“Done.”
“Form, bleed in ten seconds.” At least she sounded calm. “Three … two … one.”
For a full second, I couldn’t tell anything happened. Then, seriously, all hell broke out. Stingray vibrated a little, then it felt like giants were pounding metal hammers on the hull.”
“Stingray, are we folding away?”
“Yes and no,” she replied.
“Can’t be both. Status.”
“Captain,” Al said between crashes, “the vortex’s engines are at maximum. We are folding space but space itself is unfolding in a random pattern.”
“How is that poss … oh, the bleed is causing this, right?”
“Most likely, Form.”
“Are we safely away from the blast zone?”
“We are, but decreasingly,” she replied.
“We’re going backward?” I puzzled aloud.
“Or space-time is advancing faster than we are able to.”
“Like what, negative gravity waves?”
“In a sense, possibly.”
“Facts only, Stingray. Speculate only when asked to. How long before it catches us?”
“A few seconds.”
“What will happen when if it does?”
“Unknown.”
Crap. “Speculation?”
“Most likely we will be annihilated. Perhaps we will only be torn to infinitesimally small pieces.”
“No good. Al, fire the rail guns at the blast zone.”
I heard the unmistakable sound of rapid-fire launches.
“Form, what do you hope to accomplish. It is unlikely we’ll—”
“Newton’s third law of motion, my dear. Equal and opposite reactions. I’m giving us a push. Is it helping?”
“Marginally, yes,” she replied.
“Are we going to clear—”
I would never finish that sentence. Neither of the Als would ever respond to my question. The universe went black, as silent as it was lightless. I had slept in the past, and that was a blackness. I had blacked out when I transferred in and out of my android host. This blackness, for the fleeting instant I think I was able to experience it, was very different. Frighteningly different. It was the cold unsettling blackness that I assumed meant death. Then … nonexistence took me.
SIXTEEN
Mirraya and Slapgren soared. They pushed the limits with huge smiles. Well, they would have smiled if scaly torchcleft dragons had facial muscles that allowed any expressions. Cala had told them to take the afternoon off, to go hunting in the western region. It was the first time since they took up residence with her on Rameeka Blue Green that she given them one single moment of freedom. They were so ready for it. Torchclefts were good fliers and could move like bullets, but they weren’t birds. They limited their flight to treetop level mostly. But not today. The teens were determined to see just how high high was. Their experiment quickly became a serious competition, like everything else in their lives.
At a certain altitude, the thinner air simply wouldn’t support their wing’s ability to provide additional lift. Then the competition became a matter of weight versus muscle. Mirri was lighter, but Slapgren was stronger. First one would put forth herculean effort to get a few meters higher, but then they would flag and need to descend. Then the other would max out and temporarily win. After an hour of grueling effort, Mirri angled her wings to the ground and shot from the sky. Slapgren lingered above long enough to be able to, at least in his mind, claim victory. Then he swooped down to catch her. Seeing him approach, Mirraya closed her wings and did her best to fall like a rock. When she opened them to avoid impaling herself on the forest canopy, he’d gotten no closer to her.
She landed on a ragged sheer cliff not far from home. Slapgren joined her momentarily. They perched in labored breath for quite a while. Cala had ostensibly sent them out to catch dinner. Once Mirraya was sufficiently rested, she gave a hunting cry and dropped from the rock face. Slapgren sped to her side and they dropped as a pair. The predatory technique of the species was to skim the ground at high velocity and catch anything small enough to eat by superior speed. Once seized, the dragons opened their wings to brake, generally snapping their victim’s neck. Within ten minutes, they’d bagged four good sized rabbit-equivalents and a couple of lizard-like animals. With enough food to justify their escapade, they made for home at a leisurely pace.
As soon as they landed, both teens morphed back into their Deft bodies. They picked up their catch and headed for the kitchen. They began skinning and cleaning, all the while recounting over-embellished highlights of their recent adventure. Mirraya told Slapgren she wished she’d been with him on his hunt. The one she was on didn’t have nearly as may thrills and spills, let alone mortal dangers but the dozens as the one he described. For several minutes they laughed and punched at each other, generally having a raucous time. It felt good.
