The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption (43 page)

“We’re not catascopes in this brane. And we
won’t turn you in to the Omega Archon.”

Benedict laughed. “Your naiveté is always
amusing, Rush. I have no need to fear the Omega Archon. When it’s
time, King Odius will lend me the Valkyries to pay back my many
favors. We will return to Zygfed and the Valkyries will make short
order of Zygfed’s fusible King.”

The terrorist rinsed his mouth with a sip of
tea and then put down his cup. “But, no, Rush, I cannot help
you.”

Another punch. Why was Benedict staring at my
waist?

“He said cannot, not may not,” Spud
interjected. “I would venture
his
Somalderis, Nephil Stratum
has failed at the quest to rescue John.
You’re
wearing the
only Somalderis here that can.”

“Exactly, Escott. Nephil Stratum’s tender
tendrils have kept your brother alive in his brane, but there is
not enough energy in his prison purgatory for her to return him to
this
brane. That’ll be your task, if you survive.”

I looked first at Spud and then at Benedict.
“I’ll survive.
We’ll
survive. Just tell me where he is and
I’ll go get him.” My eyes fell on Anesidora’s ring. “It would help
if I borrowed an Ergal.”

The beautiful woman shook her head.
“Impossible. But I will assist with your crossing,” she said
softly, “if you’ll be kind enough to deliver a gift.” In her
delicate hands M-fanned an exquisite amphora, vase, its narrow neck
stoppered by a giant sparkling ruby.

Spud laid a warning hand on my arm, but I
brushed it away. “I’ll do anything to rescue John. Anything,” I
whispered, before turning to Benedict, and adding, “I’m in.”

“Excellent,” Benedict glowed, “then let us
take action--right after dinner.” He waved his hand and the music
changed again, “Synthetic filet mignon always tastes better with
Strauss on the side.”

I had a hard time containing my excitement.
I’d begun to believe that I’d never see John again. And now, in a
few hours, as in my happiest childhood moments, I’d be at his side.
Spud’s attempts to whisper in my ear were becoming annoying.

“It’s the least we can do to be polite,” I
returned in a low voice. “And besides, it’s a free dinner, not
lunch.”

* * *

Dinner ended up seeming endless to me—and, in
a nod to Spud, unnecessary. We had to humor Benedict (I don’t mind
space opera, but I am so not a Strauss fan) but, after years of
waiting, I was eager to reach John. Spud and Benedict spent much of
the meal arguing about Plato’s metaphysics, while I just poked at
the food on my plate and pretended to listen to Anesidora’s
hospital stories from her days as a nurse. I hadn’t seen my brother
since I was fifteen. Would I be meeting the brave, strong, fighter
that had so inspired me and my siblings? Or would my glimpse of him
be fleeting as he hovered at death’s door?

Finally, an hour after suns-set, we M-fanned
in a marble room, that was entirely marble. Floors, ceiling, walls,
simply marble, with no added decorations or furniture. Anesidora
handed me the amphora, and laid her hands on my shoulders from
behind.

“When you arrive at your, er, destination,”
Anesidora whispered in my ear, “tell Hermes that we will join him
soon.”

Oh-kay. What did they say about Greeks and
gifts?

“Ready?” A note of urgency?

I turned my head. “Should I hold Sp—Escott’s
hand?” I asked, as I clasped the jar next to my chest.

“No,” Benedict responded. “Close your eyes
and we will take care of the transport.” He nodded at Anesidora who
tapped her Ergal ring.

My last memory before I X-fanned was a cry
from Spud, but I was traveling before I could make out his words.
Once again, I felt as if my body had exploded, its pieces erupting
from my core and spinning around the fragments of my spine.
Curiously enough, I kept seeing the amphora orbiting my atoms, but,
unlike me, completely intact.

And then, breathing heavily, I stood again
united, suspended in the center of an enormous glowing sphere.
Alone.

“Spud!” I shouted, looking around the empty
sphere for my partner. Empty, except for me and the unscathed jar
in my arms.

Grasping the amphora, I curled up into a
ball, and jumped, spinning myself into a series of somersaults that
floated me toward the sphere’s edge. My feet shot out to meet the
boundary, and I bounced off the flexible substance and caromed
across the diameter of the chamber, careening off impenetrable
walls with my extended legs. Eventually, my motion slowed to a stop
and I found myself once again hanging in the middle of the sphere.
I spat out an impolite curse.

