Mrythdom: Game of Time (3 page)

A mighty crack like thunder split the air, and Aurelius woke with a start. Before him he saw nothing but white plastered across the canopy, white with specks of brown and gray that looked like broken tree branches. It looked like packed snow. Aurelius’s head swam dangerously. The last thing he remembered was being in space, the ISS interceptors chasing him through an asteroid field, a dark tunnel . . . and then here. Somehow, he’d crash-landed back on Meridia and lost all memory between the asteroid field and the planet.

The voices he’d heard while dreaming continued still. Aurelius thought to wonder why he could hear them, and then he noticed that his flight helmet had flown off its hook and smashed into the controls, flicking a number of switches, among others was the one for the external audio pickups.

“Blinda ter seer!”

A quick look at damage reports told him that his shields were completely overloaded, artificial gravity the same, but between the two they’d mostly protected both him and his ship from the crash. Unfortunately, now both systems would probably need expensive replacement parts before they’d start working again, meaning that his ship was all but crippled. He would be limited to low-G maneuvers, and while also completely denuded of shields, he may as well paint a target on his hull. Aurelius grimaced. Repairing those systems would take a giant chunk out of his profits for this run.

“Arevela mer seer!”

Aurelius frowned, now listening more attentively to the voices coming from outside.
They're not speaking Meridian.
He couldn’t tell what language it was, but it was extremely rare to hear anything other than Meridian. The continental languages had been all but extinguished, and now they only existed in ancient books and as useless topics in academia.

Snapping out of his seat restraints, Aurelius stood and waved a hand over the doors leading from the cockpit to the rest of the ship. The deck was sloping at an angle which made walking back through his ship like walking uphill, but in a few quick strides he made it through the galley and to the port airlock. Aurelius waved his hand over the door controls and the inner airlock doors slid open. Suddenly remembering who he was and what he did for a living, Aurelius patted his hip and found his gun belt missing. With a grimace he hurried back to the cockpit and retrieved it.
Novice mistake,
he chided himself as he strapped on the belt and his forearm gauntlet. Last of all he fetched his helmet from the dashboard and snapped the seals shut around his neck with a hiss of air. Between his gauntlet, helmet, and armored flight suit, he could defeat ten suitless gunmen without even breaking a sweat.

When he returned to the airlock, he triggered the inner airlock doors, just in case someone tried to sneak into his ship while he was gone, then he armed his plasma pistol and held it in cool readiness as he slapped a palm against the outer airlock door controls. He was ready for whatever might greet him on the other side.

Or so he thought.

The doors slid open to reveal a splintered forest drenched in dirty snow. Two figures with staffs and cloaks were yelling at one another in that strange language he’d heard. They had their staffs outstretched and their hands curled like claws as they gestured angrily at one another. Flashes of roiling light bounced between them, eventually careering off to one side or the other, vaporizing snow and splintering wood with explosive force. Aurelius’s ears rang from the noise. Between the two men lay a glowing orb. Both of them seemed to be trying to get to it, but whenever one set foot toward the orb, the other fired a flash of light—plasma?—to explode at his adversary’s feet. Aurelius had trouble seeing what weapons the men were using. The bolts didn’t look exactly like plasma, and from what he could tell, neither man held a weapon. The fire seemed to spring directly from their hands.

Impossible.

Even more impossibly, whenever a shot reached its target, it mysteriously bounced away, as though reflected by some type of armor or shielding, yet he could see no armor, and personal shields were usually only good for one or two hits, not half a dozen.

Despite their prior standoff, the two men began making great strides toward one another. As he watched, one man dove for the glowing orb, and the other pounced on him. They began wrestling in the dirty snow, growling and shouting at one another. The tips of their staffs glowed strangely, as though with inner light.

Aurelius took a step forward and a ramp extended automatically for him with a rolling
clunk, clunk, clunk
 . . . he frowned; yet more damage from the crash.

Speaking to his suit, he said, “External speakers on,” and then, “Put your hands up! Both of you!”

Both cloaked figures abruptly turned his way, momentarily distracted from one another and the glowing orb. He couldn’t make out much of their features from the distance, but he was surprised to see that they both looked alike, both were old men—wrinkly, with white hair. One of the men spared him only a second of attention before turning to the glowing orb and declaring, “Traspara mer alu segera!”

And just like that, he vanished, and the glowing orb, too, leaving the other man pounding the dirt with his fists and screaming yet more alien words.

Aurelius gaped and blinked furiously. This had to be a dream.

Aurelius descended the boarding ramp in a daze. He still couldn't believe what he'd seen. A man had disappeared before his eyes! Snow and broken branches crunched underfoot as Aurelius cautiously crept toward the remaining combatant. The old man still lay face-down in the dirt, beating the ground with his fists and cursing nonsensically. He walked straight up to the old man without being noticed, and then cautiously kicked him in the ribs.