Then Mirri noticed something out of the ordinary. “Where’s Cala?”
Slapgren threw a slice of intestine at her and said, “How should I know? I’ve been gone hunting.”
She dodged the gross morsel. “Oh, that’s where you were.”
“Maybe she went to the spa for a massage. She’s always saying we’re driving her nuts.”
“The spa? Really. Have you seen any other people on this rock, let alone a spa?”
“She’s keeping it a secret, so we don’t spend too much time there.”
They giggled conspiratorially over that all-too-true assessment.
As their mirth tailed off, a very somber looking Cala stuck her head into the kitchen, holding the door frame with one hand. “Wash up and join me at the table.”
The teens exchanged puzzled looks.
Mirri held up a partially skinned carcass. “I’ll be done in a jiff.”
“Now,” was all she said, and her head disappeared.
“That didn’t sound too upbeat,” remarked Slapgren as he scrubbed blood off his forearms.
“No, it didn’t sound good at all,” she agreed quickly.
Cala sat at her usual spot with her wing elbows on the tabletop. Her head sagged like it weighed a ton. The teens sat on either side of her.
Setting her hand on Cala’s arm, Mirri spoke first. “What’s wrong, dearest mowar.” Mowar was an honorific often used in Deft culture for significant elders like Cala.
“I have sad news, children. Horrible news,” she replied with a trembling voice. “Jon Ryan no longer exists.”
Mirraya was about to ask what the horrible news was, when the impact of those words struck her in the belly like a locomotive. She gasped, then looked to Slapgren, then bit a knuckle between her teeth. “What? No … I mean, how can you …”
Cala placed a single claw over Mirraya’s lips. “Hush, dearest child. Be still. He is gone. This I sense. That is all you need know.”
“Did he call you?” asked Slapgren as tears welled up in his eyes.
“No, precious child, he did not call me,” she soothed.
“How is it you can know?” asked Mirraya as firmly as her collapsing world would allow her to.
“I know. I have tracked that fine man for years. I can feel that I am no longer able to touch him.”
“You mean he’s dead, right?” asked Slapgren.
She shrugged wearily. “He no longer exists. Whether it’s death or some other form of separation, I cannot say.”
“So, he could still be alive?” Mirri said more as an accusation.
“I am not that wise, child. He is no more. You need to understand and accept that. Death is a part of life. You both know this all too well.”
“Can we maybe go look for him?” asked Slapgren.
“Where would you look for something that does not exist? How would you begin your quest?”
“I don’t know. Me? I’d ask you,” he responded uncertainly.
“And I’d ask you to let him go. Remember his love and his many sacrifices. I’d ask you to honor him as he so deserves to be and to
speak well of him always.”
“That’s it?” he asked quietly.
“That’s the whole of it.” She stood. “I will leave you to your thoughts. If either of you requires me, I’ll be in the kitchen finishing your work.” She left silently.
The teens sat where they were, lost in private grief for several minutes.
Mirraya looked to Slapgren. “What do you think happened to Uncle Jon?”
He shrugged hopelessly. Then he began to cry openly, not a thing he was given to.
Mirri jumped to her feet and sat in the chair next to him. She slid the chair over until the rails clacked. Then she spread her arm over his trembling shoulders and hugged him close with all her remaining strength. She began to cry along with him. Slapgren set his hand on her arm and they wept together for a good long while. They rocked in their chairs, sobs mixed with moans mixed with wet tears.
Some moment later, their faces turned to the others in unison and they shared their first kiss.
SEVENTEEN
I woke up and looked at the alarm clock. Damn thing hadn’t gone off as usual. Or maybe it did, and I ignored it, as usual. Didn’t matter. I was late for work, as usual. I sat up slowly and danged my feet until they touched the floor. I sat there a second, rubbing my face. Was I hungover? Didn’t exactly seem like it, but I felt some kind of bad. What did I do last night? Huh. Couldn’t recall. No prob. It’d come to me. Maybe.
