Tag Archives: series

51 \ 139

Posted on by under The Enfolding Abyss, Uncategorized

There’s an edge. Every time I gear up, I hit a slowdown, so I know that an edge lays beyond. A sword slowing as it nears its mark. Seems it’s working on me more than I’m working on it. Like I imagine watching my own sun go nova: details sharpening in the final moment’s arrival, beautiful, beautiful always. Amazing steps of amazing effort in this hyperbolic downward frontline towards nothing-not-nothing. Seconds protract, the transmission of time condensed into a line, fiber into thread. The stun of conclusion when the line’s end appears.

Listening for a change, she hears nothing. Soleil is running without stopping, but there’s nothing. Then something arrives, and she can see nothing but the writhing scales, seamlessly enfolded within their grasp.

Stoically standing, she knows there is nowhere to hide. Eyes emerge in a draconid face, fresh and delicate, fascinating and fascinated. Then, the rumble of a strangely familiar-sounding voice beginning to communicate.

I noticed you, moving around.
I caught wind of you…
recognized you.
I ate your mother,
when I was born.
I ate a lot of people,
right away,
and grew.
It was emerge or die.
They were waiting for me.
They would have killed me.
I chose to live.
Yours is not the only mother I ate,
doubtfully the last,
with so many mothered beings in existence.
Now we meet.
I am Acamar.

Without thinking of the significance of her words, Soleil asked, “Did you seek me?”

The dragon admitted, “Yes.” This revealed to them a new understanding of their positions in the nature of their meeting. The dragon wanted to give her something.

50 \ 138

Posted on by under The Enfolding Abyss, Uncategorized

Still lost. Soleil was sensing the infinite-approach feeling of something impossible that someone was doing anyway. She had hope – she knew what the word was, and she still knew how to spell it. It did feel as though she might be seeing less and less. Finding a forward-move pattern combination was becoming a longer process, at least perceptually.

The doors, windows, walks, and passages of the Princess’ perimeter running route through the Imperial Court were flashing through her mind, as she swooped into her determined angles. Some of these windowpane clump-zones felt strangely familiar – as though they were places she’d visited before, though she knew that was untrue. Smells as well as songs floated through her thoughts, and while that might have been disconcerting, any sense of life she could hold onto was a sign she wasn’t dead yet. There was a whiff of Jennian magnolia.

She was watching for star patterns on the vehicle’s scanning scope when the gauge-size graphics display held onto something. She reverberated with a sudden shock of recognition on seeing the unmistakable keel fin of an official Pan-Galactic Imperial ship, close enough that it was here.

Soleil remembered throwing herself around her grandmother’s legs as a child, experiencing a similar impulse. But where there would have been a return of warmth, she felt a wave of sadness – like hitting a wall instead, with her grandmother on the other side. She didn’t feel comfort. She didn’t feel rescued, and she was one who knew well how to take her own counsel.

The Imperial ship turned on its patrol lights, and the greater part of her screamed alarm. Instantly she saw that her current freedom to act held keys to possibilities that would disappear once the ship recognized her. Perhaps it already had. Extrapolations quickly unfolded on bringing home her knowledge at present, and they all resulted in nothing but a higher death toll. Not like this, not like this.

The Princess’ eyes were crossing with confusion and admitted exhaustion. Instead of buckling, she screamed, throwing herself into finding the key maneuver that would take her someplace else. She actually wanted to get away from someone who would bring her home. Her will overpowered the sheer longing for comfort. Not like this, no!

Yes: everything in the tangled knot aligned once more, making sense for a brief flash. In that flash of time, she was gone.

49 \ 137

Posted on by under The Enfolding Abyss, Uncategorized

The private investigator was only five games into the poker table at Joe’s pub when he was handed a call from ‘Mr. G’. That was the first time he’d seen the dishes kid, who brought the phone out to Joe. Joe interrupted the deal at the table. “It’s a Mr. G, for you,” he said with a look that didn’t really want to know.

He stroked the grey felt on the card table as he listened. Derringer guessed that one of the other players was an eye for Mr. G, who this time turned out to be General Draig Claymore through a subtle scrambler. Derringer could recognize his thoughtful pause pattern through the bent vowels and inflections. Mr. G had an assignment for Derringer that he could do by himself, and was within his usual range of errands. He was essentially being asked to take an official vehicle out for a joyride to nearby hinterspace.

“I’d like to you to go to this coordinate; there shouldn’t be anything there, and nothing in particular should show on your shipboard. But according to reports, there might be something. If you register something, or anything, I’d like to you tell me. Go now.”

How did they know him so well? Besides being the government. Many’s the time he resisted taking one of their ships for a spin. This was like his reward for being a good boy, in that respect. The point he sought wasn’t that far away – Dalmeera-on-Florin was in nearest vicinity – yet it was sufficiently remote, in a strange direction. Derringer cranked it up and let it out, impressed by the standard specs on a government vehicle.

This zone was nice and clear, and Derringer took a soaring route, to widen his coverage, yes. Sometimes what you’re looking for is on the way to where you think you’ll find it – worth the fuel.

