Fiction

[Editor’s Note: Read the Story from the Beginning]

Natius and the rest of the refugees found the accommodations on Camilan’s ship surprisingly spacious. For all that the Ghilostri were a unique species with different needs and bodily functions from nearly any other in the settled universe, each survivor was made to feel at home. Camilan showed them all how to modify their quarters, using commands they could select from a touchscreen console.

“We were once quite cosmopolitan,” said Camilan, “in the broadest sense, and often hosted dignitaries from many other worlds. I can’t imagine how my fellow Ghilostri are viewed by the rest of the universe, now.”

“Where will you go after we’re resettled?” asked Natius.

“I have been fortunate enough to make contact with Hepthalos,” said Camilan. “It was once our most populous colony planet, where I hope to find acceptance.”

“Good luck, then,” said Natius. “We owe you our lives.”

“As I do you,” said the Ghilostri. “In light of that, I have a small gift for you.”

A compartment on Camilan’s cylinder opened and an auxiliary mechanical hand reached out toward Natius. In its palm was a green sphere about the size of a lime.

“If ever you find yourself in need, anywhere in the universe,” said Camilan, “speak into this device and I will come to your aid.”

Natius thanked him and would have said more, if the Ghilostri hadn’t turned away and hurried off. If Natius hadn’t known better, he might have thought that Camilan was overcome with emotion. If so, it would have been a first, as far as he could tell.

Meanwhile, Verthani had worked her connections and drummed up support among the Jolatrins and their allies to help relocate the survivors of Camilan’s disastrous experiment. Within a few weeks, the Jolatrin government had built a large shelter on an asteroid at the edge of their solar system. Between advanced-design replicators, robotic construction platforms and a variety of prefab structures routinely used to get a new interstellar colony off the ground, they’d made short work of it.

Regardless, there was one refugee who required special attention. With Athcarone’s help, Verthani discovered a tiny enclave of believers in the cult of Jolatrinaar, the ancient god that Lorneavi had served so long ago. Tucked away on one of Jolatrin’s earliest space colonies, the roughly one thousand celebrants were as overjoyed to receive her as she was to find a receptive audience. As a precaution, the Jolatrins sent along two androids that were indistinguishable from real Jolatrins, to help Lorneavi adjust to her new surroundings. For Natius and the others, though the asteroid-based shelter offered no more than the bare necessities, they were relieved to shuck off the burden of daily survival in the wild.

All told, the Jolatrin shelter was a marvel of compact design. Each tenant’s private room made maximal use of available living space. Pivoting cabinets revealed entertainment centers. In the morning, the bed platforms flipped up to make way for matched sets of collapsible tables and folding chairs. Though the communal bathing and sanitary facilities were less than ideal for Natius, they were a thing of wonder to those residents who hailed from pre-industrial times on their respective homeworlds. By any measure, each member of this temporary community was well looked after, safe and healthy. If the shelter’s bland, pastel color scheme wasn’t exactly to Natius’ taste, his exhausted soul simply forgot to worry about it.

Seven months later, the question of resettlement came up and posed a different set of problems for each inhabitant of the shelter. Even for Natius, who’d grown up in a highly evolved interstellar civilization, the transition to his new life wasn’t easy. Two thousand years had brought changes in technology but also in social custom. When he was eventually transferred to a colony founded by humans, he had to adapt to an entirely new way of life. Whereas he’d been used to navigating the world on his own, he was placed under the care of psychologists in a kind of half-way house.

Though the accommodations were impersonal and utterly devoid of anything resembling “culture,” he was comfortable, warm and lacked for nothing essential. If he’d been partial to the color white, he might even have been content. For every single wall, cabinet and appliance was as white as the snow that, owing to strict climate controls, fell only in precise quantities, as required by the planet’s ecosystem.

At least I have my own place, he thought.

At the same time, the realization that he had to be grateful for something so basic was discouraging. And in other ways, his transition to this new world was full of setbacks. Like every other citizen of New Bayonne, he was assigned a strict schedule for nearly every hour of the day. It included milestones like “Waking,” “Garment Selection,” “Morning Meal,” “Exercise,” “Hygiene,” “Citizenship,” “Community Upkeep,” “Social Hour…” the list went on and on, with slight variations throughout the week.

Driving me insane, he told himself.

More than once in the first few months, he was subjected to unctuous lectures about his “inability to bond with beneficent societal policy.” Then there were the innumerable violations of petty protocol that dogged his every step. Had he eaten too much, exercised too little, failed to inquire about his neighbors’ needs, neglected his personal hygiene, spoken too assertively, laughed too raucously or boasted about his past accomplishments?

