The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption

  “I buried Aliyah by the giant date palm” were his only words.

  Our fire had long died, and John joined me at the pit’s edge in staring at the black and gray ashes.

  Spud nodded, and resumed scanning his Ergal from his mat at the edge of the cave. I was grateful that he knew when to keep his distance. It was going to be hard enough to talk to John myself.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally mustered, my eyes glued to the pit.

  “Maybe it was just written, Shiloh.” John sighed, clasping his hands. “Maybe it was all meant to be.”

  I choked back a sob. I had played with matches and had melted my brother’s wings. “Please, John, I beg you. Let me go instead.”

  His arm enveloped my shoulders. “You’re not responsible, Sis.” He squeezed me in a warm hug. “It’ll be all right. I know what I have to do. It’s what I want to do.”

  I pulled away and looked up at him. “No! Just no.”

  John’s eyes shone with a warmth that silenced my words and my pain. Softly, gently: “Yes.”

  * * *

  I couldn’t believe that I was pretending to be so professional about my brother’s impending death. John and Spud and I threw dirt on the ashes, covering our presence in the chilled cave, as we plotted how we could aid and abet in John’s self-proposed murder.

  We finally agreed that, right after sunset, John would grab one of the large branches we’d stashed by the fire and use it to charge violently at an isolated Roman guard. A group of guards standing together would be more likely to be able to subdue John and beat him painfully into submission, whereas a lone soldier would be more apt to unsheathe his sword against John in self-defense. No point in making John’s transition more torturous than it had to be.

  John wrapped the Somalderis around his hips, under an Ergaled clean toga. Spud and I costumed ourselves as married villagers. When John would make his final run, we would be watching from a discreet distance behind him, ready to come and claim his, his body. Too soon, far too soon, we were ready.

  John handed his black market Ergal to Spud. I walked over to John and met his gaze. “Godspeed, bro. Godspeed.”

  “You’ll tell them all how much I love them.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. And then the dam broke and I fell into his arms, sobbing.

  John squeezed my shoulders tightly, and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Every soul is a story, Shiloh. Do not mourn for me. A story told is never lost.”

  It took all my strength of will to pull myself away and watch John’s solitary walk out of the cave.

  * * *

  The crucifixion site—alternate two thousand years ago

  Spud and I trudged a hundred yards behind John with weary steps. From afar, we could see the crucifixion site had wasted no time in replenishing its victims, as two more unfortunates were breathing their last to a chorus of tears. And our honorable actions were about to repair the timeline and return such human brutality to our modern world.

  I blinked away the dust in my eyes. John had passed a group of guards, rowdy and laughing as they indulged in the local wine, and headed for an isolated soldier who stood off to one side scanning the horizon.

  When John had arrived within a few feet of the lone guard, he turned to look back at us and, with his free hand, give us a subtle wave. As we returned the gesture, he set off towards the soldier with a roar, raising his stick with his muscular arm to aim at the guard’s head.

  The soldier’s training kicked in, and he didn’t hesitate. Unsheathing his weapon, he aimed it straight at my charging brother’s heart.

  Alerted by my brother’s bellow and the cries from female onlookers, the jubilant guards had abandoned their chatter and were running to help their fellow trooper on the other side of the glade. I looked away, unable to watch, as the solo soldier struck his offensive pose. The sword would no doubt be sliding in under John’s sternum, poised to lacerate cardiac muscle and the aorta and bring rapid death. I did not need to witness the final act.

  The women’s screams heralded when the deed was done. I turned my head to see John lying immobile on the ground, his toga drenched in the spray of his own blood. I quickly looked away again, and focused my eyes on a juniper bush hiding raptors in ambuscade.

  “It is time,” Spud nudged me with an unwelcome elbow. “We can best stave off John’s decomposition in the coolness of our cave.”

  I was too shell-shocked to take offense. Spud often retreated to science and logic when stressed; sometimes science and logic were the better pool to swim in than guilt and regrets.

