Chapter Seventy-Four: Reality Knocks
Anna Carrero silently watched Skaia. It had gone dark.
This was one of Anna's favorite Times to visit - very quiet, very tranquil from her current location. At least, until the fire showed up. But even when the fire erupted from Skaia, Anna could barely hear it. It was mesmerizing to watch.
This was the final stretch of time before the Event Horizon. As a Seer of Time, Anna was capable of projecting herself forwards and backwards through the Alpha Timeline, as well as any of its innumerable doomed offshoots. The only catch was that Anna could not literally see into the future - she could only sense the Probabilities of what was to come, not the events themselves.
The Alpha Timeline had its own distinct set of Probabilities. Traveling through the Alpha Timeline was a simple matter of staying within those Probabilities. Whenever Anna strayed, she would find herself in an offshoot timeline, and would have to retrace her steps.
The Event Horizon was the point within the Alpha Timeline where all the Probabilities suddenly went blank. Anna would try and project herself forward to see what was ahead without actually traveling there, but all she would get from beyond the Event Horizon was blankness. Like white noise on a radio.
Anna had never actively time-traveled beyond the Event Horizon. She had no idea what to expect. Many times she had time-traveled up to the very last instant before the Alpha Timeline diffused into the blankness, only to whisk herself away to safety before experiencing what lay beyond.
She had no idea what to expect. There was nothing scarier to a Seer of Time than the thought of being blind to the future.
Now, Anna preferred to travel to the temporal cusp of the Event Horizon in order to relax.
Anna floated in outer space, drifting through the empty region between Skaia and the eight planets. Skaia was mostly dark, obscured by a thick veil of black clouds. There were giant, looming shapes drifting about within the veil, nightmarish forms and shadows.
A sudden burst of flame. A massive inferno of fire roared into existence, erupting from somewhere under all the dark clouds. The stream of fire appeared small from Anna's distance, but the teenage girl could tell that it was vast. It blasted the dark clouds back, opening up a hole in the darkness large enough for a ship to pass through.
Anna could not see the ship from her current vantage point, but she had spotted it on previous visits to this Time. She had been rather drunk on all those occasions, and all she could recall of the ship was its emerald-green sails. She was less drunk right now, however, and had little desire to stray too near to the unnervingly darkened Skaia. At least, she felt less drunk.
Speaking of which…
Anna accessed her sylladex and retrieved her flask of Captain Morgan. She unscrewed the cap, lifted the flask to her lips, and hesitated. Anna's brow twitched in a slight frown. She lowered her flask, stared intently at it.
"You don't make me feel better…" Anna murmured to her flask. "You don't taste good. You don't cure my loneliness. You don't stroke my hair or kiss me. You don't even get me drunk, anymore… Why do I still drink you?"
The flask's only reply was to continue being a flask.
"That's what I thought," Anna grunted. She lifted the flask back to her lips and completely drained it. Then she summoned her chronograils, spun them, allowed herself to fall backwards into the timestream.
There was a haze of red light, cocooning Anna and her chronograils. When the red light cleared, Anna found herself hovering in outer space, in the exact same place she'd been 'before'.
Only now, there was a black stealth corvette bearing down on her.
"Oh, fuck me- HIC!" Anna swore and hiccuped at the same time, gaining her wits and struggling to fly up and out of the battleship's way. That was when her vision started to blur.
The Draconian Dignitary hummed quietly to himself as he selected a blow torch from one of the cabinets filled with torture utensils. He looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with the bloodied, disheveled girl in purple pajamas who was in the questioning chair.
"Do you approve, Sylph?" the Dignitary asked, giving the blow torch a little wave.
The Sylph of Death made no reply. Considering the duct tape secured over her mouth, this did not surprise the Dignitary. He set the blow torch down on the countertop and tugged his sleeves up from his wrists. He washed his hands in the sink, shook them, dried them in a towel.
Upon folding the towel and setting it aside, the Dignitary picked up the blow torch and walked towards the questioning chair. Before commencing with the Sylph's second round of interrogation, the Dignitary performed his routine inspection of the chair's restraints.
The Dignitary clicked his tongue in irritation as he inspected the manacle securing the Sylph's left wrist to the arm of her chair. It was not fully locked. Standing at the door were the two guards who had secured the restraints. The Dignitary looked to them. "Enlighten me," he said. "Is it your wish to see the Sylph's left arm flailing about this way and that whilst I conduct my questioning?"
The two guards traded a furtive glance. Neither of them were comfortable being put on the spot. The best days at work were those when the Dignitary paid them absolutely no mind. Today was not one of those days.
"No, sir," the more senior of the two guards replied.
"Please refasten the left wrist manacle, and do it properly this time," the Dignitary ordered. "Wouldn't want to find yourselves out of a job. Not in this economy. Might kill you."