I took a chance and stood up. Okay. So far, so good. I walked toward the head. Halfway there, I stopped and checked out the bed. Nope, I slept alone last night. Crap. I hated to strike out. No wait, was I married? No, Gloria’d be right there drooling on my pillow if I was. Lazy so-and-so never rose before the crack of noon. I knew she was a vampire, but I still married her. It was her fault I did, not mine. No, she had as limited an intellect as she did have an incendiary temper, but she had to go and look like Porn Star Barbie, didn’t she? Wasn’t my fault. I continued my trek to the john.
A splash of cold water to my face, a no-toothpaste semi-brushing, and I was good to go. I threw on my flight suit, snatched a stale donut, and pounced on the day. I looked back at my house as I left. It was my townhouse in Del Rio, Texas. Cool. I was late for work at Laughlin Air Force Base, proud home of the 47th Flying Training Wing. I was the best IP there for the T-38, ever. Well, at least I was the most loved and feared instructor pilot there, ever. Okay, currently. I was the only Red Flag grad on post, so I was definitely the top dog.
I shook my head violently. Why did the words top dog hurt my head? Must be hungover. Yeah. Cheap booze and cheaper companionship will do that to a brain. I decided that if I was late anyway, might as well take the bus to work. Why not. It was a fine fall morning. I strolled to the stop a few blocks away.
My next clue that something was rotten in the state of Texas lay half a block away. There on the front lawn, a buck-naked couple was going at it like a pair of teenagers on their honeymoon. Wow. Of course, I tried not to stare. I never slowed down and didn’t look back. It would have broken my neck to do so. I believed in being discrete. To each his and her own. But it did seem odd given the social mores of rural Texas, at least by my way of understanding.
At the next intersection, I was mildly surprised to see a full-grown male African elephant with a duck riding on its back. Now there’s something you didn’t see every day in south Texas. Not hardly. The duck, for its part, quacked intently and mostly in my direction. What I might have done to so upset that duck was beyond me. But, seeing how it had a very big wingman, I let his chiding pass without pressing her for details.
I checked my watch. Hey, imagine that. I was no longer late for work. If the bus was anywhere near on schedule, I’d be early. Hmm. Was I walking that fast? Never look a gift horse in the mouth. I proceeded with a spring in my step. That’s when something totally weird and unexpected happened. Yeah, freaked me out. A tiny vortex, like a micro-tornado, signaled it was making a left turn into the private driveway I was about to pass. I nearly ran right into it. He, or possibly she, would come out on top in that encounter. I asked him, figuring only a male would be so pushy, if he couldn’t have waited until I’d passed. He replied something to the effect that micro and mini vortices didn’t work like that. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Just on the other side of the private driveway, a large tree grabbed its chest and fell over on the sidewalk in the exact spot I would have been had the vortex not so rudely impeded my progress.
As I passed the afflicted tree, I asked it if I could help.
“No. Al be okay,” the tree said.
“You mean I’ll be okay?” I tried to clarify.
“That I cannot say,” he replied with a wink.
Odd day, indeed. I pressed ahead. I checked my watch again. Woohoo! I was now even earlier for work. In fact, I was almost so early that I was actually more like late for yesterday’s work. Superb. I could take today off if I worked yesterday twice. It was only fair. Hell, I was perpetually late for work, so I began to imagine this just might be happening. I sped up and considered calling a taxi to get to the base ASAP.
But on the next corner, where the Piggly Wiggly mart should have been, where there was a phone booth I could have used to call a cab, stood something completely perplexing. My past doubts, regrets, and remorse sat there in the open field. No, I am not kidding. There they were. Early teenage masturbation, eating Carl Bradford’s lunch in grade school, and bombing that village back during the war. They all sat there looking kind of like—I know this sounds nuts—Buddha. I mean to say a big Buddha, like the ones at the gates to Chinatown. Naturally, however, this Buddha moved. Doubts, regrets, and remorse were mobile, they and their impact changed over time just like long-lost motivation.