  Acting anxious and submissive, we shuffled towards the murder site, our hands clearly visible as holding no weapons. We were the man’s family, Spud explained to the guards in his impeccable Latin. Yohanan had been mad since a febrile illness last month, and had managed to escape and run amok during our afternoon siesta.

  “We apologize for his disrespectful actions, and wish to take his body for burial with our thanks,” said Spud as he bowed and knelt next to my brother, his fingers subtly feeling for a pulse.

  When he shook his head, I allowed myself to sob; hoping my genuine tears would mollify the guards and ease their adrenaline rushes. Our tactics worked, and Spud and I together, our hands caked with dirt and blood, were soon able to carry John away from this valley of death and out of the view of its victims; soldiers and sinners. I didn’t stop crying until we’d reached the cave.

  We rested John on the mat where he and Aliyah had slept in bliss not long before. Spud tore open John’s toga beneath the gash above his abdomen and announced, “No Somalderis. The Fleece--and your brother—are now in heaven.”

  John’s sacrifice had not been in vain.

  Chapter 28

  Resurrection

  We decided to bury John next to Aliyah near the giant palm where he’d laid her to rest. Just before sunrise, we made our way to the massive tree next to the flowing stream. Aliyah’s grave was still marked by the white irises John had planted into the soft dirt in the shape of a sunflower.

  We lay John down next to Aliyah’s grave, and pulled out our black market Ergals to Ergal us a pair of shovels.

  The cry came from a distance, on the other side of the rocky hill where we were standing. As we strained to make out the words, we heard more shouts, and a growing commotion. We climbed up a few feet to the rim of the rocks and saw two women gesturing towards a group of bearded men in village robes. “It is empty, his tomb! Come!” one of the women clamored, pointing down a dirt path leading south of the ancient city.

  “Yeshua?” I asked, knowing the answer.

  Spud nodded, and started back down towards my brother, waving for me to follow. As we stood once again next to John, Spud fished inside his robes and pulled out his Zygan Ergal, entering an anamorphing command. “Let us see if our own timeline has been restored.”

  Two shovels M-fanned by Aliyah’s grave. Success. “Operational” was Spud’s only comment. Our Ergals were working once again.

  Driven by an urge I couldn’t harness, I grabbed a shovel and began digging into the soft dirt. Spud didn’t stop me, but kindly collected John’s irises and held them in his hands like a memorial bouquet as I dug.

  I dug and dug and dug until I could dig no more. Tossing the shovel aside, I lay down on the ground next to my brother and let my tears and perspiration mingle. I could find no body, no bones in the mound, no trace of Aliyah in the makeshift grave. Now that our timeline was restored, Aliyah had never existed at all.

  * * *

  Home

  We used our Zygan Ergals to lev John back to the cave, where we did a last cleanup to erase any remnants of our visit. Ergaling a polished cedar casket, I levved John into his silk lined bed, closing and locking the lid and laying a kiss on the smooth wood.

  We would first have to stop in and update Ev at Earth Core, but I was eager to take John back to Maryland and into the arms of our family. Spud
said nothing about his brother, shrugging when I asked if he would return to England—or France.

  Our arrival in Earth Core Reception was low key. I’d micro’ed the casket and was carrying it in my jeans pocket. I had no desire to report on my adventures to Fydra who staffed Reception with a bloodhound’s curiosity.

  Ev welcomed us both warmly. Because we’d time looped, only a few days had passed for Ev since we’d set off for Zyga and my futile meeting with Cirra Stratum, and he was eager for a debrief. Those few days had been pretty uneventful, Ev insisted, as he caught me peering around the Core station. No, no subtle changes. Nothing to indicate that Ev’s world had temporarily disappeared.

  “Before I forget, Rush, regards from the SERJ ambassador,” he began, “we had a little conference on Io yesterday about setting them up to do nuclear meltdown cleanup.” He snorted, “All that free energy, you think they’d give us a break on their price.”

  “Ah,” was all I could muster.

