She’d heard the sirens just as she was shutting down the TriVid screen.

A glance through the window had confirmed what she’d feared: the police were here!

She knew the key hack hadn’t set off any alarms, but possibly a neighbor had seen her go in or heard noises coming from a dead man’s apartment...

Cursing, Susan had hurried out and down the stairs. She’d have to avoid the elevator to increase her chance of escape.

The police must not have known it was her, or they’d likely have brought more men. It must have been reported as a simple burglary, so there just was the one car.

Once in the lobby, she’d waited to make sure the coast was clear, then she’d walked out without running.

She now walked at a brisker pace, trying to process all the new information she’d gathered.

With a tap on her wristpad, she brought up her uncle’s ID and called him up on her holovisor.

His face quickly appeared on her retina.

“You shouldn’t be calling me,” he warned in a worried voice.

“Have they wired your holo?”

“No,” he said, sounding shocked by the suggestion, “that’d be illegal. But the police are just outside. They could come in any minute...”

“Doesn’t matter. I can clear my name now. I know who the killer is!”

“What?”

“It’s Trent Little, uncle. You remember him? A friend of dad’s. His name is all over Lucaan’s files. He’s the one who brought back the alien technology dad had inside him...”

“Is that all? I hate to break it to you, kiddo, but bringing back something to its rightful owner does not make you a murderer.”

She clicked her tongue. “It has to be him. Who else would have had the motive?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. The fact of the matter is you don’t have evidence.”

It was infuriating how often her uncle tended to be right.

“Well, I don’t need evidence if he confesses, do I?”

Duncan frowned.

“Are you crazy?”

“I’ll get the truth out of him if it’s the last thing I do. I just wanted you to know, in case anything happens to me.”

“No, Susan! You can’t do this. Go to the police. Explain what you’ve found, they’ll—”

“They’ll lock me up, that’s what they’ll do. You know how I got Trent’s name? By breaking and entering. Just another crime they’ll add to my rap sheet. I have to see this through, Duncan. I’m sorry.” She hesitated, then added: “In case it’s the last time we talk, I just want you to know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And I love you. Goodbye.”

“Susan—”

She cut off the call.

With a few more taps, she brought up Trent Little’s address.

It would take twenty minutes to get there.

She’d have to use public transportation again.

But it’d be worth it.

***

The meeting was to take place in a park. And while he would have preferred a more public place, he had not argued as he also understood the need for discretion.

In some ways, he preferred this as well... he was, after all, a fugitive.

As for the Zendaar, he knew they would draw too much attention—if just from fanatics who adored them—which would make all conversations about the mask difficult to hold in too public a place.

The park was a good pick. It was quiet, and no longer crowded at this late hour.

He coughed as he walked down the trail that led to the specific spot they had chosen. It was even more out of the way, near a small quiet stream.

The growing pains in his body slowed him down, making him late. There were four of them waiting. Two sat on a bench, a bit out of the way; another stood near the stream; the fourth sat on a different bench, with a cane on his knees.

The latter nodded at him as he approached.

“Mr. Arnett?” he asked.

“Please, call me Jack.”

“I am Evken. You’ll excuse me if I do not stand, but my legs tire quickly. They are not as young as they once were. Please, sit with me.”

Jack did so, though with a frown. This business with the legs was troubling him. If the Zendaar were immortal, how could this one have such an insignificant problem? Should it not have been healed, erased by their powers?

“You have the mask?”

“It is within reach.”

Evken smiled. “I understand.”

“Are you willing to pay the price I have asked?”

The dark-haired Zendaar considered him thoughtfully.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Before I answer that, I must ask... why do you want immortality?”

“That is my business.”

“Very well.” Evken stood, leaning on his cane. “Goodbye, Mr. Arnett.” He started to walk away.

This caught Jack by surprise.

“Wait!” he called out.

Evken turned. “Yes?”

Jack frowned. “Why would it matter to you why I want this if it’s the price for the mask? Don’t you want the mask?”

“The question is not whether I want the mask, but whether you are willing to keep it until you are caught by your authorities.”

The historian crossed his arms. They were going to trick him, weren’t they? He could feel it coming.

“I am dying,” he hissed. “That’s why.”

Evken stared at him for a long moment, then returned to the bench.

“I see,” he finally said. “I am sorry to hear that. It is, however, the normal ending to every living thing.”

“Except for the Zendaar,” he said derisively.

“It is not quite so simple—”

“I don’t care,” snapped Jack. “If it was just the dying, I’d put up with it. But the pain is killing me.” He cringed at his unintended pun. “Quite literally, in this case.”

“And you believe you are unique?”

“No. Of course not! But I am in a position to do something about it.”

“You’ve gone to great lengths to put yourself in that position.”

“What is it to you?”

“I am merely trying to understand whether you understand what it is, exactly, you are asking of us.”

“It’s not that complicated...”

“Ah, but it is. Immortality is not just about living forever. In fact, if that is your definition, then there is no such thing. There are many ways we Zendaar can die or even be killed. But this extended life we have cannot be given so easily. Nor is it free for us to give. It also comes with a price. A curse, some might even say.”

“I know all about your feeding habits if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

Evken quirked a brow as he considered the historian. “You should not listen to all the stories that are out there. Most of them are nonsense.”

“So you will not pay the price I ask?” asked Jack irritably.

“I would rather give you something more useful. Since what you truly seek is an end to your suffering, there are ways you could—”

“Are you seriously going to offer me a cure when you can’t even cure your own affliction?” lashed out Jack, pointing at the other’s legs.