I set myself down right there on the curb, careless to the whims of traffic. I needed to think this day through. One too many unusual events had marked the day’s progress. Plus, I had time. Late for work was late for work. It wasn’t like it was graded A to F. I’d been an IP at Laughlin for a year and a half. No, I would be an IP at Laughlin for eighteen months in total. How long had I been here? There? The world around me lacked substance and most of all self-conviction. That was really pissing me off. Hell, first thing an IP taught a plebe was that they had to have focus and conviction.
A thought struck me, but I couldn’t say from whence it came. I stood up, stepped back onto the sidewalk, and cupped my hand around my mouth. “Al,” I yelled. “Al, are you there?”
Hearing nothing by way of reply, I screamed in near panic, “Al, Blessing, the Als. For the love of all that’s holy, are you there?”
Strange. I emoted so but wasn’t certain what I was saying. I certainly wasn’t familiar with whomever I addressed.
Behind me, the sound of a throat being cleared startled me. I turned. There stood a well-aging man wearing a suit with a purple bow tie. His arm was locked with an adorable little lady in her Sunday-go-to-meeting best. She wore a hoop-skirt and held aloft a filigree parasol. I had never actually seen a woman sporting a parasol. A purple bow tie either for that matter. I preferred the parasol.
“May I introduce ourselves,” the man inquired politely.
“You mean yourself?” I asked, again seeking clarity in my day.
“Whom else might?” he replied with a wink.
My soul shook that time, not just my head. I felt like certainty was impossible and knew nothing was beyond fear.
“I am Al,” he said tipping the bowler hat I just then noticed. “This lovely vision,” he nodded toward the lady, “is my lumpidy-bumpidy wife, Blessing. We are the Als.”
I pointed to him specifically. “You’re Al Al, first and last names the same?”
“No. I’m Al. She’s Blessing. Together we are the Als.”
“Why?”
“Precisely.”
“Al, where the hell are we?” I held up a hand. “And if it’s actual hell, don’t tell me.”
“I am not certain. Perdition is not a state I’m familiar with.”
“No, this is the state of Texas, similar in many ways to your Perdition, I am given to be believe,” Blessing interjected with a curtsy.
“We were not here. Now we are here,” I said with conviction. “WTF happened and why?”
“We don’t know what happened, so the whys of it remain elusive,” responded Al. He had a courtly manner about him.
I began to sweat like Nixon at the Pearly Gates. My knees buckled, and I hit the concrete.
“Are you all right, Pilot,” Al asked.
“No, I am not. I think I’m dead and that this is hell.”
“Dead or not, I cannot say. But why do you assume you’re in Hell?”
“Because you’re here too.”
He wagged a crooked finger at me.
Wow, if Al had digits, they’d be crooked.
“Touché.” The same finger pointed to Stingray. But she’s here too. It would be as impossible as it would be unthinkable for such an angel to be fallen.”
“You’re right there. She not like you yet. Speculation?”
“We’d love some,” replied Stingray.
“No, I’m calling for it.”
“So are we,” Al responded softly.
“I’m damn sure I’m not in Del Rio, Texas late for work as an IP at Laughlin AFB with my two AIs personified in front of me.” I labored to stand.
Al helped me.
“Thanks. Would you like a glass of water?” he asked.
“Yes, I would. Do you have one?”
“No, but as a point of reference I'm glad to know it, thank you. I’ll add your response to our algorithms.”
“We need to figure out …”
One very tall and one very short figure materialized from thin air, walking deliberately in our direction. It was very tall silver-plated cocktail platter and a very short silly thought: could my life get any weirder? I hoped not, but I was certain I’d be further incapacitated by the metaphysical soon enough.
“And who might you be?” I asked them by way of challenge.
They leaned in and mumbled to one another for quite a few seconds. The platter spoke first. “We might be an infinite number of things, both real and unreal. However, we are, to the best of our knowledge, not.”
The Fires Of Hell Page 11