Abyss (Songs of Megiddo) (30 page)

Fragment II – Megan Arden

~ Meg ~

28/12/2023

Meg squeezed her eyes shut, raising an arm to shield them from the bright glare of the fl
uorescent lighting. “Intake thirteen ‘B’.” A pre-recorded voice echoed out from beyond the closed door and down the corridors that led to it. “Intake thirteen ‘B’.”

Through the fog of semi
-consciousness, Meg heard the unmistakable click and whine of a door opening...folding forward on its hinges.

“Megan Rodriguez
-Arden?” A voice asked. It was a shaky, stressed, over-caffeinated voice. It was also an uncertain, unsure voice. “Uh...New York branch? Public Relations officer?” Meg felt herself nodding slowly, in small, lethargic jolts. “Thank fuck,” The voice wheezed. “The last intake had stolen a fucking Ident-chip. Can you
believe
that? Fucking animals down there.”

“Down where?” Meg coughed, trying to sit up. Her throat was dry
; full of dust and the viscous, dehydrated sludge that had, once, been saliva. She tasted charcoal. Charcoal and...something else. Something slightly sweet but entirely unfamiliar.

“Sorry, you must be disoriented. You’re
safe, Megan. That’s the important part. You’re home.”

“Home?” She wheezed, recollections of what had happened beginning to push their way to the surface. Tears came next: forcing their way painfully into her eyes and out between the squeezed
-shut slits of her eyelids.

“L
ilum Multinational Headquarters: London. England. You’ve been extracted. You’re safe.”

“Safe? What about my
...my sister? My family?” she managed to prop herself up on her elbows, but quickly realised she was draped in a large sheet of fabric that felt...slippery, like plastic. Under that, she was completely naked. Blushing, she pulled the sheet up to her chin. She absorbed the uncertain, guilty look on the face of the lab-coat clad, clipboard carrying figure standing in the doorway. The implication behind his expression was obvious. “Oh.” She murmured.

“There
is some good news, though.” he offered hesitantly. “You’re being expedited through quarantine. We’ve run every test there is, and you’re clean. No trace of infection whatsoever.”

“Infection?”

“The 96 virus. Someone will be by shortly with a few forms – nothing you need to worry too much about – and then we can take you downstairs and find you a bed.”

“Paperwork?” She squinted. “What for?”

“Really: it’s nothing to concern yourself with. It’s just a biometric release, and some standard non-disclosure forms. Your clearance level is being upgraded, also. Well: technically, since you didn’t have a Government clearance before, I suppose your clearance is just being...
graded
.” She held up a hand.

“Shut up for a second.” He shuffled uncomfortably, waiting. Meg slowly pieced to
gether enough words to form coherent questions. “Release? Non-disclosure? Why and for what?” The lab-coated figure approached her bed, sitting down on the edge, clipboard in lap. She saw scrawls of illegible annotation in attention-grabbing red in a few places on the front-most sheet of paper.

“Mega
– ”

“
– Meg.”

“Meg.” He reached for her hand
; his running over the top of the fabric, searching for hers beneath it. “We’re going to need to know everything that you know about Ambrose Portokolos – or ‘Mister Wright’, as he may have made himself known to you – and the Hand of Adam.”

“The
what
?” Meg shook her head, not understanding.

“The Hand of Adam.”
His hand tightened around hers. Her eyes narrowed. Something about him wasn’t...
right
. There was something there...behind his eyes. A kind of coldness that, when contrasted with his jittery, affable outward persona, seemed...sinister.

“I’m not answering a single
question or signing a single thing until I see Craig Lilum. In...
person
.” His expression darkened. He reached up, adjusting his glasses. Light glinted off the slim glass panes, obscuring his eyes.

“
We know you’re one of them, Meg...or, should I say...‘operative Smoke’. We located your thumb drive.”

“My thumb drive?”

“The encrypted USB stick that you left for us in Trenton.”

“I want to see Craig Lilum.
Now.”

“Well, see
...that is just not going to happen.”

Fragment III – Ambrose Portokolos

~ Ambrose ~

31/12/2023

The small, sleek plane touched down with the grace of a dragonfly. Ambrose was pleased he’d been able to salvage it. The clunky mess of wiring and metal meant more to him than any living Human being.

