Children of the Void: Book One of the Aionian Saga

CHILDREN OF THE VOID

Jack Halls

Copyright © 2016 Jack Halls

All rights reserved.

To Meredith

For never letting me convince myself that I suck.

T
HE
TREES
SANG
a gentle symphony, an orchestra of animal calls both harmonic and dissonant. A hungry creature broke the stillness of the pond, sending ripples gliding over the surface until they lapped at the sands of the shore. The scents of soil, water, and plants danced together in the artificial breeze. Underneath all of this, resonating through solid ground as well as air, came the steady bass of the enemy bombardment drumming against the shield dome.

It is time.

Tloltan opened her eyes. The sun’s heat, trapped by the sand, warmed her blue skin as she sat with her legs crossed beneath her in the center of the sanctuary. She put her hand on the stone hanging from a cord around her neck. The surface of the stone shimmered and swirled like a storm in a bottle. One last deep breath, as if she could contain the peace of the temple in her lungs, and she stood and walked across the sand.
 

Flat stones rose from the depths to disturb the pond’s surface as Tloltan walked to the edge. Her bare feet made no sound as she stepped over the familiar rough surface of each stone for the last time.

The old familiar voice spoke inside her mind.
We’ll rebuild it, in time.

Cracked skin around her lips stretched into a frown. “I hope you’re right.”

The footpath carried her to the far edge of the pond, and she stepped off and continued through a tunnel to the inner curtain of the sanctuary. The outer temple was separated from the sanctuary by a wall of falling water and another pond. Once again, a path of stepping-stones rose out of the water to carry Tloltan to the other side.
 

Normally, the atrium would have been full of students, reading and meditating along the banks of the pond. Now, even the Koramoa guards had abandoned the temple, and Tloltan was alone as she crossed the mosaic of marble and granite underneath the crystal ceiling. She would be the last to cross the threshold of the temple, the cultural center of her people’s entire civilization, before it was gone forever.

Movement caught her eye as she crossed between the columns flanking the temple’s entrance. A figure stepped forward, dressed in the robes of a scholar, with the crimson trim denoting him as one of the temple’s great teachers. He was tall, even for a Luzariai, and his skin was at least as cracked and worn as Tloltan’s, though the hue was more green than blue. Tloltan smiled, and the two of them embraced.

“I thought I was the last one. Why are you still here, Kovar?”

The smile on Kovar’s lips belied the sadness in his eyes. “I’ve already done all I can to help. The transports are all destroyed, and the shelters are full, so I thought I’d spend my last minutes here, in the sanctuary.”

Had they not been friends for so long, Tloltan might have tried to convince him that he should run or hide. But both of them knew that there would be no running or hiding from this. In a way, Tloltan envied her friend. The peace of the sanctuary would be her first choice, if she had been allowed to choose where to meet her end.

“May the spirits of the Ancients be with you, brother.” She placed a hand on Kovar’s face and looked up into his eyes.

Kovar took the hand and held it in his. “The Ancients will be too busy protecting you and the Zaer.” He nodded toward the curious stone hanging from her neck. “They won’t have time to sit with an old man as he counts down his last minutes.”

It was too much for Tloltan to bear. She had no more words for him, and no time, so she simply squeezed his hand. “Goodbye, Kovar.”

One last sad smile, and Kovar walked past her into the temple. He didn’t pause or look back.

Time is short, we must go.

Time. There was nothing Tloltan wanted more than time. She nodded and turned to walk down the steps and across the temple grounds. The golden statues of Koramoa Warriors long dead looked down on her, as if to lend her strength. Each statue was unique, with headdresses meant to depict the ancient gods created by countless races. This was a tribute to the ancients themselves, rather than the false gods of their own creation. Tloltan beseeched the aid of her ancestors as she passed their statues.

A personal transport was waiting at the edge of the temple grounds. The temple stood atop a stepped pyramid rising high above the plains. Rays from the setting sun sent red streaks of light through the smoke rising from a thousand fires. Occasionally, the shield dome around the temple complex would shimmer and crackle like a thunderhead as it repelled yet another volley.

The transport was little more than a platform and railing, but it didn’t need to take her far. As soon as Tloltan took the controls, she shot away from the temple and down to a stone terrace below. She jumped off at the end of the terrace, allowing the transport to crash into a distant wall.

The only structure on the terrace was a brick archway at one side, wide enough for several Luzariai to walk through side by side, and tall enough to accommodate cargo carriers. From the outside, the arch seemed to lead nowhere, but as Tloltan stepped into it, the far side opened out into a wide alleyway. In only a few steps, the portal took her from the temple complex to the central transportation hub on the far side of the continent.

Black smoke curled through the sky above the high walls of the transport hub, and the shields here buzzed from the constant barrage. A few Luzariai scurried through the alley, heading for one portal or another, but the hub was mostly empty.

They should be ready when you arrive.

Tloltan placed her hand over her wrist and rubbed the golden bracer. “Tell them I’ll be there shortly.”

She paused and looked back at the portal leading to the temple complex. A slight shudder rippled down her body, and her breath caught in her throat. She straightened her shoulders, clenched her jaw, and turned to walk briskly away through the alley.

S
OMETHING
LOUD
CLICKED
downstairs, followed by the hiss of air escaping. It was the kind of noise Gideon was accustomed to hearing in an airlock or during flight simulations, but not in his house, and especially not on a Sunday morning. Still, he didn’t look up from the book he was reading on his tablet. Curling up with a book in his comfy chair and basking in the sunlight was a rare luxury a sixteen-year-old cadet rarely enjoyed, and he wasn’t going to let some noise spoil it.