For each of these behaviors, Natius was given several hours of “empathy readings” intended to show him the error of his ways. Ultimately, he was most severely reprimanded for his “failure to project the cheerful demeanor of a willing participant in the common good.”

And if that were not enough, his new homeworld’s micromanaging government put him under the constant surveillance of a floating, deep red sphere. True to form, the sphere’s AI core, designated NDG-E1, was brimming with suggestions deemed by society to improve the former musician’s sullen mood.

“You should find a hobby,” it told him. “Wasn’t there anything you liked to do before your accident?”

Natius stared at the hovering device and briefly weighed how much trouble it would cause if he tried to flush it down the commode. He shook his head.

“Can you get me a musical instrument?” he asked.

“Possibly,” said NDG-E1. “Here is a selection of the available options.” Natius was taken aback by the holographic catalogue, filled with images of various instruments that popped up in front of him. “Do you see any device you recognize. I’m afraid much has changed since you last….”

“There,” said Natius.

The three-dimensional image of a breath-activated instrument, almost exactly like the emerald-green Oscillot he’d lost track of, hovered within arm’s reach.

“Take it,” said the sphere. “Pluck it out of the catalogue.”

Natius was astonished to feel the image take solid form in his right hand.

“That, Mr. Tomlin,” said NDG-E1, “is what we call touch-activated transmat.”

Natius examined the instrument closely, still not convinced it was real. With nothing to lose, he put the device to his mouth and tried it out.

“That melody is well-known in our time,” said the sphere. “It entitled Star Love for some reason. I can’t understand how you would know it, considering….”

“I wrote it, you stupid ball of … of I don’t know what.” said Natius.

“In fact,” said the sphere, “My shell is composed of a combination of….”

“Skip it,” said Natius. “Now leave me alone for a while, will you?”

“Out of the question,” said NDG-E1. “I am your constant companion.”

Natius put the Oscillot to his lips and played some more, his eyes streaming with tears. He put the instrument down and glared up at the sphere.

“And what,” he asked, “if I want a different kind of companion?”

“That,” said the sphere, “I will have to take up with your counsellor.”

Natius turned away and lay down on his quarter’s soft vatleather couch.

“You do that,” he said. “And while you’re at it, get me a Time Machine. I want to go home.”

“Time travel, in the sense you apparently mean it,” said NDG-E1, “is strictly forbidden by interstellar law. I would think your own experience would help you to understand why.”

“You would think that,” said Natius. “So, let’s go out. I don’t need a psychologist to meet new people.”

Without wasting a second, Natius grabbed his new instrument, yanked a sauce pan out of his kitchen cabinets and headed downstairs to the polyslate sidewalk surrounding the steel and concrete building that had become his prison. Over the objections of NDG-E1, he sat down on that sidewalk, put the sauce pan in front of him and began to play. Within minutes a small crowd had gathered, drawn by the music, as well as the sheer novelty of the situation.

As a consequence, in this distant future, after everything he’d ever known had been washed away by a series of bizarre catastrophes, Natius Tomlin was back in his natural element, serenading the universe, outside of Time. Like many a moment of peaceful self-realization, however, this one was short-lived. In a few minutes, a team of orderlies from the halfway house hustled him off the street and into an isolation booth. For the next three days, he was bombarded by reprimands and made to endure a grueling battery of psychological tests.

On the fourth day, he was released to his quarters and locked in until he could “again demonstrate a commitment to the values of the community.” As part of his punishment, he was told, he would have to make do without the advice and counsel of NDG-E1. For that, Natius was grateful.

I was better off on Ghilos 4, he thought. Too bad I can’t go back.

His heart pounding, he ran to his bedroom, opened the bottom drawer of his bureau and reached all the way back under his T-shirts to retrieve Camilan’s parting gift. He held it up to eye-level and whispered into it softly:

“Camilan, I think I need a change of scenery.”

The next morning, the ruling board of the halfway house was startled to notice a large spacecraft of unfamiliar design hovering a few meters above their headquarters. Even more unsettling, the ship departed a few minutes later as abruptly as it arrived and, later that day, they found Natius’ quarters empty.

Up in space, as the alien ship veered out of orbit, Camilan greeted the beleaguered human with a stiff imitation of a human wave. Natius was glad to see that the Ghilostri’s mobile tank was completely restored.