He carefully went through the motions of lulling the craft into dormancy...flipping this switch and that, before running his finger along the seal that joined the cockpit to the airtight carapace that was cocooned around it. His own design. With a rush of wind as the fresh outer air merged with that of the slightly stagnant interior, he flipped the carapace up and open, jumping out: his feet finding asphalt with practiced dexterity. With a swagger and a stylish, neck-borne swathe of scarf, he sauntered his way across the empty tarmac towards the pair of figures – man and woman – awaiting his arrival. He pulled at his flight goggles – an affectation, he knew, but a much beloved one – giving them a cursory glance before tossing them over his shoulder. His aide, sprinting to his side, deftly snatched them out of the air: stuffing them in Ambrose’ leather-and-suede satchel.

Aide?
He considered:
Is that the right word? No, probably not. ‘Lackey’.
That’s
a more accurate characterisation.

“Mister Wright!” The former Lilum Multinational executive greeted him, holding out his hand. Ambrose reluctantly proffered his own
...allowing it to be vigorously molested by the proletarian gorilla standing in front of him. Ambrose felt the bile beginning to rise. “Welcome...to
Maud Namas
.” he announced with an exaggerated flourish. Ambrose raised an irritated eyebrow.

“So that’s the final word, is it? We’re
actually
calling it that?”

“Of course.” The mongoloid gargoyle in front of him shrugged, as if it were obvious. And, in fairness, it probably should have been. Ambrose knew that he had a not insignificant amount of difficulty when it came to distinguishing between the tasteful and the realistic. He often found himself needing to be reminded that what
should have been wasn’t necessarily what was. In fact, more often than not, banality won out with depressing ease and completeness.

“Fine.” he sighed. “So where am I needed?” The tall, fine
-boned woman in – Ambrose estimated – her mid-forties stepped forward, leafing distractedly through a leather-bound dossier of alligator-clipped documents. “Sudo, I presume.” She nodded briskly without looking up. Ambrose approved of the efficiency. “Looking...
different
.” She frowned, not responding; not looking up.

“Istanbul first, and then London.” Sudo murmured. “Handle the response; handle the r
esistance.”

“
Why?” He queried, a bored scowl slowly emerging...spreading its way across the lower portion of his face.

“Because it’s what you were fucking
told
to do.” The Lilum executive snarled, taken aback by what he, apparently, perceived to be insolence.

“Listen, you adenoidal excretion,” Ambrose returned, forcing a finger into the centre of the vast organisms’ sweat
-caked countenance. “If I – ”

“
– Wright...” Sudo warned, her eyes still on the documents. “Let’s keep things civil, shall we?”

“Civil? How’s
this
for civil? I want him
killed
.”

“What?” The Lilum executive scoffed. Sudo rolled her eyes. Freeing one hand from the folio, she snapped her thin fingers with a crisp, authoritative ambivalence. Several black
-clad figures emerged from thin air – or so it seemed – forcing the Lilum executive to his knees. Twisting the large man around – and strategically placing themselves to ensure that no blood spatter reached Sudo or Ambrose – a single bullet was fired into the back of his head. A sharp crack echoed out. Off in the distance, several startled birds squawked and screeched their way into the air. Sudo sighed melodramatically, shaking her head.

“I mean
really, Ambrose. We’re operating on a shoestring budget. If you want to liquidate assets, sooner is better than later. Do you have any idea what the cost of ferrying these people around actually is? Particularly when operating under the radar, as we, I suppose, must, for the time being...”

“Fine, Cecily. I’ll make a list of
everyone I may want murdered so that you can evaluate the cost-benefit of taking the chance that I won’t.” He retorted snidely, using Cecily Dayton’s actual name for the first time in months. Cecily looked up. The eyes of the two senior Hand of Adam personnel met with the intensity of the long delayed and much awaited. Her violet retinas bored into him.

“That would certainly be appreciated. But, if you
could, do it on the way to Istanbul, please? There’s a curious young lady there who – unlike your little crush...” Ambrose’ left eyelid twitched: “...really must be taken care of sooner rather than later.” Cecily daintily withdrew a crisp, firmly clipped collection of pages – printed on both side – and handed it to Ambrose. He raised his eyebrows as he flipped through it.

“I’ll see to it.” He paused. “And London?” Cecily tapped at the Lilum executives’ corpse disdainfully with the toe of a black
, leather stiletto.