A few minutes passed, and he had all but forgotten about the noise when it happened again. He looked up, curious and annoyed. On a typical Sunday morning, he could easily go on reading through the sounds of his parents’ routine, but this new sound was too out of place to be ignored. He was still debating whether or not to put on some headphones when he heard the noise again.

His legs thumped to the ground, feeling heavy after sitting on his footrest too long. They dragged along the hardwood floor as he made his way out the door and into the hall. The stairs of the hundred-and-fifty-year-old Victorian house creaked under him. Artificial sunlight poured in through the windows, bathing the house in the warm glow of morning. He stuck his head out over the banister and looked into the living room. Dark polycarbonate crates littered the normally tidy room, out of place on the wood floor in front of the fireplace.

Several crates lay open, their contents spread out on the coffee table, sofa, chairs, and on the floor. Old photographs, plaques, a hand-carved wooden statue, paper documents, various trophies. All of it completely foreign to Gideon.

Gideon’s mother, Monica, sat on the corner of the coffee table with her back to him. As he descended the last few steps, she leaned over and released a valve on one of the crates with a loud click. Gas escaped through the valve with a hiss, or rather, the crate sucked air in.
 

“What are you doing, Mom?”

Monica jumped and spun around. “Sorry, Gid. I didn’t think the sound would bother you.”

Normally her hair would have been pulled back in a tight ponytail, but now it tumbled down in gentle curls around her shoulders. Gideon’s thick brown hair and olive skin were inherited from his mother, but his height and lean build came from his father. It took a moment for Gideon to navigate the jumble of crates and find his way over to one of the armchairs. He fell into it, getting lost in its softness. “How was I supposed to read with all this noise?”

“You could read right on through a hurricane once you get going. You’re like me that way. I didn’t realize these boxes would be so loud.” She looked around at the black crates. “I’m just sorting through all this old stuff to see what we should take down to the planet with us. It’s a bit surreal, to be honest.”

“You do realize we’re still a few months away from Valkyrie, right?”

She reached into the crate and pulled out foam padding, tossing it aside. “Oh, I know,” she said, waving her hand. “But I’ve been waiting for this moment for a century and a half. A couple more months will seem like nothing.”

She pulled out a long, flat box and set it on her lap. Gideon leaned forward to watch as she lifted the lid. Inside lay a stack of photographs depicting people dressed in old-fashioned clothes. His mother flipped through until one of them made her smile. Holding it with her fingertips, she held it out for Gideon. “That’s your dad and me on Olympus Mons, not long after we were married.”

Gideon craned his neck to get a good look at the photograph. Two people wearing bulky suits and helmets stood holding each other in front of a barren, red landscape. It could have been anybody beneath the tinted visors, but he took his mother’s word for it.

“Who took the picture?”

Monica furrowed her brow as she looked at it again. “Just an old friend. You don’t know him. He didn’t survive the war.” With that her smile faded.

With utmost care, she replaced the photo in the stack and set the box aside. The next box she pulled out was also flat and slightly larger than the last. Inside was a single photograph mounted on a wooden plaque. She let out a small gasp as she removed it from its case. “You know who this is, don’t you?”

Gideon took the plaque from her and studied it for a moment. Two men stood shaking hands in front of the old American flag. One had dark skin and short, greying hair. The other was tall and blond, with tan, cracked skin, and a gigantic toothy smile.

Gideon pointed to the tall, blond man. “Well, that’s Grandpa.” His eyes moved to the dark-skinned man. “And the other guy’s one of the old presidents of America. I can’t remember which.”

“That’s right. Bet you didn’t know your grandfather worked with the President of the United States.”

“No, not really. What were they working on?”

She pointed to a symbol in the bottom corner of the photograph. It was a stylized rocket next to a crescent moon.

“This is the logo for your grandfather’s space exploration company, way back in the early days of space travel. Humans hadn’t even made it to Mars yet, so your grandfather’s only customer for his rockets was the government. They didn’t start mining asteroids until your dad took over the business. That made him the richest person in history, actually. I think it’s part of the reason humans didn’t like us very much.”

Gideon snorted. “Being rich isn’t an excuse to exterminate aionians.”

Monica gave Gideon a wry smile. “No, it’s not, but Earth was overcrowded and a lot of people were starving. Desperation makes people do crazy things.”

“I still don’t see how killing all the aionians was supposed to fix their problems.”

“The way they saw it, we consumed more, and we weren’t going to age. When an aionian had children, they carried those same genetic traits. It looked like the population was going to implode, and the unaltered humans would absorb the worst of it.”

Gideon looked back down at the plaque. “So why did Grandpa do it? Why’d he make us? He had to know it’d cause problems.”

His mother shrugged. “Who knows? I never knew your grandfather, he died long before I met your dad, but I think he was a complicated man. He hoped to lift humanity to the next stage of evolution, to give us a chance to reach the stars.”

Gideon leaned back into the chair. “At school it seems like they try to dumb it down for us.”

“Again, the truth is... complex.” She stood and looked over at her son. “Some people on board are ashamed of the past, but it is what it is.”

She reached for the plaque, but before Gideon handed it back to her, something caught his eye. A small silver symbol was pinned to his grandfather’s lapel. He held the photograph close to his face and squinted. The symbol had two arcs back to back that formed the torso and legs of a person. Another arc bowed over the top to form the arms, and an upside down teardrop formed the head.

“What’s this symbol on Grandpa’s jacket?”

Monica took the photo and peered at it. Her eyes went wide for a moment before her face took on an expressionless look. “No idea. Could be anything, really. I would never have noticed it.” She cleared her throat. “Come into the kitchen. I’ll make you a sandwich.”