 “I hope the transmat process wasn’t too disturbing,” said Camilan.

“I’m fine,” said Natius. “Except you missed one of my toes.”

Camilan seemed stunned until a synthetic laugh rang out from the Ghilostri’s mobile tank.

“Oh, you are being humorous,” s/he said. “I fear I am never quite prepared for such things.”

Natius apologized and Camilan surprised him with a precious gift: an exact replica of the instrument he brought to the Encounter.

“Thanks,” said Natius. “I wish I could be sure the rest of my band survived, and everyone else onboard.”

“Based on our own experience,” said Camilan, “It is reasonable to believe that many of them were also displaced to other parts of the settled universe, at one set of spatiotemporal coordinates or another.”

“I guess,” said Natius. “All I can think of now is how glad I am to be out of that … prison.”

“A regrettable situation,” said Camilan. “However, I see from the work of my colleagues that human society has gone in and out of several phases of severe social constraint. We may hope that they will eventually come to their senses.”

“I wish there were a way to break that cycle,” said Natius.

“That, my young friend, would be a ‘tall order’ as you would say,” said the Ghilostri. “In the meantime, would you do me the favor of playing a bit of the music I heard on the Encounter? It might do us both good.”

“Sure,” said Natius. “Just tell me, where are we headed?”

“Since the incident with my probes,” said Camilan, ‘I have longed to make a tour of the Cosmos, to broaden my perspective. I see now that my assumptions, and those of my team, were based on a model of the universe that was much too narrow, for being purely logical.”

“Logic has its limits,” said Natius. “Every musician learns that early on.”

“Then teach me, too,” said Camilan, “and if you care to join me, you will find much to wonder at that also defies logic.”

“Let’s go,” said Natius.

As the human put his new instrument to his lips, the Ghilostri banked his/her sleek vessel out of the planetary plane and raced ahead to engage the ship’s space folding engines. The unlikeliest companions in the universe were off on a tear to explore new worlds of experience.

^^^

Mark Laporta is the author of Probability Shadow and Entropy Refraction, the first two novels in the science fiction series, Against the Glare of Darkness, which are available at a bookstore near you, on Amazon and at Barnes & Noble. He is also the author of Orbitals: Journeys to Future Worlds, a collection of short science fiction, which is available as an ebook.

Illustration by Steven S. Drachman

[Editor’s Note: Read the Story from the Beginning]

Months after Natius had seen his assumptions about Reality torn to shreds, his life had settled down into a “new normal.” Though there was much about his old life that he missed, the process of building a new community from scratch was all-consuming. And, in a way he’d never experienced before, he had a voice in his daily life.

At the same time, the shared chores essential to survival in a low-tech society were exhausting. More than once he was forced to choose between getting enough rest and having enough to eat. And now his settlement, of some thirty-five homes, supported by a mix of hunting, trapping and agriculture, was ready to expand. It was time, in other words, to scout out new territory, especially as spring arrived and the village’s first children were already on the way.

So when Natius, who was still without a mate, was selected to join the community’s new scouting party, he was thrilled. Might some aspects of the technologically sophisticated world he’d left behind still exist somewhere on the planet? Based on his experiences so far, he didn’t think it was so improbable. If time had been shattered, why shouldn’t a few more modern updates have survived? And what, he wondered, if Camilan’s probes had created several isolated pockets of Time from different eras?

The next morning, following a fitful night’s sleep. Natius set out with six others to explore their surroundings. After a breakfast of dried fruit, they’d trek, and in the evening, sit around a campfire to consume dried fish, flat bread and other rough delicacies — including a sugary fruit wine. Though they trudged through acres of landscape that ranged from pristine fields to the broken remnants of bridges, roadways and small towns, they were three days out before they saw anything of real interest. Over the top of a small hill, they paused to gape in wonder. In the near distance, the ruins of a huge city rose out of long-untended grasslands.

“Who built that?” Natius said out loud without realizing it.

His travel companions didn’t answer. They were too busy clambering down the hill to investigate a shiny cylinder resting on its side and curiously equipped with mechanical limbs. Attached to one end of the cylinder was a clear tank full of fluid that contained a small, dark blue creature. Natius rushed down to join the others — in time to stop them from lifting the cylinder off the ground.

“Careful!” he called out. “That’s a Ghilostri. S/he might still be alive, though I don’t know how.”

At his urging, the others backed away a good ten feet and gave Natius enough space to crouch down beside the strange device. He put his face close to the cylinder’s clear tank.