“Get up—slowly—or I'll shoot!”

The old man froze. “Be careful whom you threaten, elder.”

Aurelius began laughing. “Elder? Who are you calling old, Wrinkles? You must be four times my age.”

Suddenly the man turned and looked up at him with blazing blue eyes. His flowing white beard and hair was tangled with dirt and snow. “That's where you're wrong. You are far older than I.”

Aurelius frowned. “You're brainsick, old man. Get up.”

“As you wish.” With another whisper of that strange language, the man seemed to float to his feet, his robes rippling in the wind. Aurelius blinked.
I must have hit my head pretty hard. . . .
“We have to follow him, Aurelius.”

Aurelius gaped and quickly thrust his pistol up under the old man's chin, plastering his dirty beard to his wrinkly neck. “How do you know my name?”

“Your thoughts are not well guarded. It was a simple matter to see it in your mind.”

“You expect me to believe that you can read my mind without a probe?”

“I can read anyone’s mind I choose.”

“Prove it.”

“You are confused. The last thing you remember was coming through the portal. Your memories make little sense to me, but you were being chased through a rocky canyon. It was night; the stars were out. . . . Rocks were raining from the sky . . . and orange lightning was shattering the canyon walls.”

Aurelius's brow furrowed. “It wasn't night. I was in space. And those were asteroids, not rocks. Your synapses must be misfiring, old man.”

“Space?”

Aurelius gestured impatiently to the sky.

The old man's blue eyes widened appreciably. “You can fly in the ether?”

“Ahh . . .” Aurelius's head began throbbing again.
Ether?

“It seems we have different words for the same things. Please remove your weapon from my throat before I disarm you.”

“You try anything and I'll burn you a new pastry hole.”

“Congela teru harns,” the old man whispered.

“What?” Aurelius demanded. The old man turned and began walking toward the
Halcyon Courier
. “Stop!”

But he kept walking. Aurelius tracked his target, took aim, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. His finger didn’t even move. He tried again with the same result. Suddenly panicking, Aurelius tried to move his other fingers and found to his astonishment that they wouldn’t even twitch. He stared with horror at his hands until the old man’s gravelly voice interrupted him.

“You’ll regain the use of your hands as soon as you promise not to harm me.”

“You did this to me?” Aurelius demanded.

The old man stopped to regard him with a crinkly smile. “Yes. I could have frozen your entire body, but that would take much longer to recover from, and I need you to operate your flight machine. If we do not catch up to Malgore soon, it will be too late.”

Aurelius went back to staring at his hands. “How?”

The old man sighed. “Stop wasting my time. I will explain to you on the way. We must hurry!”

Aurelius stumbled forward, putting one leaden foot in front of the other until they had both ascended the boarding ramp to his ship. He tried to place his palm against the door controls but found he couldn’t and turned to gaze pointedly at his wizened companion.

“Of course.” The old man waved his hand and whispered something.

Suddenly Aurelius’s hands regained their strength and his fist tightened around the butt of his pistol. Bringing his faceplate close to the old man’s nose, he glared into a pair of icy blue eyes set in flaccid folds of gray skin and spoke through gritted teeth, “If you ever do something like that to me again, I’ll kill you.”

“I’m sure you'll try. Open up,” the man said, slapping the door with his palm.

Aurelius continued glaring for a sullen moment; then he nodded viciously, almost head-butting the old man in the process, and he pressed his palm against the door scanner. The outer doors slid open with a
swish
. “Start explaining,” Aurelius demanded.

“Very well. You have been inadvertently brought to the future.”

Aurelius stopped just inside the airlock, doing a quick double take. “What?”

“I don’t have the patience to explain this more than once, so just listen, and keep moving.” Aurelius started for the inner airlock doors. The outer doors automatically slid shut behind them. “You are what we in Mrythdom call an elder, a lost race of humans which all but died out about five thousand years ago.”

“Time travel is impossible,” Aurelius stated as he stalked through the corridors on his way to the cockpit.
Why am I listening to this old sherp? He’s completely lost his mind.

“Nothing is impossible with magic. The Elves created the relic sometime in the far future, but when they created it, it was created outside of time, so it exists in all times simultaneously. That is how it enables one to transcend time. Somewhere, hidden in your time lies a matching relic, yet these relics are all one and the same. If one were to be somehow destroyed, they would all be destroyed everywhere, and it would be as though they had never existed. On the other hand, if one is activated, they are all activated.”

“That’s a nice story. Are you with Freedom? Is this some kind of test? I have your shipment.”

“Freedom? Freedom from what? Never mind; stop interrupting me. Do you want me to explain or not?”

Aurelius snorted and rounded on him from the entrance to the cockpit. “Sure, why not?” He leaned against the doorjamb, affecting a bored look.