The senior guard wisely chose not to say anything more than, "Yes, sir." He motioned for his partner to handle the task. The junior guard avoided eye contact with the Dignitary, hurried over to the questioning chair. As he secured the manacle, the Sylph stared at him. The guard met the Sylph's gaze only once, and he felt almost surprised at how lifeless her eyes were.
The junior guard quickly returned to his post, glad to be away from the Sylph. The human female's gaze troubled him.
"Much better, thank you." The Dignitary gave a cold smile as he fired up the blowtorch, adjusting the flame to a concentrated jet. The Sylph's breathing quickened and she struggled her in chair. The Dignitary took a moment to savor the squirming - it amused him when prisoners tried to shy away despite knowing that escape was impossible.
"Now, then," the Dignitary pulled up one of the Sylph's sleeves, baring the arm underneath, "I am going to remove the tape from your mouth. Then you are going to share with me, in minute detail, every last encounter you have had with the dissenters. In particular, with the Wrathful Veteran, whom we know you have met. If you do not comply, then I will use this blow torch to relieve your arm of its epidermal tissue. Does this sound reasonable?"
The Sylph shook her head.
The Dignitary's smile widened. "Good! I would not have it any other way. Now, then-"
The two guards both gave a start of surprise when the door suddenly flew open. Were it not for their quick reflexes, they might have gotten bruised.
"Put the blow torch down, D," Jack Noir ordered as he strode into the interrogation chamber. He then paused, frowning at the Sylph. "You were gonna torch her arm?" he asked, motioning to the Sylph's exposed forearm.
"That was the plan, yes, before the interruption," the Dignitary replied.
The Archagent gave a gruff chuckle. "D, if you're gonna torch someone's arm, do it with the clothing in the way. That way, the clothes burn into the skin. Once you're finished with the torching, then you can start plucking out the burnt fabric, which is incredibly painful."
The Dignitary grunted quietly, mulling it over. "I hadn't considered that," he admitted. "An interesting idea… I will put it to the test, next time. Now, then, to what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected visit?"
"New orders from the Queen," Noir said. "No more interrogations. The Thane was the one with the information we needed, and he's gone. The Sylph's never been to the Onyx. She's got nothing we can use."
The Sylph breathed a sigh of relief through her nostrils.
The Dignitary did not look convinced. "She still may know some things," he argued. "We should make sure."
Noir shook his head. "No dice, D. The Queen's made up her mind. Don't worry - next time we haul in one of the Wrathful Veteran's mid-ranking pukes, you can play with your toys again."
"Very well. No interrogation." The Dignitary shut off the blow torch, returned it to the cabinet. He felt disappointment, but was careful not to let it show. "What does the Queen have in mind, then? Execution of some sort, I assume?"
Jack Noir nodded. "Public hanging in the marketplace."
The Sylph's breath caught in her throat.
"Good location," the Dignitary remarked. "Plenty of room for onlookers. Easy for the commandos to lock down. When will this be taking place?"
"Immediately."
Cruz Arevalo stared at the joint in his hand.
He did not remember how long he had been standing on the observation deck of the White Shadow, hunched over the front rail. The silence was almost therapeutic. Far from Prospit and Skaia, far from the Prospitian Navy, here in the emptiness of the Medium, there was only the near-silent hum of the stealth corvette's engines.
All else was quiet.
Cruz continued to stare at his joint.
"You gonna light up, or what?" Tami Abramov's voice startled Cruz from his reverie.
Cruz drummed his middle and index fingers on the railing. "Thing is, I'm not sure if I should, anymore. It might be getting in the way."
"Getting in the way?" Tami made a face. "Of what?"
"I dunno…don't you think it's odd that I haven't started manifesting any Space powers?" Cruz asked. "I don't even know what the hell it means to be a Sage of Space. My sprite wouldn't tell me anything outside of 'Ho Ho Ho'."
"Sprites are supposed to be coy with their information," Tami reminded her friend.
"Only the lame ones," Cruz retorted. "There's a difference between being coy and being dumb as a fucking bag of chalk. Santasprite is the latter."
Tami was silent for a few moments, taking in Cruz's words, his tone of voice, his physicality. Then she spoke again. "I don't think I've ever seen you get so fired up, before."
There was a silence.
"You know, in some ways, the world ending was the best thing that could've happened to me," Cruz admitted. He did not know where these thoughts were coming from, but he felt impelled to speak them. "I mean, just think about it. I failed all my classes, except Physics. My GPA was nonexistent. I probably wasn't going to get my diploma, I had no jobs lined up… All I was doing was getting high and partying in Philly. I was a Nobody. Now, here we are, the last humans alive, in some fantastical alternate dimension. Fancy Titles, cool superpowers, our own planets for fuck's sake… And I'm still just as much a Nobody as I was before- OW!"