“Can you hear me?” he whispered. “We’re friends here. Tell us how we can help.”

The creature in the tank, which until then had been swimming listlessly perked up and moved with more purpose. A quiet, staticky voice emerged from its battered sound system.

“Is that you, Mr. Tomlin?” asked the creature. “It is I, Camilan Draxilet. It appears I failed to prove my hypothesis.”

“Well, you did prove something,” said Natius. “I’m sure no one else has ever produced a … guess you’d call it an anomaly, like this.”

“You are kind,” said Camilan. “I was a fool. I would only ask that your companions not take revenge on me.”

“They don’t need to know about that,” said Natius. “None of us know anything about each other here. And we make a point not to discuss the past.”

“Does … does ‘the past’ still exist?” asked Camilan. “Never mind. Please see if you and your companions can lift me up. I need to know if my tank can still support me.”

Natius waved to his companions, who crept closer. The fear Natius read in their eyes made him worry for the safety of the Ghilostri.

“I know, this one looks strange to you,’ he said. “Try to remember that s/he’s another survivor like the rest of us. Do for Camilan here what you would do for me.”

Three members of Natius’ search party stepped forward and placed a tentative hand on Camilan’s smudged and scratched composite shell. Guided by Camilan’s voice, they pulled the mechanized structure up until its robotic feet made contact with the dry soil beneath their feet. At the Ghilostri’s urging, they took their hands away and stepped back.

The cylinder rose in fits and starts until its legs were fully extended. It was not a smooth rise. At one point, Camilan looked as if s/he would topple over. Natius’ hand shot out to steady the alien device until at last, Camilan was standing upright. Finally, after a few tentative steps, the dazed Ghilostri raised a mechanical arm and pointed to the ruined city they had admired a few minutes earlier.

“That was once our capital city,” said Camilan. “Because I am still functional, there may be sectors of the city that are also still active.”

“Well, you’d know,” said Natius. “Trouble is, we don’t exactly have a power grid here.”

“The city was built to be self-sustaining,” said Camilan. “And the ‘grid’ if I understand you correctly, was powered by geo-thermal mechanisms. If any part of the city is not too badly damaged, I can pull it out of sleep mode. Once power is restored, I may be able to initialize the city’s self-repair systems.”

It sounded hopeful. Nevertheless, Natius’ companions, who had been watching with a mix of awe and terror, were getting restless. Celia Paduan jammed her fists into her hips and spoke up sharply.

“Come off it,” she said. “Maybe you have repair systems for the electronics. Those so-called buildings, on the other hand, are a couple of windstorms away from turning to rubble. You can’t rebuild out of nothing.”

Camilan’s tank pivoted warily in her direction.

“Your observations are astute,” s/he said. “To rebuild the most severely damaged structures I hope to reactivate the large construction platforms that built our capital originally. They would extract the necessary raw materials directly from the planet’s crust and process them on the spot into the appropriate building components. It may, however, be too much to hope for.”

“Hope is all we have,” said Natius.

“Indeed,” said Camilan. “Though perhaps you can imagine that I need a higher level of technology to survive than you do. It will not be much longer, for example, before the fluid in my tank will need to be refreshed. At the moment, that is impossible.”

Natius nodded at his companions.

“You go ahead if you want,” he said. “I can’t let my new friend die out here. We should get going, Camilan.”

He began walking slowly toward the damaged city with the obviously weakened Ghilostri — and after he’d gone two meters, he saw that the others had joined him. Down the odd assortment of sentients went, into the shallow valley that held Yeltrex-Drobai in its geological palm.

The last thing they would have expected, of course, was that they were being observed from orbit by the Jolatrin research vessel Dohlfaleer. After poring over various images of the city at her workstation for several hours, an astonished Verthani let out a sharp yelp.

Athcarone, worried that she hadn’t turned up in the ship’s mess hall for the last two meals, had just arrived at her door and called out.

“What is it?” he yelled. “Let me in.”

After a delay, Verthani’s door slid open. Athcarone rushed in and over to her workstation, where she greeted him with a broad smile.

“That’s it,” she said. “Yeltrex-Drobai still exists and look, that’s a Ghilostri. It matches every description you found in your texts.”

“Hardly my texts,” said Athcarone. “Who, I wonder are the others? I see mostly humanoids, or is that one a reptilian?”

“Yes,” said Verthani, “Tell you what, though, I have no idea what that other thing is.”

“Tolerance, tolerance, my friend,” said Athcarone. “Lorneavi would be very angry with you right now.”

