The glider sped through total darkness. The couple who sat inside looked worried as they argued about the crimes they had committed. Should they have stayed behind and done their time? They laughed at the thought.
A shot rang through the night. The glass broke as the bullet pierced through and hit the man’s skull, making it explode, splattering brain matter on his wife. She screamed, but only for a second as another bullet hit her between the eyes.
The glider dove and spun and sunk into the pit...
Susan woke up in a sweat.
She breathed heavily, trying to calm herself.
It was just a nightmare.
That was all.
There was nothing more to it.
Just her imagination playing tricks on her.
She got out of bed and went into the bathroom to throw water on her face.
The coolness made her feel better.
She would have gone back to bed, but the clock told her it was already seven.
Then again, what was left for her to do?
She hated to admit it, but she was close to giving up.
All she had were suspicions without a single piece of evidence.
None of that would do her any good.
With a sigh, she took off her clothes and went into the shower.
After washing the sweat off and tossing something fresh on her back, she sat in the kitchen with a bowl of cereals and had the AI turn on the news.
Five minutes into the bulletin, as she was finishing her breakfast, they announced some breaking news.
“Early this morning, the body of Julian Jones, head manager of Lucaan Labs, was found drowned in his swimming pool. While it was first thought to be an accident, evidence was found pointing at a murder. We will keep you informed as further information becomes available.”
Susan stared at the screen, spoon frozen in midair between the bowl and her mouth. She slowly set it back down and frowned.
What did it mean?
A murder?
So soon after she’d met him?
And so soon after that attempt on her life?
This could not be a coincidence.
She spent the rest of the day pacing her living room, trying to remember every detail of her interaction with Jones, while keeping an eye on her TriVid screen.
It must have something to do with the breach of contract. That was the only thing of significance she could think of.
“Turn up the volume!” she ordered the AI as a picture of Jones appeared on the screen.
“The police are now positive it was murder and an arrest should follow shortly. They are following a solid lead, as a woman’s brooch was found in the victim’s house. He was single, with no known girlfriend. It is a star-shaped brooch with multi-colored figures etched in the design.”
Susan blanched.
She checked her dress, then searched through her bag, but could not find it.
That brooch... it was hers! It had been a gift from her mother. She would have recognized it anywhere.
How did it arrive at the crime scene?
She suddenly remembered the bump at the mall, after she’d walked out of the workshop.
That must have been the killer! He took her brooch and planted it in Jones’ house.
Now the police must be looking for her.
They could be here any minute!
Her heart beat faster as she grabbed some of her most precious things, tossed them into a bag, and rushed toward the door. She froze as she saw two police cars stopping in the front.
She turned and ran toward the back, calling out: “Open the back door but lock everything else. Do NOT let the police in, you hear me?”
“But it is the police, Susan—”
“It’s an order!”
“Very well.”
“And if they ask about me, you haven’t seen me in a week!”
“I cannot lie, Susan.”
She cursed. “Then just remain silent.”
Not waiting for an answer, she hurried out the back door and jumped over the fence.
There was a bitter taste in her mouth as she remembered another time—not so long ago—when she had been on the run.
But she would not make the same mistakes.
This time, she would stay in control.
No matter what.
***
All those incidents were draining his strength. He was exhausted. The ship could replenish him, but it was a slow process. He would not be able to keep up if these events continued at this rate.
He needed help.
But who could he ask?
There was only one he could think of, but he did not like it.
And where would he find her anyway?
He had known her haunts, once upon a time. But did she still go to any of those locations? Only one way to find out...
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It was an old place, built deep under the foundations of the Museum of Alien Technologies. It once had served as a Symposium. She liked it because her people would gather there, a long time ago, to discuss the future—it reminded her of better times. Even after it was abandoned, still she returned. They had met here often.
There were other locations, too, but he had decided to try this one first, because it had meant something—to both of them.
He stood there in the semi-darkness, contemplating the cracked walls, the broken furniture, and the dusty floor.
