___________________________________ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ **** ** ** ** ** The **** THERWORLD CHAPTER 20 (> Morning <) Copyright 1992 by Bryce Koike All Rights Reserved ___________________________________ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Any comments, criticisms, opinions, etc, are welcome. I can be reached on Internet as: bkoike@sdcc13.ucsd.edu -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- "Pray that the earth don't tire of the way we're putting her down Hope that the universe don't say I'm still expanding But your time is up ... Hope that the earth don't tire of the way we're putting her down Hope the universe don't say Stop spinning around Hope that the world don't say That we've got no place to go" ("In the 21st Century" -- Men Without Hats) -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- On History Today the fourteenth Legion fell. Now there are twelve. A storm brews overhead and it is unlike any other. It seems to be creating an electrical disturbance. What is- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Date (placetime): July 1, 2203 Location: Void August, Level 18, Slip 5 Crossover Starship, _GLORIA_ A Future Which Might Have Been Time: 12:33 am Headmaster Jeannette Cooley frowned at the video screen with something akin to distaste. Even as far forward as the Gloria's command dome one could hear the drone of the engines and for all the world they sounded like the moan of a dying man to her. The twenty-four hour red alert had left her and the dome crew exhausted. They had been relaxing at yellow alert and were beginning the tedious work of moving the soldiers back from the drop chutes and into crysleep when a timedrop message had slipped through the streams. "Project Crossover," she read out loud to the dome crew who looked her way with anxious anticipation. "This is the moment we've been waiting for, friends. Project Crossover has been given the go." Relaxation after so long. Finally the moment they had waited and trained for had come. Her frown deepened. "We're being sent to level eighty-four," she said. "Back by eight units." The Taskmaster, Brenton Alza, stood in irritation. "Sir, that's away from the front!" he retorted. "Gloria's a combat vessel, why are they sending us away from the action!" Cooley shook her head. "Hold your tongue, soldier and let me get to specifics!" she snapped. "We're being sent to a critical point in the war. Gloria's the only ship outfitted and ready. Even at our highest speed, the Windmaker propulsor won't get us to the destination for a month. Alert the crew and set them at ready. We're dropping down by four levels to rendezvous with the Barrier Reef, load up on supplies, and take on five hundred units. Then we're off to our destination." "That destination have a name, sir?" queried Sempin Louru, the psychological strategist. "Aye, that it does. Translated from the Verri-Lapsa tongue, it's called Otherworld!" Time-space dynamics had only been guessed at before humanity met the Verri-Lapsa. The idea that starships could slip between universes was unthinkable. With the knowledge of the war zones which existed beyond their time base and beyond their universe, humanity had thrown in with the aliens who had aided them in the design of the Windmaker propulsor. No technician aboard the Gloria save for the Verri-Lapsa engineers dared crack that engine. Its workings were beyond the ken of any human. That was necessary -- no human technology was capable of harnessing psionic and magical energies. The aliens gave Cooley the ancient thumb's up signal and she started the countdown. When it hit zero, the universe seemed to crinkle in on itself and them with it. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Date: September 29, 1992 Location: Southeast of the Anza Borrego Desert Southern California, Otherworld Time: 10:00 am There were three of them at the start. The first was a tired man in his thirties whose lifetime consisted of wet alleys and hot blood. He kept a broken cross buried deep in a pocket of his leather jacket as memory of a silent promise he had always intended to keep. The second man used to be a professor at a California University before the strangeness sucked him in. His life consisted of confusion and little else. The final member of the group was a tall, skinny woman whose lines looked Russian. Her muscles were tight cable systems that coarsed throughout her body, hugging the ridges of her ribs, jutting out at her shoulderblades. A slight bag was all she carried for her belongings and an impossibly slender rifle longer than she was tall was the only weapon she had. "She told me that we'd go north first," Bates said. "I don't know where we're headed, but she said north." Tova, the greatest enigma of the group, rolled her