Wes…” He held up a single digit. “One: I’m, at my core, of both worlds. I mean, how much more warmly would I be received compared to someone like Sanballat?”

  “Well,” Wes began with a scoff. “That walking meatsack of bad ideas would be poorly received almost anywhere.” Wes cracked a wide smile. “I’m sure most of his family dislikes him.”

  “Could be.” Micah said with a chuckle. “But you know what I mean.”

  Wes nodded and let Micah press on.

  “Okay, so two,” He held up another finger. “I feel a calling to do this, Wes.”

  “A calling…” Wes repeated, uncertain.

  The pair walked out of the training facility and onto the copper steel walkway that led everywhere one could go in the Blocks. Their footfalls pinged and clanked as they made their way toward B block and Wes’s favorite cafeteria. Over the last few months, Wes began to insist they eat at the B-3 cafeteria (B block, third floor), which suited Micah just fine. B block was one of the most lightly populated blocks, filled with more prominent Hybrids, but the third floor of that building housed only the block’s Antisar team, the Burners.

  Later in the evening, few of the athletes had yet to eat, so Micah and Wes often found themselves dining nearly alone.

  Absent any kind of conversation or consent, they walked toward B block and that cafeteria while their conversation rolled on.

  “Believe me, Wes…” Micah spoke deliberately. He didn’t usually choose his words so carefully with Wes but the sensitivity of the topic and where the subject would eventually lead made it necessary. “I know how it sounds, really.”

  “It’s crazy.” Both said in the same mome
nt, Micah looking at the steel below and Wes’s eyes locked on the hood.

  They shared a quick laugh together as Micah brought his eyes up to meet Wes’s gaze.

  “It is.” Micah said simply. “I… I know.”

  “Then why?” Wes stopped midstride and turned to face the Mimic. They stood in the glow of lights which shone down from B block’s numerous windows.

  “They’re dying.” Micah said. “Trapped under a canopy of weapons designed to protect them…”

  “Plenty of hybrids in less-than-ideal conditions here you could help, Mike.” Wes said. “The Back Blocks could use some help from the Pillar too.”

  Like campers sat too far from a fire, the Hybrids assigned to the “Back Blocks” (lettered U and beyond) lived so far from the Pillar that the Royal structure existed almost in concept only. They saw it in the distance as the Hybrids in the Back Blocks lived their daily lives, but the Pillar afforded them scant benefits.

  “Yeah, I know…” Micah replied quietly, shamed.

  Wes took several steps toward the Block doors, large black steel doors with cylindrical handles which ran their vertical length, floor to ceiling. The large Hybrid grabbed the handle and pulled it open as he stepped aside to allow Micah’s entry.

  Wes spoke as Micah walked past him and into the Block.

  “But you don’t feel called to help anyone here…” Wes said. Micah turned to face his closest friend as they both came into the sparse entryway. Gray concrete walls surrounded them, ceilings only a couple feet higher than Wes’s hair above them. Black lettering backlit with red (the Burner’s official color scheme) pointed the way toward elevators and their destination: the cafeteria. “Do you?”

  “No…” Micah said, his head hung and the hood flopped about, pointed at the concrete floor. “And Wes, I feel terrible about that… I…” Micah lost his line of thought for a beat. “I do… But something feels important about this, Wes. I can’t shake this idea and I can’t shirk this… this duty. Think about what it might mean for the future of our people here if I go there and things go well…”