“It is not what it used to be,” he heard a mournful voice say from behind him.
He turned. And there she was. As beautiful as she had always been. Wearing a silver dress that complimented her curves.
“I thought that was you, the other day...” she whispered as she stopped a few feet from him. “You haven’t changed one bit.”
“I need your help, Thyria—”
She reached out and placed a finger on his lips. “Shhh.”
The familiar touch sent a shiver down his spine.
She moved closer, tilted her head, and brought her lips within inches of his own.
He took a step back. “No. There is no time for this!”
She smiled a dangerous smile. “You have not always said that.”
“This is different...”
He turned and made a sweeping gesture, meant to encompass the world at large. “This is a matter of survival. Not only for humans, but also for your people. For the world itself.”
When he looked back at her, she had taken her dress off and stood naked before him.
“I’ve heard that one before,” she said mockingly.
“Put something on,” he said with distaste.
Her eyes shot daggers at him, but he didn’t care. There was nothing she could do to him that he couldn’t do to her tenfold. And she knew it.
“I despise you.”
“Don’t waste my time, child. I haven’t come here to play.”
“No one has dared call me ‘child’ in a thousand years!”
“You’ll get over it.”
In a rage, she grabbed her clothes, spun, and walked out.
“Thyria!” he called out.
Only echoes answered him.
Echoes of his voice and of her fading footsteps.
***
He knew he was drunk but he didn’t care. Why should he? There were more important things in life. Like butterflies. And the sea. And flowers. And... And...
With a frown, he staggered through the streets, then paused and leaned against a nearby wall to keep himself steady.
Ah, there was his hotel... It had taken him an hour to remember the way. He should have written it down. On his hand. At least he wouldn’t have lost that. Maybe.
He went past the front desk, ignoring the disapproving looks, entered the elevator, and sat on the ground as he waited to reach his floor. When he did, he crawled out and grabbed the wall to pull himself up. It got a chuckle out of him.
Now, where was his room again? Ah yes, that door... or was it the next one? No problem. He’d try both. Whichever his keycard opened would be the right one. Easy.
It was neither.
That, too, made him laugh.
He wobbled his way further down the hall until he had an ‘aha’ moment, pointing a finger at another door. That had to be it. He recognized the number.
The door opened.
With a happy smile, he stepped in and turned on the light.
He stood there staring at the woman lying on his bed.
What was this?
The clothes she wore were thin and see-through. It was very revealing. So much so that it troubled him. It was familiar, too. Why was it familiar?
The shape moved.
Oh hell no!
The woman had propped herself on one shoulder and was rubbing her eyes, as if she had been crying—or was she just sleepy?
But what angered him was her face.
It was her.
The obnoxious, cruel, ungrateful woman who had brought him into this despicable world.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“Resting,” she said as she eyed him curiously.
“I wish you’d wear something less revealing, mother...”
“And I wish you’d stop calling me mother. Seems like neither of us will get what they want.”
He groaned. Tried to step toward her. Swayed. Changed his mind.
“How did you find me?”
“You think a goddess would not be able to track down a man who’s given her his name?”
“You’re no goddess,” he said with a snort as he slowly shifted direction and headed toward the bar.
“No?”
He glanced at her, still lying on his bed, with an impudent smile on her face.
“I can do magic tricks, too,” he remarked as he turned his gaze to an empty glass and started pouring whiskey. He was pretty sure he’d need it to make it through this conversation. “That doesn’t make me a god.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his back.
“Being my son does.”
He jumped and jerked away from her grip, both shocked and surprised. Shocked because of the physical contact—which was disturbing enough—, and surprised because she had still been on the bed a second ago... It should have taken her longer to reach him.
“Don’t!” he warned, waving the half-filled glass at her.
She raised her hands in the air, as if to claim innocence, though he could read the mischief in her eyes.
“Easy, tiger. I’m just displaying motherly affection. Isn’t that what you want?”
“No!” he grunted. “What I want are answers.”