“Oh craters,” said Verthani. “What’s become of her?”

“Last time we spoke,” said Athcarone, “she was headed down to bless the engine room which, she said would take several rotes.”

Verthani’s personal comlink chirped.

“Professor,” said Captain Steretak, “if you’re planning to visit Ghilos 4, now would be the optimal time. Engineering tells me they can’t keep the ‘bubble’ we’re in alive for much longer.’

“How much time do I have?” asked Verthani.

“The Chief is saying two rotes, tops,” said the captain. “Experience tells me we need a margin of error, if you see what I mean.”

“That’s terrible,” said Verthani. “OK. I’ll have to bring down my holocrew and capture as much as possible in image files.”

“No go, Professor,” said the captain. “I can’t risk that many lives in a dangerous environment like this and keep my license. It’ll have to be you and maybe one other explorer. Engineering is rigging up a couple of encounter suits that should keep the two of you in the bubble. No idea if they’ll work.”

The link went dead. Verthani plopped down into her workstation chair.

“Bad news?” asked Athcarone.

“How good are you with a holocam?” asked Verthani.

Back on the planet’s surface, Natius, Camilan and the others had reached the outskirts of the city.

“We are fortunate,” said Camilan. “Though I must assume that spatiotemporal forces are out of alignment throughout this sector, generally, I believe that we are at the ‘eye of the storm’ as you would say.”

Natius nodded, though he wasn’t sure anyone said that anymore, especially on this fractured world.

“Where to now?” he asked.

Camilan led them across a swath of mangled concrete interspersed with high weeds, flowering plants and the occasional sapling that struggled to adapt to the planet’s fragmented ecosystem. Soon a series of large pipes loomed in front of them. Camilan identified them as belonging to one of several geothermal power stations in the region. Still wobbly, s/he approached a central podium set in the midst of the pipes and stared down at a broken control panel.

“Disappointing,” said Camilan. “However, we built everything with multiple redundancies.” The Ghilostri pivoted in search of another similar podium. Celia called out.

“What about over here?” she asked.

To save time, Natius and the other villagers, lifted the Ghilostri’s tank and carried it to the second podium.

“This one is still functional,” said Camilan. “Let me see.”

Natius watched as Camilan’s dexterous robotic hands executed a series of commands. A few seconds later, he was startled by a loud hum, that died down quickly into a steady purr. Camilan rested a metallic hand on Natius’ shoulder. and told him it was time to move into the city proper to see what else could be activated.

“You know, it is curious,” s/he said. “I wonder if my sensors have been damaged. Otherwise, there actually is an unidentified ship orbiting the planet.”

“Can we warn them?” asked Natius.

“I must assume.” said Camilan, “that if they have traveled this far into the system, they know as much as we do. Perhaps more. Come along please, I must bring the city back to life before my tank becomes uninhabitable.”

“Maybe we should split up and search the city for … I don’t even know,” said Natius, “What should we look for?”

After a few minutes’ discussion, Natius’ recently acquired friends spread out in pairs, while he stayed behind with Camilan.

 “Such cooperation is the essence of civilization,” said the Ghilostri. “We have always imagined it was our scientific achievements that build our world.”

“We’re all coming to the same conclusion,” said Natius, “a little too late. Hey, what’s that?”

Natius shielded his eyes against the planet’s sun and stared up at a small dot in the sky that grew larger by the second. Soon he could make out the contours of a lander, as it wafted down to a spot a few meters to their right.

“Any idea who that could be?” asked Natius.

“The stylized honeycomb symbol emblazoned on the ship’s hull suggests the Jolatrins,” said Camilan. “but when we knew them, they were barely space-worthy.

“Does that mean Time passes more slowly down here?” asked Natius.

If Camilan had an answer, s/he didn’t share it before the lander’s hatch opened. Verthani stepped out first, followed by Athcarone, who was weighted down with video equipment. Each was wearing a bright orange encounter suit.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Verthani. “We’re here to film the city. Have you been here long?”

“Looks like that’s a tough question,” said Natius.

“You’re in a real danger zone,” said Verthani. “My people say there’s a spatiotemporal anomaly, created by.…”

Natius put a finger to his lips and prayed it was a universal symbol for silence. Maybe not, but the little lunge forward that he made definitely caught Verthani’s eye. He pointed to Camilan.

“This,” he said, “is a Ghilostri survivor. If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep my friends over there from making him their scapegoat.”

“Curious expression,” said Athcarone, “I think I know what you mean.”