Cruz's rant was cut short by a yelp of pain. Tami had just pinched him on the arm rather painfully. "What the fuck was that for?"
"That," Tami said, "was for being a goof."
"When was I being a goof?"
"Just now, you were being a goof. Saying things only a goof would say."
"You could've just told me I was being a goof! Damn, you didn't have to- mm," Cruz was interrupted once more. Only instead of a pinch, this time it was a kiss. The kiss, to Cruz, felt like it went on forever. He closed his eyes and lost himself in it, until the moment passed and Tami pulled away.
Cruz blinked rapidly, taking several deep breaths to calm his heart. He slowly turned back to the rail. "Dios mio, Tam, what was that for?"
"That was just for being you."
Cruz blinked again. Then he burst out laughing. "What? Tam, that was about the cheesiest thing a person could ever say."
"Hey, fuck you! It was true!" Tami shot back. "This is how the world works - I say something nice, and then I get made fun of. Now, seriously, are you gonna light up? If not, then give it here. I just spent all day playing violin with a jolly old-souled salamander, and I need to stop being sober for a little bit."
"Well…" Cruz thought about passing the joint to Tami, but hesitated at the last moment. A mischievous glint came to his eyes. "A second kiss. That's my price."
It was Tami's turn to blink. "It won't be spontaneous, this time. Could get weird."
"I'll risk it."
Before Kiss #2 could get underway, unfortunately, red lights started flashing all over the ship. There was no blaring alarm - this was a silent alert. Standard protocol for a Prospitian stealth corvette.
"All hands, action stations," the voice of Chela Arevalo hummed all throughout the White Shadow, speaking over the ship-wide COM. "All hands, action stations. Miss Abramov, will you be a dear and report to the bridge? Please bring my grandson along with you."
"Kill me," Cruz growled, "Kill me now."
The Wrathful Veteran blended in with the crowd of citizens amassed in the Grand Marketplace. The usually bustling, frenzied marketplace was quite subdued and still at present, filled almost to bursting with Dersite citizens.
All the locals had been summoned to witness another execution.
Executions were common on Derse, but only the high-profile executions warranted such crowds. A gallows had been erected in the center of the marketplace. A hooded executioner waited patiently, leaning against the beams of the gallows, casually smoking a cigarette.
Also waiting on the gallows was Jack Noir, the Archagent himself.
The Wrathful Veteran had to fight the urge to draw his pistol and finish the Archagent here and now. Such a move would serve only to get the Veteran killed. Even worse, a rushed assassination of Jack Noir would likely result in the Draconian Dignitary becoming the new Archagent, which was a possibility best avoided.
The Wrathful Veteran's breath caught in his throat when the condemned arrived.
"Skaia's Light, the reports were true…" the Authority Regulator, who was standing next to the Veteran, breathed. His voice was quiet, still in a mild state of shock. Like the Veteran, he was disguised in civilian clothing. "The Rules truly no longer exist…"
"Did they ever?" the Veteran asked.
The Sylph was led out of the back of an armored truck. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. Her hair was a mess, her purple pajamas ripped. Her ribs were showing. Bruises covered her face, arms, and legs. One of her fingers was missing.
"What will we do?" the Regulator asked the Veteran.
"Nothing."
The Regulator gave his old friend a look. "You are telling me that we are going to stand here and simply watch the Sylph hang?"
"Yes." The Veteran nodded, swallowing loudly. He had a vile taste in his mouth. "Bearing solemn witness to this event is the most we can do for her. This entire square is on full lockdown. You cannot see the snipers stationed on the rooftops, but they are there. My scouts are monitoring them as we speak. There are also two naval vessels hanging back in reserve. Do you not see, AR? This is a dare. The Queen is daring us to make a move. We will not play her game. We would lose this one."
"Neither will she play your game," the Regulator countered. "The change you seek will not be caused by continued bouts of avoidance and evasion."
"I do not play her game because I cannot," the Veteran maintained. "She does not play my game because she chooses to be patient. The Queen can ultimately outlast us, and she knows this. All she needs to do is hold a tight grip around the peoples' throats, and eventually they will turn on us. Publicly executing a Hero is a perfect way to solidify this chokehold - she will instill a deep fear in all of us. No one will feel safe from her."
"The Queen is flexing her muscle, nothing more," the Regulator declared. "Don't make this seem more complex than it needs to be. If you don't want the Sylph's death to end your dissension, then you will have to make a demonstration of your own strength. Flex your own muscle."
"Difficult to flex one's muscle when martial law is declared," the Wrathful Veteran remarked. "Whatever the solution, it won't be one involving force. It can't be."