The base of the sphere dissolved before my
eyes and I found myself splashing into a large, shallow sea, with
only my head and the jar rising above the bubbling liquid that
licked my shoulders. My feet could barely touch the bottom, but I
was able to kick and swim after a fashion towards a group of
wizened humanoid heads that had gathered at the edge of my vision.
There was still no sign of Spud.

“Anybody here ‘habla Ingles’?” I tossed off,
not expecting an answer.

“We do not need hablar here,” blasted into my
brain.

I twisted around to face my floating
companions.

“Our thoughts are transmitted directly
through ionic conductive currents,” a slightly more sonorous
thought pierced my consciousness.

“Ah,” I said—or thought—who knows. Like
CANDI, the Cascading Auxiliary Neurosynaptic Discharge Interaction,
that sends wireless signals from our Ergals directly to our brains.
“Where are we? And have you seen my friend? About my age, dark
blond hair…”

“No, you are alone. This is your world. Make
of it what you will.” One of the grizzled heads—I wasn’t sure which
one—didn’t say.

I gripped the amphora. “Where’s Spud?”

“You can draw on your neurocache to see
him.”

Before I could ask what the not-talking-head
meant, Spud appeared before us, floating stiffly on the liquid’s
surface. As he drifted by me, I was struck mute by my view of his
face. The same gray eyes, aquiline nose, pale skin, and thin lips,
yes. But his expression was frozen, lifeless. Whatever made Spud
who he is was missing—this, this avatar, it had no soul.

“Make of him what you will,” resonated in my
brain from another of the cerebral guardians.

“Don’t be afraid,” the avatar Spud announced.
He swung his legs into the liquid and, sitting up on the surface,
smiled at me with his trademark lopsided grin. “This Spud will be
everything of which you dreamed.”

The look in his eyes had suddenly shifted
from reassurance to adoration. An expression I’d never expected to
see on Spud’s stolid face. Sure, I’d admit to having a few
fantasies starring my catascope partner once in awhile, but I knew
the real Spud played for the other team. Like half the guys I know
in Hollywood. This Spud’s intense gaze as he swam towards me was
totally out of character, and made me more uncomfortable the closer
he approached.

Before I could raise my free hand and block
him, Spud leaned forward and planted his lips firmly on mine,
teasing my teeth with his serpentine tongue. “No!” I cried, pushing
him away with my knees. “Stop! This isn’t you!”

The avatar pulled back and floated vertically
before me, his expression once again vacant, waiting.

I spun round to accost the observing heads.
“No! I want the real Spud! Where is he?”

The heads looked at each other before one
communicated, “He is not here. You are alone. Make of it what you
will.” Without another thought, all the heads, as well as Avatar
Spud, disappeared. And I
was
alone.

* * *

Shiloh’s Brane—where time is meaningless

“Hey,” I shouted, holding up the amphora, “Is
one of you Hermes? I was supposed to give you all a gift!” My
thoughts echoed across the sphere, bouncing back and forth, fading
slowly into an eerie silence. Those old geezers weren’t kidding.
Except for me and my mind, nothing else existed in this hollow
ball. No disembodied heads. Certainly not Spud. And not John. With
every passing minute, the nothingness crept closer, surrounding me,
drowning me with its emptiness. I felt my heart beating fast, my
breaths growing short. I had to get out of here, now.

Still holding the amphora, I crouched into
the liquid and sprung up to try to reach the sphere’s ceiling.
Would I be able to diffuse through the membrane as I had done in
the spheres on Benedict’s planet ship? If not, perhaps I could use
the stopper’s ruby to slice a hole through which I could escape
this vapid prison. My arms, and then the ruby’s tip, only stretched
the sphere’s wall; ruby, amphora, and I were shot back down to land
onto the shallow liquid, whose level had somehow dropped to my
kneecaps and continued to diminish.

At this rate, very soon, there’d be nothing
but this spherical trampoline imprisoning me, a void filled only by
oxygen and my anxious thoughts. But, wait a minute, if the liquid
was
disappearing, there had to be a drain or some other
means of exit that I might be able to take advantage of, too. I
slipped off one of my shoes, and waded across the length of the
shrinking sea, hoping to find a hole leading out with my bare
toes.