“You asked how I was able to freeze your hands. That was magic. I was also using magic to read your mind. And Malgore used magic to take advantage of the distraction you provided to transport himself and the relic somewhere far from here.

“Had I been paying attention I would have sensed his intentions and been able to stop him, therefore, I blame you, elder, for losing the relic, and it is your responsibility to set things right.”

“Yeah . . .” Aurelius aimed his gun at the old man’s chest. “Even if I believed your impossibly stupid story, I wouldn’t owe you or anyone else anything. The only person I owe is myself, and he’s getting pretty angry that you’re wasting his valuable time. Tell you what, why don’t you get out of my ship, and I’ll let you live.”

“If you ever want to get back to your time again, I suggest you accept my help.”

“I don’t need your help, Wrinkles.”

The old man’s face twisted into a grim smile. “My name is Gabrian, not Wrinkles, and unfortunately for both of us, I need
your
help.” Gabrian pointed imperiously to the pilot’s chair behind him. “SIT.”

Aurelius’s head swam, and he felt a hazy weight settle inside his head, as though his brain has suddenly turned to stone. He swayed unsteadily on his feet before turning to sit in the pilot’s chair. His brow furrowed as he realized that he hadn’t made any conscious thought to move. He was peripherally aware of Gabrian taking a seat in the copilot’s chair beside him.

“Now, how do I fly this machine?”

“You’re in the wrong chair.”

“MOVE.”

Aurelius stood up, feeling light-headed again. “Have you ever flown a spaceship?”

“No.”

“Then you won’t be able to.”

“I will be the judge of what I can and cannot do,” Gabrian said, pushing past Aurelius to sit in the pilot’s chair. He spent a moment frowning at the controls; then he whispered some strange words and went on frowning.

“You can’t do it, can you?” Aurelius asked.

Gabrian hesitated briefly before flicking a switch on the dash.

The interior lights snapped on.

“Drackla!” The old man stood and pushed Aurelius back into the chair. “You fly; I’ll guide you.”

“No.” But Aurelius’s hands flew over the controls of their own accord, going through his preflight checklist.

Gabrian sat fuming beside him. “Flying a dragon is far harder, I can assure you. It won’t take me long to learn how you make this piece of metal flap its wings.”

Aurelius grinned in spite of the heavy, hazy weight pressing hard against the inside of his head. “Flap its wings? That’ll be the day . . . wait,” Aurelius turned slowly to the old man. He shook his head as though unable to believe what he’d just heard. “Did you say dragon or dargon?”

Gabrian frowned. “Dragon. What’s a dargon?”

“It’s a troop transport. Never mind that! You really are brainsick, Wrinkles. Dragon’s don’t exist.”

“Really?”

A deep and throaty roar began thrumming through the deck as Aurelius started the ship’s reactor. He considered the
Halcyon’s
position for a moment before applying 5% braking thrust to reverse out of the ditch his ship had plowed with its nose. The
Halcyon Courier
shuddered and the blanket of white that was draped across the canopy began shivering, sticks and stones rattling across the transparalloy surface. With a loud scraping noise, his ship broke free and the tail end thudded to the ground, sending a jolt up Aurelius’s spine and instantly clearing the canopy of snow and debris. Aurelius grimaced. Flying without inertial compensators was going to be very difficult. He would have to keep that in mind lest he crush himself with excessive g-forces.

“If dragon’s don’t exist, then what pray tell is that, elder?”

Aurelius’s gaze followed the old man’s crooked finger out the forward viewport to where a craggy black knoll poked out of the dirty snow. His eyes narrowed as he pressed down on the bottom rudder with his foot, and his ship shot straight up, rising quickly above the trees. The knoll looked strange enough that for a moment Aurelius was frozen with indecision. Could it be a dragon? It wasn’t moving. Sleeping? He shook his head abruptly.
Dragons don’t exist.
Aurelius smiled wryly. “Nice try, Wrinkles. That’s just a mound of rock.”

Gabrian shrugged. “Deceive yourself if you must, elder.”

Aurelius snorted and applied more bottom rudder. He rose ever higher above the trees, revealing an endless vista of barren gray branches clawing through a carpet of mist toward a blank white slate of sky.

“Where are we going?” Aurelius asked.

“Due south.”

Aurelius swung his ship in a half circle, and a glimmering gray-white lake swam into view. He carefully applied 10% forward thrust, and almost lost his grip on the thruster controls as his ship shot forward, plastering both him and Gabrian to their chairs. Aurelius grinned with exhilaration.

He heard the old man gasping beside him, and Aurelius cast him a quick, worried look. Gabrian’s face was frozen in terror, and he was clutching his armrests with white-knuckled claws. “Are you okay?”

“Do all flying machines move so quickly?”