eyeballs. "This is destiny," she said flatly. "Follow it to the letter or ignore it, it will creep up on you always." Xavier looked at the small stash of weapons they had amongst them. Tova's pea shooter. His own shotgun and a revolver. Bates' strange assortment of weaponry. All this to take on the towers which were slowly engulfing the world? Towers that seemed to be alive and could move of their own free will. They'd die for sure. The Great Mother was probably sending them north out of pity. He clenched his hands and looked toward the sky, looking for reason in his mind. Bates hadn't wanted to take the car, hadn't wanted to be reliant on fuel supplies that were far too limited, but the fact was that they needed the mobility. Otherwise their equipment would have to be distributed on frame packs and they'd have to hike -- averaging a miniscule three miles an hour. It would take weeks to achieve what a car could do in hours. And Bates had a secret worry about Tova. She looked able -- or at least determined. But her scrawny body didn't look like it could take much punishment. And the fact that she avoided questions about herself and her past left Bates with a strange feeling of suspicion in his stomach. Bad to start an adventure with strangeness amongst them, he felt. He gripped the steering wheel and worked the clutch down like his daddy had taught him to. The car coughed once, then started like a charm. "North," Bates said again, more for his own benefit than anything else. First gear. Learning to drive stick was reminiscient of learning to walk. Bates wondered what this moment was meant to remind him of, if anything at all. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Date: September 29, 1992 Location: California Coast, Otherworld Time: 6:43 am The sunlight pried through Angela's weary eyelids and forced her awake. For how long she laid there, awake, she did not know, but it couldn't have been long. She rolled over and breathed dirt. That brought her fully awake, eyes open, looking blindly for a moment at the dirt her face was pressed in. The morning was very cold and damp. The moisture was in the ground and on her face. In fact, it was likely that it was turning the dirt to mud against her cheeks. She sat up. She could tell immediately that it was early morning. There was a dull ache that came from deep within her skull that she simply couldn't place. Angela tried to massage it away, but it simply refused to leave. Norwell was nowhere to be seen. On the far end of the tarp lay his sleeping bag, now open. The morning's wind was chill, blowing in from the sea, still somewhat salty. Shaking her head to clear the sleep away and perhaps to shake off the pain, Angela carefully stood. Looking down the hill she could see the black man returning from the stream, a bag full of water bottles in one hand. When he noticed her, he gave a strange stare. "You sleep well?" he asked when he reached the camp. Angela noticed that he was keeping a cautious distance away from her. Sleep? Her stomach growled then and Norwell raised an eyebrow. She smiled sheepishly. As she scarfed down the all-too small breakfast, Norwell eyed her strangely. He waited for her to finish breakfast before he said anything. "Do you remember anything about yesterday?" he asked quietly. His voice was full concern and something else -- fear. Angela shrugged. "I remember the big bear," she said. "You came and scared it away, then we went back to camp." "And then what?" Something in her buzzed and the pain came back worse. She didn't want to think about it. Norwell leaned over and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Angela, you've got to remember," he said. "You went into a fit or something like that. Like something possessed you. And then you said things to me." Her eyes were open in fear, her mouth a wide "O." "You passed out afterward. Angela, you need to tell me if you remember any of it." The pain was getting larger, a throb of hurt across her whole brain. She shook her head wildly, denying anything that happened, denying everything just so that the pain would go away. "No, no, no," she chanted softly, almost to herself. The pain. Something was slapping her -- the man's hand. It seemed to bring her back to reality. The minute she stopped talking, Norwell stopped, afraid that he might have hurt her. Tears streamed down her face as Angela whispered, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry." She pulled away from Norwell when he tried to embrace her. "Someone wanted to know my name. His voice was so loud in my head that it hurt. He showed me things -- things that are happening all across this planet. He showed me a sad man named Bates and the Scarred Man. I don't know who or what the Scarred Man is, but he is very important." Norwell shook his head. This was mindless