He neared the coordinate after about an hour, and switched from soaring to stalking: creeping paths alternating with observant pauses.

Weird… what is that? Something tiny, dancing in place right where there’s supposed to be nothing. Like a confused fly.

48 \ 136

Posted on by under The Enfolding Abyss, Uncategorized

There were pockets of restful pause in the beat of the Princess’ ongoing search for home space. Though fleeting, she pretended that they weren’t, and they would last until they were over. Along the way, she’d successfully maintained contact with the invisible window-cluster anomalies, and for that, she was very glad.

It was possible that she was getting tired. Someone might panic at this point, which reminded her that she mustn’t. Transforming the panic resulted in thoughts both morbid and comforting. So what if she did get lost and die this way? Utilizing the consideration of an historian. The possibility was nearing; if disappointing, it was also simple. Her learning with the Vedani would come to no benefit. Hanging onto the levity of academic curiosity, she theorized about unknown true history, thanking her teacher Arkuda for the fortitude in this reactionary decision. She was still moving, still achieving one always-surprising jump after another.

Soleil thought on the old advice about staying in one place in order to be found. After the first jump, she knew she’d done something her Vedani team had not, and maybe could not. There was no waiting for rescue.

88

Posted on by under Fire On All Sides, Uncategorized

A disheveled driver walked into a bar and took a seat by her favorite bartender. There were a couple occupied booths in the room, but otherwise it was an empty morning. The music was a cheerful rolling ballad at odds with her bereaved look.

“Hot Silver, please.”

“You got it. Been a long few weeks, has it? You were here just before Pyrean Midsummer, wasn’t it.” A smile played across his face as he began to heat and mix.

“Yeah. Actually I can’t think back that far right now. I just watched hundreds of uniforms ordered to fight something that would kill them. Using means completely unequal to the danger. I had the luxury of my own prerogative, so here I sit.” She looked out the window into a ray of sun for a breath while her drink began to steam behind the counter. She looked over doleful, yet matter of fact. “There are dragons at war.”

“You don’t say.” His tone remained light through a furrowed brow. He sprinkled spice over the top and delivered the cup to her hands.

“I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to.” Her head drooped over the cup as she inhaled the steam. Just as she began to close her eyes, someone yelled out from the kitchen.

“Hey Joe! Epic stack, look at this epic stack!”

Joe looked over at his loyal customer. “That’s our new dishwasher. He’s done it a few times, hasn’t broken one yet.” He patted the bar as he turned to go to the kitchen.

Looking sideways over her cup, Wendel murmured, “There’s a voice…”

Re-emerging, the bartender gestured to her. “You should come see this.” Collecting herself, Wendel took a breath and a sip and followed him in.

For a stack, it could be said to be epic. Largest pans and sheets on the bottom, going to smaller pans, to platters and appropriately-sized dishes with the occasional balancing item, to a rotating tower of mugs and cups that ended in a pyramid. Other words that came to mind were magnificent; unprecarious; commendable.

She looked over to appraise the stacker and was greeted with a smiling face. “It’s you,” said the boy, grinning with his mouth open.

She blinked at Toller, suddenly breathless. “Hey, it’s… it’s you too.” She gravitated toward him to hold him in her arms for a moment. “You got a job, I see?”

The boy poked Joe in the side. “I left the capital after the Aquari concert. That really capped off the whole experience for me. At the docks, I found a ship with room headed for Dalmeera, so.” He pointed to the stack of dishes.

Wendel turned to the bartender. “Joe I hate to tell you this, but your dishwasher is overqualified.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I know. I just figured I could get away with it for a little while.”

“Well, you’re good at doing it.” She smiled at the both of them and looked at the cup in her hand, still steaming. She looked back up at the boy. “Hey have you tried this stuff?”

Toller looked at Joe. “Well I’m not really old enough, no.”

Wendel tilted her head at the bartender. “Is he old enough?”

Joe eyed the stack of dishes, all clean. “He’s older than I was. He can have his own cup. Stay back here. And would you take that apart and put it away?” The last he said to Toller, who saluted.

Toller set a chair on the countertop beside it, showing how unprecarious the stack really was. He climbed on top and began filling his arms with the assorted dishware. “You didn’t take long to come back, either.”

She made a long sniff. “It all really depends.” She just watched him do his job. “So you remembered the place?”

“Actually I met Joe at the seadocks where they were bringing up shellfish. He seemed like someone I could hustle for work, and I was right. Man was carrying too much.” He laughed and laughed with the dishes. “He brought me back here and I knew where I was.”

Halfway down the stack, the bartender returned with one for the boy and one for him. They clinked mugs and held them together for a moment, looking at the pictures in steam and spice and silver.

Upon his first sip, Toller made a face like he just saw a beast. Then he looked into the cup. “Are you kidding me what is this?”

Joe savored his sip and lifted his head. “Just something good we make here.”

Wendel smacked her lips in agreement and ran her tongue over her teeth. “Well young one, I want to tell you. You’ve got options.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really. With me, for one.”

“I could be mad at you.” Joe wiggled his mug in the air.

Wendel took a long, appreciative sip. “And lose your favorite customer?”