The Zendaar winced. “Some of us,” he said softly, “prefer it this way. It reminds us of what it means to be human. You should not so quickly turn your back on what you are—”

“Enough!” Jack stood. It was his time to stand his ground. “If you don’t pay the price, then there is no deal.”

He turned and started to walk away. After all, if this Zendaar wouldn’t give him what he wanted, he could always go back to the madman... That thought gave him a shudder. But nobody said he needed to like the person he sold the mask to.

“Very well,” he heard Evken’s voice say. The man sounded tired, as if he carried the whole weight of the world on his shoulders. “I will give you what you want. But I will need to see the mask first.”

Jack smiled. Though he made the smile disappear before he spun to face the Zendaar again.

“Of course.”

Ignoring the pain in his arm, he sent a message to Victor using his wristpad. The boy soon came running with the bag.

Evken grabbed it and pulled out the mask. He studied it for a long time, his face filled with awe and hope.

He finally looked at Jack and said:

“The truth is, there is only one who can give you what you seek. And that one is not I. If you do not feel this acceptable, I shall return the mask to you. But know that none other would be able to meet your price.”

Jack squinted. What trick was this?

“Then why would I not give the mask to him?”

“Because he has no interest in it,” shrugged Evken. “You would be surprised how few among my people do.”

If this was true, then this would likely be the best offer he’d get. But if the man was lying...

“And why would this other give me what I want?”

“That, I cannot say. You want immortality. My counter-offer is the name of the only one who can give it to you, and a means to reach him. Beyond that, the rest is in your hands. But you are resourceful. You’ve proven it.”

Jack didn’t like it.

But, at the same time, could he afford to refuse this Zendaar’s offer?

“Very well. What is the name?”

Evken slid the mask back into the bag and handed it to one of the others who had come with him. Then, he turned to face Jack.

“Rakash Kahn,” he said softly. “That is his name.”

***

It rested elegantly on the table. Its porous surface glistened as if tears had pearled under its always staring eyes. The substance was neither stone nor flesh. It had a grayish hue, that seemed at times more blue or more green. There was something about it that felt like it was alive, despite it not having shown any sign of activity. It seemed deceptively trivial. Bland. And yet, it held an infinity of wisdom and knowledge.

They were all there. Sitting around the table. Quietly observing it. All fifty-three of the Szelkin had gathered for this momentous occasion. Seldom had they ever all been together in the same room, though they knew each other well.

There were moments when the mask’s appearance seemed to slightly shift, only for the briefest of moments. It would then reflect the light of the sun, forcing one of them to turn his gaze away or to close his eyes. Each time, though, the one affected would wonder if, perhaps, he had dreamed it. Because there it was, exactly as it had been when it was brought here, barely an hour ago... though all of them felt like it might have been an eternity.

“You should do it,” said one of them, looking at Evken. “You brought it, after all. It’d only be fair.”

There was a hint of fear in his voice, suggesting his motive may be more than respectful consideration.

The dark-haired Zendaar, who rested his right hand on the pommel of his cane, shook his head.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t feel right.”

Several gazes turned to him. There was curiosity in those eyes.

“Are we worthy to wear the face of a god?” he deemed necessary to clarify. “Who are we to be so presumptuous?”

“But it holds all the answers we have sought for so long!” exclaimed one of his peers. “How can we just sit here and stare at it and not do anything?”

“Then you put it on,” snorted another.

The one who had protested sat back with a grimace on his face. It was one thing to talk, quite another to act.

Evken would not have thought it’d be so difficult to make such a simple gesture. Even when he’d held the item in his hands for the first time, in that park, he wouldn’t have guessed.

But now... the sheer magnitude of the act made his mind reel.

“For the love of Xhoras! Are we all cowards?”

The one who had talked suddenly stood, leaned, grabbed the mask, and in one fell swoop placed it on his face.

For a second, the room went completely silent. You would have thought their heartbeats had stopped as well, as they all stared expectedly.

And then...

The silence was broken by a gut-wrenching scream as the one who wore the mask began to shake uncontrollably. He fell to the ground, his body contorting into violent spasms. His hands grabbed at the mask and tried to pull it off... when he finally managed to, half his skin was ripped off with it. What was left of his face was bubbling and melting, as if acid had been thrown at it.

When his screams finally stopped, so did his shaking... and his breathing.

They all stared at their dead friend.

Then one of them leaned down, grabbed the mask, and gently placed it back on the table.

As he did this, Evken noted the skin and blood that had been glued to the inside of its surface had all disappeared, as if absorbed by the artifact.

They remained quiet for a long time.

Then, one of them stood and stepped out of the room, calling out.

A human servant arrived.

Evken tensed.

“Talhus, no...”

The other snapped at him. “Do you want to wake the gods or not?”

He scowled but said nothing more.

The one named Talhus went to the table, took the mask, turned to the human, and handed it to him.

“Here. Put this on.”

The human stared at it hesitantly. He glanced fearfully at all those gathered, then at the disfigured corpse. He swallowed hard, but obediently followed the given instructions. Because this was what was expected of him, and it would not do to not obey.

Some of them turned their eyes away... But, oddly and inexplicably, nothing happened.

Frowns appeared on many of their faces.

Talhus reached out and took the mask off.

The human blinked.

He was alive and in perfect health.

“Go!”

The servant ran out.

The mask was set back at the center of the table.

And, once again, they all sat quietly staring at it.