“Then ask, and you shall receive.”
“I...”
He frowned and stared into his glass. Downed it, then staggered back to the bar to fill it up again.
“You’re drunk,” she remarked with disgust.
“As if you cared,” he said dryly.
She stared at him, then laughed. “You can’t seriously be upset because of that?”
He waved an accusing finger at her. “You threw me out, you witch! You cruel woman! You rejected me. Again! And now, you—” He had kept pouring with his other hand, and his glass had overflowed. “Damn it!”
She sighed and gently grabbed his shoulder.
Again, he pulled away. The glass fell to the ground and shattered.
“You can’t do this to me! First, you throw me like trash. Now you’re here, like this, as if nothing had happened... What do you want from me?”
“I thought you were the one who wanted something from me?” she said sharply.
He stared at her.
“Fine. Then tell me about my father. After that, you can go to hell for all I care.” She looked away. “That’s what I thought. You’re just too much of a coward to—”
The slap came so quickly it took him by surprise.
The strength of the blow was just as unexpected.
He stumbled backward and hit the wall, then slid to the ground.
Rubbing his reddened cheek, he sat there, glaring at her.
She glared back.
“No one speaks to me like that,” she said. “Not even you.”
“You don’t care about me, so why should I care about you? I say things the way I see them. I will not treat you any differently.”
She loomed above him menacingly. “I warn you—”
“What are you going to do? Kill me?” He laughed. “Maybe that’s my destiny, after all. Isn’t that what you wanted, even back then? Alyssya told me, you know...”
She held his gaze for a long time, remaining quiet. There was anger in those eyes, but also despair, and guilt.
Finally, she sat on the floor next to him.
“You are much like him, you know.”
“Like who?”
“Your father.”
He stared at her.
“It’s true,” she continued. “His name is Xian. And he was the love of my life... or so I thought.”
***
There was a large library in the manor and he always enjoyed exploring its walls, hunting down books he had not read before. There were not many of those left, though.
His life had been long enough now that he’d gone through most of these—not to mention thousands more that could be found in the Great Library of Ahuaxa.
But every time Evken came back to Joqqal, he would find himself drawn by the same large volume. A history of his people.
It was a unique book, as no other author had ever dared to put into writing the events of those earlier years of the Zendaar. Those had been different times, when the rules had not yet been established. People did not fear them then the way they did now. In a sense, there was more freedom—certainly for the humans, but for his kin as well.
Now their respective people had become entrenched in habits and bound by tradition.
It was, he supposed, the price to pay for immortality. It left little space for change.
And yet, he was convinced change could only do them good.
He flipped through the pages and paused at the same spot that always made him pause.
It recounted the words of an early settler. An ancestor of his who had died from some mysterious disease. He might well have been the last to have known how they had all come to Qojja. And that secret had died with him. Except for those last words he had uttered on his death bed.
But to this date, they remained a mystery. No one understood them. Once, they must have meant something. But that meaning had long been forgotten.
Some argued the sickness had affected the man’s mind, it had made him speak gibberish.
Evken did not think so.
He sensed there was meaning in those words.
If only he could understand them.
They might well hold the key.
On his dying bed, one such as himself, with an inquiring mind, had asked him how they could return from whence they’d come.
“The way lies beyond,” he had whispered, “for we came through the Gleaming.”
He heard the sound of footsteps and looked up.
One of the erkins bowed his head.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lord Evken. The human has met with Valkan. It did not go well.”
Of course it hadn’t. How could it have? That idiot was mad.
“I trust the human still has the mask, then?”
“He does.”
“Good. I expect we will hear from him soon. Keep me informed.”
The other bowed his head again and left.
This was good news. All hope was not yet lost. If they could get the mask, they could wake the gods. And if they could wake the gods, they could finally understand what this meant.
Evken turned his attention back to the book.
The Gleaming.
Those two words had haunted him for the past two hundred years. Ever since he’d first read this book.
Their freedom was in those words.
His freedom was in those words.