“Collect the package and close out the account.” She intoned cryptically. Ambrose just nodded solemnly.
Their eyes met again. Ambrose hissed semi-voluntarily.

“Have you
ever, by any chance, considered contact lenses, Cecily?”

“I can’t
see
with contacts.” She muttered, her lip curling up on the right side with irritation. His eyes narrowed.

“What an utterly
ridiculous thing to...” he trailed off, realising that she hadn’t been referring to ‘vision’ in the conventional sense. “Of course. And where is everyone, currently?” Cecily consulted her notes. “Zero is back in Tokyo...Rosetta and Plethora are monitoring population movement around the Mexican border...Trident is making his way back to Palatine Hill, where, presumably, he’ll be helping Galt and the rest of
Sede Imperiali
with coordination – ”

“
– Shouldn’t you be in Palatine, too? I’d have imagined Galt couldn’t use the lavatory without the help of the Great and Powerful ‘Sudo’.” Cecily raised an eyebrow.

“I will be, soon enough. Finally, Jericho is with Basilisk and one of the Palatine teams in Jordan.”

“Why?” Cecily appeared confused by the question.

“You
know why, Ambrose.”

“
Ahh yes. Tell me, why can’t Jericho leave that poor boy alone? Hasn’t he been through enough?”

“Dio’s his
son
.”

“Yes, well. We all have
family.” Cecily cocked her head.

“
You
don’t.” Ambrose looked off into the distance with an ambiguous shrug.

“Secrets. We all have
those, too.”

“We certainly do.” Cecily acknowledged.

“And ‘Dio’, is it? First name basis? Tut,
tut
, Cecily.” Ambrose mocked, clicking his tongue. “Aren’t
you
the one constantly cautioning against intimacy with the lab-rats?”

“Kayla
...
Donohue
...” She hissed out the bitter counterpoint.

“Do...
not
.” He warned. They paused for a moment before Ambrose turned to walk away: “‘Maud
Namas’. Get Galt to reconsider the name, would you? It’s a complete
joke
.” Ambrose threw the words back over his shoulder as he walked away. For the entire conversation, he’d been fighting off wave after wave of nausea. He
desperately
needed to wash his hand.

Epilogue
– 3623

~ Janissary ~

Date: Unknown

“
Issa.” Myadir greeted Janissary as she materialised in the portal-way.

His shoulder
-length blond hair, strong jaw, and ice-blue eyes mimicked the physicality of a Human; a tall, well-proportioned Scandinavian male, to be exact. He was swathed in a layered cloak of Riin linens. They were gauzy white; luminescent and pure...varying in length and shape, and covered in glyphs and symbols which changed colour as they refracted different kinds of light.

Janissary was still wearing the Human clothes she had been given on Earth: a tight, dark green tank
-top, aesthetically faded denim jeans, knee-high leather boots, and a light brown suede coat which fell to just above her knees. The coat, in particular, she had developed something of a romantic attachment to, resolving to have other garments from her home planet fabricated whenever she was able. Her hair was slightly dishevelled, and her cheeks were still flushed with light pink. Her skin also seemed faintly infused with a luxuriant glow. Myadir smiled at her affectionately. And knowingly.

“How did you find the hospitality of Aesuulya?” He asked.

“Pleasant. As ever.” She smiled back weakly, stepping forward to wrap her arms around him. After a few seconds she let go, looking up. At almost six feet high, the Human form he currently resided in towered over her. Momentarily, Janissary wondered why, even when she had first encountered the Riin, their ability to take any form they chose had never disconcerted her. It was probably the juxtaposition between the forms they chose to take and their
natural
forms, she surmised.

“Shall we depart?” Myadir asked.

“I guess we really better had.” Janissary nodded reluctantly. “How are the survivors?”
Myadir’s expression melded into one of abstract – almost haunted – uncertainty.

“The Humans
appear to lack an ability to exercise even the most simplistic objectivism in attempting to craft an understanding of the circumstances in which they find themselves. That they are safe...is apparently in question. That we are friends to them...is apparently in
question
. For some...the interpretability of their newfound context has metastasised towards a state of apparent delirium. That they are even alive, is, it would appear: is in question.”

“Some of them think this is
Heaven?” Janissary smirked. Myadir’s dark, brooding expression refused to cede territory.