“Look, can you give us a hand?” asked Natius.

“Of course,” said Verthani. “As soon as we finish filming, I think you and your friends could squeeze inside our lander — if we all hold our breath.”

“That’s not it,” said Natius. “There are dozens of us and maybe thousands we haven’t met. We can’t leave them behind. Can’t you wait?”

Verthani explained that their departure window was closing.

“Then at least stay long enough to help Camilan,” said Natius. “He needs to reboot the city so he can get his mobile tank repaired.”

Celia called out from an opening in the ground that looked a bit like an artificial crater.

“Hey,” she shouted. “Over here. You gotta see this. It’s … I think it’s a ship!”

As Camilan eventually explained, they’d uncovered a Ghilostri hangar, whose protective dome had opened once the geothermal generator switched on. Natius stayed behind with Camilan while the two Jolatrins hurried over to where Celia and now the rest of Natius’ party were standing. Down inside the recess, Verthani and the others saw a broad, curved dome made of dark, light absorbing material.

It was studded with tiny devices that Celia told them might be part of a sensor array. The ship’s hull was also dotted with blinking status lights in various shades of red, green, blue and yellow. As they watched, a narrow antenna about a meter-and-a-half tall rose from the top of the hull and extended into the air. When it reached its full height, the ship issued a series of short beeps in different tones, ending in one long tone that slowly faded out.

“I’m no expert,” said Verthani, “though I could swear this thing is powering up.”

Camilan’s tank flushed pale blue.

“Yes, of course,” s/he said. “The ship has transmitted its ‘ready’ signal. Once inside, I can recharge, refresh and repair my mobile unit.”

Natius’ heart pounded. He helped Camilan negotiate the jagged stretch of terrain that separated them from their latest find. The Ghilostri walked haltingly to a small console attached to the launch pad’s outer rim.

“Let me see if I can raise it,” s/he said.

The ship’s engines fired a short burst. Everyone took three steps back and watched as the deep blue vessel rose into the air, lowered its landing gear and set itself down a few meters away on a patch of unusually flat terrain. Now, in the planet’s twilight air, Natius and the others could finally grasp the scale of the Ghilostri ship.

“Looks like it could hold thousands,” said Natius.

“Many more, in fact,” said Camilan. “You see, its interior is as close to a-dimensional as the laws of physics allow.”

“Wait, please,” said Athcarone. “No disrespect, but how can you be sure this ship is safe after lying idle for nearly two thousand cycles?”

“It has been held in stasis,” said Camilan. “We built our hangars to be self- sufficient, in case of emergency. This protective hangar has its own geothermal generator that operates independently of the city’s main power source. The generator has kept the stasis field constant, which means this ship has not suffered the effects of Time. Besides, there is reason to believe that this planet is, for now, the epicenter of the anomaly you must already have experienced. Time moves more slowly here. Yet given the inherent instability of this sector, we cannot expect that state of affairs to continue indefinitely.”

The tiny group stepped back as a side panel opened in the ship and an android climbed down a small ramp to greet them. Somewhat like Camilan, the android was a squat cylinder that walked toward them on four articulated mechanical legs.

“Come along,” said Camilan. “We can pick up as many survivors who are willing to evacuate.”

Natius and the members of his makeshift village who had arrived with him, hurried onboard. The Ghilostri ship lifted off on a graceful arc and vanished into the cloud cover above.

On the ground, Verthani turned to Athcarone and shrugged.

“I can’t blame you,” she said, “if you want to head back to the Dohlfaleer right now.”

“We’ve come too far to give up,” said Athcarone. “And based on what … Camilan … said, this is likely to be the last chance anyone will have to see Yeltrex-Drobai And who knows? Maybe that ship will pick up a few more surviving Ghilostri. If they put their tanks together, they might even come up with a way to repair the anomaly.”

Verthani laughed.

“I never figured you for an optimist,” she said.

“Of course not,” said Athcarone. “That would have required paying attention. Now come on, before my back gives out. This equipment is heavy. Can’t believe I left the gravity modulators beck on the ship.”

To be continued…. Read the Final Episode Now!

A new Episode of Anomaly appears every other Monday.

^^^

Mark Laporta is the author of Probability Shadow and Entropy Refraction, the first two novels in the science fiction series, Against the Glare of Darkness, which are available at a bookstore near you, on Amazon and at Barnes & Noble. He is also the author of Orbitals: Journeys to Future Worlds, a collection of short science fiction, which is available as an ebook.