  “So did you find John? Is he okay?” Ev swallowed a bite of the “everything” pizza slice he was trying to balance on his pudgy fingers.

  I stood frozen, unable to answer.

  Seeing my discomfort, Spud interjected, “In the end, John was successful in finding his Holy Grail. I wager he will have much to tell us on the day we join him in Level Three.”

  A flash of sadness crossed Ev’s face. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I was kind of hoping that I’d see him again, you know.”

  “Perhaps some of us will,” said Spud, inching in the direction of the library. “Now if you’ll excuse me a moment. I need to complete some research.”

  “And I’ll just, uh, go make my report.” I nodded towards the conference room. I didn’t know how long I could hold it together. The last thing I wanted was a long conversation with Ev. Catching the wounded look in his eyes, I softened and took his hand in mine. “I just want you to know how grateful we are for everything you did to help us.”

  Ev smiled and cleared his throat. “You and Spud.”

  I turned back from before reaching the conference room door. “Me and John.”

  * * *

  Earth Core Station—present day

  Once Ev had returned to his Zygint business, I gave myself a time-out in the “water closet” where I had first launched my quest for Yeshua’s Golden Fleece what seemed like an eon ago. After drying my tears on a wad of paper towels, I glanced at myself in the mirror. Red eyes, red nose, ruddy cheeks, swollen lips. Thinner than even Hollywood standards. The last time I’d visited this bathroom, I’d been a crusader, set to sail the seven seas to rescue my brother. In the end, with all my good intentions, I had only managed to lead him to his death. I heard myself snort a chuckle. My confidence, my hubris, had blessed me with a worse punishment than even the Omega Archon’s Hell. My brother was gone for good, and, without question, I would spend a millennium in Hell to bring him back.

  An hour had passed by the time my features were passable enough to not give my sorrow away. I snuck past Ev at his consoles and met up with Spud in the library. “Checking the timeline?” I asked, seeing Spud’s aquiline nose buried in a row of holos.

  “Yes. To my surprise, it seems quite intact.”

  I nodded and took a seat next to him. “Good. I haven’t noticed anything different around here either.”

  On the screens before us were several ornate oil paintings dating from the 1600’s to the modern era of a man who clearly resembled the Yeshua we had known. I pointed at one attributed to an artist named Coypel which had a resurrected “Yeshua” floating above images of joyous acolytes and fearful legionnaires. Around his waist and hips, and extending over one arm—was that the Somalderis?

  “I believe so,” Spud concurred, “though the painter didn’t render it quite as lush or golden as it truly was.”

  Always the critic. “I suppose.” I didn’t want to ask the next question. “Did you happen to check on my family?”

  “Satellite images show your farm in Maryland is populated by a rowdy cohort of children and adults. You shall be returning home soon enough—I did not need to invade their privacy as well.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. More seriously: “Your brother okay?”

  Spud hesitated. “’Okay’ is not a word in his vocabulary, but yes, Ian is alive.”

  “I’m glad.” I stood up and patted him on the back. “Thanks, partner. Uh,” I paused, “thanks for helping when I needed you.”

  Spud didn’t turn to face me, but I did hear a sigh. “You, Rush, are as exceptional an antidote to boredom as the universe has provided me to date. Despite the palpable risks, I have never yet been able to resist injecting you into my life.”

  “Oh-kay,” I admitted, allowing myself another smile. “I guess I’ll accept that.”

  Kneading his fingers, Spud bestowed me with a sideways glance, “I only wish I could have facilitated a more…positive outcome for your brother…and for you.”

  My voice cracked. “I wouldn’t be here without you. William.”

  Spud flashed a smile, “Nor I without you.” Another pause. “Shiloh.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, partner, we’d better check what’s on our duty roster coming up.” I sat in front of another holo, my fingers pulling up the assignment schedule for Earth Core, and searched vainly for our names.

  “I expect Ev cleared us from duty for a few weeks before we left, just in case, we, er... Our next shift for Zygint is not until July,” said Spud.