“
Many of them believe it to be ‘Hell’. Many, as well, exhibit hostility towards us; some have hypothesised as to our motivations, and will not be diverted from the understanding that, in saving them, we have exhibited ill will of some variety. The logic escapes me: I am forced to conclude that many – if not the majority – of ‘your people’ are in what appears to be a state of deep and malignant psychological shock.”

“Yes, well...I could’ve called that one.”

“We’ve
relocated all Humans – as their physiological requirements dictated was the most efficacious approach to the longer-term maintenance of their wellbeing – to the habitation zone. Agitation has been an...unpredictable
variable. Some are refusing sustenance.”

“Hunger strikes.
Original.” Janissary drawled. “Have you shown them how to use the doors?” Myadir nodded curtly.

“They have been informed that the habitation zone is theirs to use as they wish.”

“That’ll be the problem. Well...
one
of the problems, anyhow.” She rolled her eyes. Myadir looked confused.

“The habitation zone is very extensive. You know this.”

“I
do
know this. But they’re Human. If you tell them they can go anywhere they want within specific parameters, their first thought is going to be ‘why can’t I go outside those parameters? What are you hiding?’. When dealing with Humans, it helps to always imagine bars.
They
do.”

“Bars?”

“Metal bars. I’m talking about
cages
.”

“
Illogical.”

“No, it’s just
...a different perspective. And the way Human society functions, it makes sense. All the laws...the unspoken social codes, and the rituals and traditions...they all play a part in making a person feel...claustrophobic, at best.
You remember what I was like when you found me, right?” He glanced down at her. His eyes seemed to be saying: ‘don’t remind me’.

“It is, nonetheless, difficult to comprehend.”

“Of course it is. Because you’re Riin. You wouldn’t see a reason to be suspicious, so you wouldn’t be. Simple as that. But Humans aren’t like that. They also tend to overestimate their own importance, so it’s not unusual for them to respond to the unknown with suspicion. Unless they’re stupid.” She paused, considering. “But, sometimes, especially when they’re stupid.”

“I see.” Myadir intoned. His voice was deeply serious, as if Janissary had just shared info
rmation of the gravest importance.

“Look, do you want
me
to speak to them?” She asked, doubting it would do much good, but feeling compelled to try – for Myadir’s sake, if for no other reason – all the same. Myadir nodded. Janissary smiled reassuringly at him. She was aware that the entire situation made him deeply uncomfortable.

Together, they walked silently toward the habitation area. The interior of the ship was
– as far as the cognitive capabilities of most species would have been concerned – incomprehensibly vast. But the control hub was, thankfully, close enough to the habitation area that they didn’t need to use a transport gate. Janissary considered this to be a
very
good thing. She didn’t imagine that seeing Myadir and herself materialise from out of nowhere in a haze of blue-white fog would do much to make the Humans feel more at ease.

Around them, the cavernous compartments
that ran the length of the ship stretched...each as high and wide as aircraft hangars. These staggering, expansive spaces were a staple of Epv’aab Riin ships: hemispheric halls of seamless metal sheeting, polished to a brilliant finish of subtly reflective chromatic silver. They were each lined – a consistent, unbroken five feet from the floor – with long, crystal insets...saturated with a warm, natural light which spilled out into the spartan emptiness around them. Janissary had always admired the simplicity and openness of Epv’aab ship design. The ships of the other Riin – the Ekt’ax – were less uniform: full of colour and diverse, idiosyncratic aestheticism...including abrupt shifts in focus from the sterile and mechanical, to the organic and free-growing. Janissary liked spaceships to look like...well...
spaceships
.

That said
, the Epv’aab Riin – like virtually all space-faring species – did make room for ecology. Even from simply a practical point of view, large ships generally required enough of it that some or all of the benefits of a functioning planetary biome could be replicated: sustainably and without interruption. The organic, as well, had numerous advantages over the mechanical. As Myadir was fond of saying: ‘the purpose-built holds at its core a desire to regress...correspondent in nature to the natural state of the materials which comprise such objects’. According to this understanding: the mechanical longed to return to inert sleepfulness, and constant vigilance was required to inhibit its success. The organic, conversely, would fight to grow and thrive; the challenge there was not to inhibit its success, but to direct and shape it...or, in some cases, to ensure it was not too successful.

The ‘atrium’ of the habitation zone was one of the more artistic examples of the Epv’aab Riin’s acknowledgement of the importance of ecology. As the translucent panels slid away to the side and Janissary entered through the crystalline arch, she breathed a deep lungful of crisp, fresh air.