Nothing. The liquid’s molecules must be able
to diffuse through the sphere’s membrane. Without an Ergal, I
couldn’t micro and get small enough to follow. Shoe on. Back to
Plan A.

I glared at the ruby stopper. Why couldn’t
you be sharper, dammit? And if I ever did manage to get out of
here, Anesidora would be pissed that I’d messed up her goodwill
gesture. I was about ready to toss the amphora to my feet in
disgust, when I realized, albeit late, that maybe I had a Plan C.
Yes, it finally occurred to me to open the jar. So I did.

A thin plume of smoke rose from the amphora’s
opening, curling and looping into a spiral that grew to fill the
open space around me. The wisps felt warm against my moist skin,
bathing me, and drying the traces of the fluid still clinging to my
clothes. Contracting, the wisps started to gather into a discrete
cloud, which soon formed the shape and form…of a Syneph!

“Ha,” I grinned, adding in Zygan. “Dude, am I
glad to see you.”

“My name is Helpus Stratum,” the Syneph
responded with the language’s phonetic squeaks, “but you may call
me ‘Dude’ if you wish. I am grateful to you for releasing me from
my confinement.”

I pursed my lips and nodded. Dude was
obviously unfamiliar with slang. “Your name’s very appropriate,
Helpus Stratum. How long have you been…confined?”

“Since the birth of the Ifestian
civilization. I am—was—considered a danger to their survival. You
speak Zygan, but you are not Ifestian. Are you from Megara?”

“Terra,” I corrected. “A small planet at the
edge of the—“

“A child of Gaia has traveled into the
netherworlds?” The Syneph sounded incredulous. “I should have
wagered that Prometheus’ folly would have borne fruit eventually.
No matter,” the Syneph sighed. “It is now my obligation to repay
you for unchaining my bonds.”

“Do I get three wishes?” I muttered,
straining to remember who Prometheus was.
I need you, Spud.
I burst out, “Okay, first, I want to find my brother John. Second,
I want us to get my partner Spud, and, third, I want us all to get
home safely. Should be less than a day’s work.”

Helpus Stratum didn’t respond for a long
time. “Be careful what you wish for,” the Syneph finally returned.
“But, perhaps I could be of some aid. Tell me, Terran, where is
your brother John?”

Chapter 8

Prometheus Unbound

“Nephil Stratum.”

The Syneph turned pitch black for a moment,
then retreated to a grayish shade. “Explain.”

“My brother John is with Nephil Stratum.” I
kept my voice even. “Find her with that communications thing you
all do, and you’ll find John.”

Grumbling, Helpus Stratum grabbed the ruby
stopper from my hands with a smoky wisp, and secreted it inside a
fluffy pouch. I laid the amphora on the sphere’s damp floor and
waited in silence again for several minutes, stroking the soft wool
of my Somalderis and trying not to fidget as the Syneph’s color
wavered between blue and gray.

Suddenly, Helpus Stratum’s wisps enveloped
me, smothering me in a foggy mist. Each breath blasted cold moist
air into my lungs, air so thick that I gasped and gagged, thrashing
my arms and legs to try swim out of the frigid white cloud. A wave
of dizziness--and then my head broke through the fog into the
blackness. And I could breathe.

But I couldn’t see. Not even a whisper of
light, a darkness that made me long for the caustic blanket of
Helpus Stratum’s smoke. Helpus Stratum? “Helpus Stratum?” I
cried.

The faintest shimmer of luminosity next to
me. I felt a warmth, a softness, cradling me, opening my eyes.
Before me, a welcome sight, was a familiar downy white cloud. I
smiled. “Nephil Stratum.”

“Shiloh Rush,” was the quiet reply.

I could view little before me, but had a
feeling that Helpus Stratum was no longer with me, us—wherever we
were. “John?”

“He’s here,” Nephil Stratum said, as a
flicker of light shot out towards my feet. “Helpus Stratum can be a
cruel ally, but, for this once, a saving grace.”

I looked down to see a prostrate John,
cachectic and cadaverous, his sunken eyes blinking furiously to
stave off the luminous assault, his expression revealing first
confusion and then relief at the sight of his sister by his side.
His emaciated arm shook as it reached out towards me, his mouth
opened a sliver to let out a hoarse moan. Where was the
indestructible mentor that had inspired me to literally reach for
the stars? Now my brother needed
me
to save
his
life.