babble. He couldn't understand any of it. "The Dark Riders are awake now and they're angry," she said. Sniffling, she wiped the tears away. "And then the next thing I knew I was falling and falling and everything was dark." She looked up at Norwell. "Did I do a bad thing?" He shook his head. "Of course not. How could this man show you things like that in your head?" She shrugged. "It's happened to me before. Maybe that's what I'm meant to do. Maybe I'm supposed to see things from other people." "Who showed you things before?" Her face darkened and her eyes seemed to twist up into sadness. "He was a boy named Matt. He fought an alien people who called themselves the Eternals and he died for it. They threw his soul off a cliff and into the sea and there he lies still." The girl was full of strangeness, Norwell thought. And while he sat there, she talked and talked, about happy times in the Sierra, about a boy and girl who had died under the hands of the Eternals, about a Japanese assassin who could turn himself invisible, about metal warriors who saved many from death. But not a word, not a single word about the Dark Riders. He reached out to touch her and it startled her as if she had been asleep. Taking her shoulders in his hands he stared her in the eye and asked, "But what about the Dark Riders?" he asked. "What do you know about them?" "Matt never encountered the Dark, Roger," Angela said. "There was nothing he could show me. The girl, Tracy, she knew of one, but she didn't show anything to me. Matt never really knew that he was sending me his thoughts, but he was. He was." To herself she said, "And he showed me the door to myself and handed me the key to it all as his mind was engulfed by his own life." Norwell chewed on his lower lip in deep thought. "Roger," Angela said, "it's not nice to keep things from me." He flashed a startled look at her. "What?" he asked. She frowned at him. "Our destination is to a tower," she said. "I've been guessing. You're so interested in the Dark Riders and that's all my dreams are about, so you have to be connected with them. What I want to know is if you're good or bad." "Why do you ask?" "Bad people have done work for the Dark in the past," she replied. The way her hands had turned to claws in front of her, pointed at him, made Norwell very still. "If I'm good?" he asked. "Then you're my friend." "And if I'm bad?" She grimaced. "Then I'd have to kill you. You're a nice man, though, so I'll try to make it as quick as I can." Norwell nodded. She was attuned to him already. She'd know the difference between his lies and his truths, the changes in his moods. To think that this slight girl was so powerful! "I think I'm a good guy, Angela," he answered. She stuck her tongue out. "I couldn't've hurt you anyway!" she said and hugged him. "I'm glad you're a good guy." For all the world she seemed like a five-year-old in his arms and that only made Norwell think of his own daughter who had been without a daddy for far, far too long. When Angela noticed his sorrow, she moved away because he wanted to be alone. She knew that there were times when you wanted to be alone, and times when you were alone and wanted company. She knew that Norwell wanted to be alone and so she decided to explore the woods a little. She only knew the woods from Matt's memory. It wasn't the same at all. What she had seen through his eyes was a forest full of wonder and joy. Her own eyes lacked that idealistic view. He had respected the forest with his heart, had cared about it, had loved it. Angela ran her hand down the bark of a tree. It was just a tree like any other. Not an oak, or a redwood, or any other tree that Matt could identify with a handful of clues. She felt guilty; he had made her feel like it was her duty to love the forest. Still, as she reached the edge of a cliff and looked downward, the view could be quite spectacular. How strange that he had been afraid of heights. She sat down and dangled her feet over its edge. Looking downward toward the brilliant ocean, the sun at her back, she sighed. Here the world looked so innocent. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Xavier had his head halfway out the window in the back seat. It kept him away from the conversation between Bates, the unofficial leader of their strange mission, and Tova. Tova who had walked into their encampment only two weeks before and had been accepted by the Great Mother like her own child. Xavier couldn't fathom what had spurred him to become involved in Bates' mission, whatever it might be. Nothing attached him to the man save for a slight friendship. Bates certainly wasn't a leader -- not yet -- and he had no idea as to their purpose save that they were meant to travel together. Xavier was the third wheel and knew it. "You've never said where you're from," Bates said over the distant rumble of the engine. Tova shrugged. "Here and there. Parts of me come from all my people." Bates sighed. The damn woman had been giving the same damn cryptic answers every time he tried to be friendly. Couldn't she just answer him straight? He looked darkly across the dashboard. Tova laughed. "What's so funny?" Bates snapped. "Oh, it is you!" she said, a beaming smile across her face. "You don't realize that I am an alien!" Alien. Like extra-terrestrial. Bates gawked. Tova nodded. "My people possess no name, though I would allow you to call us The Society. We possess mental linkages to each and every other member of our world and at times we can stretch that link to those of us on other worlds. I was generated by my people with the task of coming to the Otherworld to carry out the fight against the twin darknesses which threaten to engulf it." "Generated?" Xavier asked, suddenly butting into the conversation. "What exactly do you mean by generated? They made you?" Tova turned and her face screwed up in concentration for a moment. "No," she said slowly. "Not so far as you would create a baby or a car. I was an individual before The Society asked me to do my part. But what I am now," she said as she looked down at herself, "is what they have made me into. I am their champion for this land and they have invested in me great powers." Her eyes shined. "In that way have they made me." Tova laughed again and slapped Bates' shoulder. "I am so sorry, my friend, I did not know that I deceived you!" Shaking his head in disbelief, Bates just sighed. "I'm sorry, Tova," he said, "but this is all far too complicated for me." "Worry not, all will work out in the end," she said as she settled back in her seat. "You too are the champions of your own people." The irony made Bates grimace. "Any idea where we want to go, Xavier?" Bates asked. "We just gotta be careful when we get past Fresno, is all," Xavier answered. "There's still Eternals in the hills and things have been known to get ugly sometimes." They had to detour long and far around Los Angeles -- that was Eternals territory according to Xavier, and Bates believed him -- and they'd be needing more gas soon enough. There were people northward who had pumped gas out of the stations and were distributing it carefully among the passersby. Xavier knew of some near Fresno, but the Gassers were like gypsies; they'd stay a while in one place, but they'd move on soon enough. Gassers didn't like to stay in one place overlong. Their importance was ruled by the gas they carried. They had to move on before their supply dropped too low, always searching for new stations still untapped. Rumors abounded of open Texas reservoirs of gas, but the route by land was impossible. Something made certain that no people ever made it to Texas. Whether it was bandits, Eternals, or Dark Riders, no one knew. Occasionally word would trickle down from Oregon and Washington of the lands beyond California, but those two states were embroiled in their own problems. Otherworld, at least the west coast of Northern America, was getting crowded and that lead to problems. No one could believe that humankind would war amongst themselves here in this world, not with the Eternals and Dark Riders threatening to stamp out all human existence, but with the Eternals and Dark so distant, old greed and selfishness rose. Bates shook his head. People were ugly, as he had learned so long ago. Alone or in small numbers they could be good things, but once you got them into large communities they'd start to seperate, forget the need for the common good, spliter apart, war, hate, and destroy. Ugly. Solitude was safer, always safer. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- "C'mon, little girl, it's time to be moving," Norwell urged. By the sun he guessed it was ten o'clock or so. West coast standard time, that is. Angela let out a sigh. "I can't get my pack on all by myself you know," she said. Chuckling, he helped her with her pack. "We're going to try to do more than yesterday. Feel up to it?" "I ache all over," was her bland reply. Translation: I don't want to, but if we have to, we have to. "Well, the exercise will do a lot to loosen you up. C'mon, move your ass." "Hah." She shifted the pack around until it felt comfortable. The sweatshirt tied around her waist did worlds of good to cushion the hard hipbelt. Stretching out her tight muscles, she fell into step behind Norwell as he whistled happily down the path. Something had picked up from his mood and it made her glad. The sun was already high and beat down on the earth, driving the morning's cold away. It was welcome now, but Angela knew that soon it would turn uncomfortably hot. "Honestly," she said to herself, "whatever did Matt find attractive in all this?"