The Sylph was led up onto the gallows platform. The executioner tossed his cigarette and got to work, draping the noose around the battered girl's neck, tightening it accordingly. He then pulled a black bag down over the Sylph's head, obscuring her face. Meanwhile, Jack Noir took center stage, unfolded a piece of paper, and proceeded to rattle off a list of phony charges.
"What of the Prince and the Witch?" the Regulator asked the Veteran. "How will they take this?"
"I do not know," the Veteran replied. "Not well, I would imagine."
Jack Noir finished reading off the list of charges. He surprised the Wrathful Veteran by asking the Sylph if she had any last words.
The Sylph's only answer from under the black cloth was silence.
The crowd began to murmur amongst itself. The assembled Dersite citizens had witnessed many public executions, gradually growing more and more desensitized to them. But killing a Hero did not sit well with many of them, in ways the individual Dersites could not quite put their finger on. There was an uneasiness, a tension in the air, as if everyone gathered in the Grand Marketplace knew that they were about to allow something fundamentally wrong to happen.
The commandos stationed at the street entrances tightened their grips on their rifles, waiting for the slightest occurrence of mob violence.
The Wrathful Veteran realized that he was holding his breath. He continued holding it.
Noir gave a single nod to the executioner. The hooded Dersite wrapped his fingers around a wooden lever and heaved it to the side. With a dull clunk, the gallows trapdoor opened underneath the Sylph's feet.
The Sylph plummeted through the empty space. There was a sickening CRACK when the rope drew taut. The Sylph's body hung limp from the noose, her neck bent at an impossible angle, her feet swaying gently.
"Lucky girl." The Wrathful Veteran let out his breath. "Broken neck. Quick. I was afraid she would strangle."
The Authority Regulator gave his old friend another look, but chose to say nothing.
Chela Arevalo kept a steady eye on the radar hologram.
The radar hologram on the bridge of the White Shadow was relatively straightforward to interpret. The projector was mounted atop a pyramidal fixture, located in the center of the bridge, shaped much like an obelisk. From the apex of the obelisk, a large globe of faint white light was projected, representing the areas of space surrounding the White Shadow within sensor range. The hologram stretched from ceiling to floor.
At the very center of the radar hologram was a miniature representation of the White Shadow, down to the finest detail. Toward the very edges of the radar hologram was a handful of unknown energy signatures, represented as dots of pulsing orange light. These orange dots were moving, gradually cutting across the White Shadow's projected course at a shallow angle.
Chela continued to watch the progress of these dots. As the White Shadow drew closer and closer to them, the orange dots drifted further within sensor range.
"Energy signatures identified," Abigail Tarrant reported from the tactical console, located in the rear of the bridge. The black-haired woman spun around in her swivel chair. "They're Dersite Navy, alright. Should I bring weapon systems online?"
Sure enough, the orange dots on the radar hologram flickered and changed color. They were now red dots.
Chela shook her head. "No, Abby, dear, no weapon systems necessary. Kill the engines, please, would you? And make sure the ship is running completely silent."
Abigail swiveled back around and entered the appropriate commands into the console. "Engines are now offline," she reported. "Energy scrubbers are at full power. We're invisible. Would you like a visual of the enemy contacts?"
"Yes, that would be wonderful."
The main viewscreen flickered to life, displaying an image of six Dersite naval vessels, all traveling in tight formation.
"Three frigates, two destroyers, and a carrier," Chela identified the individual ships by their class. It was easy to tell which ship was which based on the size and armament. "That amounts to a small fleet, I believe...curious, they don't seem to be heading for Skaia. Abby, dear, can you extrapolate their destination? They may be heading for one of the kids' planets."
"You're right," Abigail confirmed, overlaying her calculations with a chart of the Medium, taking a moment to make sure the chart was properly oriented. She looked back to Chela, turning her chair about halfway around. "That fleet's heading straight for the Land of Thunder and Dwarves."
"Cassandra's planet…" Chela murmured softly, arching an inquisitive eyebrow at the six red dots, which were still making their way across the radar hologram. "Now why would you choose to go there? Afraid of Anubis, are you?" Chela quietly asked the dots. She adjusted her glasses and turned to face Abigail. "When our Dersite compatriots pass from sensor range, send word of this to the White Admiral. Perhaps he will be able to assist."
The entrance to the bridge hissed open and Cruz hurried through, a worried look on his face. "Hey, uh, Gran? What's with all the flashing red lights?"
"Dersite Navy up ahead," Chela replied. "We're holding position until they pass. Where is Miss Abramov?"
"See, that's the thing… Tam's outside with Anna. And Anna, she's, uh…" Cruz swallowed loudly. "I think she's got alcohol poisoning."