  Wow. Two months off. A real, and, after what we’d been through, very welcome respite. “Then I’ll see you at SingularityCon?” The Las Vegas sci-fi convention was only three weeks away, and we were both slated to staff the Bulwark booth and do publicity for the upcoming Season 2 of our show.

  “Indeed you will,” Spud waved, adding, “if I have not perished first from the oppressive lull and ennui.”

  I could see him smiling in the holo screen’s reflection. “Good luck on your finals, dude,” I said, as, setting my Ergal for Maryland, I X-fanned.

  Chapter 29

  Home is Where the Heart Breaks

  Maryland—present day

  The sun had just set on the East Coast by the time I’d M-fanned on our farm. The gate behind me was locked for the night, and I could only spot a few lights on in the house.

  I’d mega’d John’s casket and let it rest in the evening’s shadow on the grass behind me. What now seemed like an eternity ago, I’d run off in the middle of dinner and left my family in the lurch—better they see just me first and give me time to start explaining.

  Stepping up onto the porch, I hit the doorbell. Bobby opened the door on the third ring.

  “Ooh, you’re in trouble,” he teased with a broad grin.

  When I didn’t return his serve, his grin disappeared. “What happened?” he asked with genuine concern.

  I still couldn’t answer. I just gave him a big hug and tried my hardest not to cry.

  “Shiloh, what in the world?” Connie appeared behind Bobby in the hallway, her brow knitted by a worried frown.

  I pulled back from my brother and reached a trembling arm to clasp my sister’s. “Everything you could imagine.” Blinking the fog from my eyes, I noted the house seemed dark. “Just you two?”

  Connie nodded. “Billy and Andi are spending a week in the UK with Blair, and Kris is in Las Vegas with that musician. George should be back any minute. I’m helping him out until Tom returns tomorrow.” She paused to catch her breath. “I wish—I wish you’d told us you were leaving.” A sigh. “Anyway, come in and sit down.”

  I didn’t move. “I can’t, uh…” I turned to point outside the door into the night.

  George stood filling the doorway, his arms clinging to the jamb, his face ashen.

  “Oh, my God,” were the only words Connie could muster.

  * * *

  I had to be very careful what I revealed, even to Connie
and George. John had implied they knew something about our reality, but my own experience didn’t agree. When John had disappeared three years before, George and the others had seemed awfully convinced he had really run off and joined the US Army, as he’d claimed. My own absences for Zygint, those not covered by time loops, had been explained away by my nascent acting career. The work I was getting in Hollywood had allowed me to live 3000 miles from DC on my own in L.A. Better that my family didn’t find out the truth about the Zygan-Federation-behind-the-curtain. Or about John.

  Truth be told, I didn’t know the truth myself any more. I hoped desperately that John’s faith in Level Three would be rewarded, and that he would be alive, whatever that meant in heaven, and sponging up the answers he sought in the world beyond. The idea that he might have returned to the hell of nothingness was one I rejected every time it knocked at my conscience. That truth would be more than I could bear.

  The memorial service was set for the day after tomorrow, allowing enough time for the whole family to fly back home. In the cave, John had asked me if I would arrange cremation and scatter his ashes into the wind at the base of Sugarloaf Mountain in his beloved Appalachian Range. Praying that I’d never really lose him, I had promised--with my fingers crossed.

  I was grateful Connie took care of all the preparations. She’s always been the “doer” in the family, fixing things I—and John—undo. In a couple of days, once everyone had returned, we would gather near the Rappahanock River and hike along the path towards our favorite hill, stopping every mile or so to share a memory of John’s short, full life. When we’d reach the caverns, we’d let Icarus soar, and watch the breeze lift John back into the sky.

  * * *

  George was nursing a cup of tea in the darkness of our library, a black silhouette in the large armchair Grandpa Alexander had once occupied. Grateful that the lack of light would be a veil for my tears, I Ergaled myself a cup of hot chocolate and sat down on the sofa next to him.

  He finally spoke. “I didn’t ask you to tell us the whole story. Just why he never bothered to call.”