The atrium was, structurally, identical to the other hemispheric caverns that comprised the ship. Its interior, however, was covered in a mesh of contiguous panels, installed flush with the dome – like a membrane – and glowing with near-perfect representations of sky, cloud, and sunlight. This – as it was designed to – helped a range of exotic plants from numerous different worlds to grow. From memory, Janissary recalled, the space had a basic microclimate...potentiated and tweaked to allow self-regulating processes of evaporation, condensation, and precipitation.

On and around a hillock of soft, purple
-flecked green grass – native to Phaeriin, the Riin home-world – a group of several dozen Humans waited...speaking amongst themselves in hushed voices. As Janissary approached, the most confident ones, apparently – two small blond women and a taller, deeply serious and slightly older Black woman – got to their feet, approaching Janissary and Myadir. The front-most blonde woman and the Black woman both wore smart, no-nonsense suits; the blonde’s grey and white...the Black woman’s navy blue over a white blouse. The blonde’s suit was slightly soiled around the knees, calves and elbows. The Black woman’s clothes were conspicuously immaculate. The third woman – bright-eyed and tight-jawed – wore jeans and a ragged T-shirt, torn across the mid-section; a shallow scar evident across the skin beneath. The sliced flesh dragged ten or eleven uneven inches across her belly, and was edged with crimson-brown flecks of dried blood. Blood also stained her shirt and jeans. Enough blood, spread liberally enough, that Janissary couldn’t help but suspect that it wasn’t all from the scratch-esque scar across her midsection. The immediate and obvious conclusion was that much of the blood was not the blonde’s own.

The oth
er Humans – still sitting atop the hill – fell silent, watching the new arrivals cautiously as they approached their self-elected representatives.

“What’s going on? Where the fuck are we?” the more formally attired blonde woman d
emanded.

“You’re on a space
-ship.” Janissary stated simply. Her expression remained stony and unreadable...though she
did
enjoy the corresponding expressions suddenly twisting at –contorting – the faces of the three Human women in front of her.

“Bullshit.” The blonde
with the torn shirt and blood-stained clothes scoffed.

“‘Bull
-shit’?” Myadir queried. Janissary nodded, folding her arms.

“It’s what’s known as a ‘swear word’
. You’re actually already familiar with a number of them; just not ones from
Earth
.” Janissary clarified for him: “They’re used to convey strong emotion – usually negative – or profound disbelief. In this case, I assume, it’s the
latter
. Yes?” She inclined her head toward the blonde.

“Um
...yes? Actually...” The blonde reached up to scratch at her scalp, before folding one arm over the other...mirroring Janissary’s posture. “Probably a bit of
both
?” Janissary smiled wanly.

“Sorry, but it
isn’t
bullshit. I know it’d be easier if it
was
.” She turned to Myadir: “Did you actually
tell
them?” He nodded.

“We have, in addition, provided them with
evidence to this effect.” Janissary shrugged, looking back to the three women.

“Did you not believe him?”

“It’s a bit much to just...
believe
. Just like
that
...” The Black woman frowned.

“I’ve been there. I really have.
” Janissary assured her: “First you think they’re crazy, then you think you’re crazy, and you never really get around to actually believing it, so much as simply getting used to
not
believing it.” Janissary shifted uncomfortably, not really knowing how to proceed. “So...do you have names?”

“Why wouldn’t we have
names
?” The blonde with the belly-scar asked. Janissary shrugged.

“Not everyone does. The Torbn of Veshak
use the conspicuous
absence
of names in place of names.” The blonde woman’s eyes narrowed as Myadir looked downward, shaking his head.

“That
has
to be bullshit.” Janissary raised an eyebrow.

“
Well of
course
it’s bullshit. It makes no sense whatsoever. I’ve heard names that sound like bursts of music; names that sound like gusts of wind or rushing water; mathematical equations as names; names expressed through
dance
; names that you can’t say without the help of organs, limbs, or other body parts that species like ours don’t even
have
; names where the correct pronunciation depends on how fast you say it; single names shared by the population of entire planets; names that, in full, would take
hours
to say; names expressed through
pheromones
; names that vary based on time of day, activity engaged in, current relationship status, and current
mood
. The one kind of name I’ve
never
heard of sentient beings having, are non-existent names.”