Star Blaze (25 page)

“No longer broadcasting and not in the place to where we are heading,” Bram replied, “but I am pleased humanity has taken another step further out.”

As they plunged through the thick, orange clouds, a landscape of mountains, oceans and rivers came into view. From altitude, it looked very like Earth. Johnny tried to tune into the ship's sensors which told him the liquid that had sculpted the moon's surface was methane, not water. He followed their progress until they settled on a rocky outcrop, overlooking a featureless plain that extended for many tens of kilometers toward some low mountains in the distance. Having observed various sections of Titan on their descent, this was without doubt the most boring spot anywhere on its surface.

“Welcome to one of the most special places in the galaxy,” said Bram, his eyes twinkling again. “Shall we go outside?”

“I didn't bring a spacesuit,” said Clara.

Johnny checked—the atmosphere was almost all nitrogen,
with just a couple of percent methane and the rest trace elements. There was no oxygen to breathe.

Bram, however, laughed. “It is important to remember that not everything is as it appears. There is no need of spacesuits in this place—your mother made certain of that. Follow me—you will not be disappointed.”

A small circular hole appeared in the side of the craft, which quickly widened. Instinctively, Johnny held his breath, but then watched as Bram shuffled out down the ramp. Halfway along the Emperor vanished, as though he had stepped through an invisible curtain. Johnny stared at the spot and then at Clara, open-mouthed.

Now they were alone, if only for a moment, he wondered again about trying to explain better about Nicky, but Clara smiled, said, “Here goes,” and set out after Bram. After just a few strides she, too, simply disappeared.

Johnny had no choice but to follow. One moment, as he stepped barefoot onto the walkway, he was looking at a muddy brown landscape beneath a thick layer of orange cloud. The next, under a clear sky dominated by the majestic Saturn, he saw a perfectly circular lake, filled with thick liquid like molten gold. As he gulped the air down it smelled of honey and heather. Bram and Clara stood together near the edge, watching ripples from the center spreading out and breaking over the sides. Even as they did so, the liquid clumped together, like yellow droplets of mercury, and sucked itself back into the body of the lake, almost as though it was alive.

“Do not touch it,” said Bram. “You are not yet ready. Come.” Being in this strange place appeared to invigorate the Emperor, who set a quick pace as he strode around the lake's edge to the far side, soon reaching a spectacular grotto of blue crystal pillars, jutting from the ground at all angles. At the center of the huge, geometric needles, on a striking white crystal plinth, was
a clear dome that looked vaguely familiar to Johnny.

“You have seen a thought chamber before?” asked Bram. “They are a rare, ancient technology.”

“It was on Nereid,” Johnny replied, nodding to himself as much as anyone else as he remembered. “Neptune's moon where I found Dad. The Krun had one.”

“Clearly the Krun are not to be underestimated,” said Bram. “They are like locusts, swarming from the rim, devouring technology, new and old. Tell me—what did you see?”

Johnny thought back to the time, many months ago when they'd rescued his father and Louise. “At first it was the dinosaurs,” he said, recalling the battle on the insides of Triton, Neptune's largest and strangest moon. “They'd held a council and agreed to fight the Krun—I saw them attacking.”

“The image changed?” prompted the Emperor.

“Yeah … to a triple star system,” said Johnny. “Seen from a ship.”

“Curious,” said Bram. “Toliman, perhaps. Did you recognize it?”

“Not at all,” Johnny replied.

“The chamber can be controlled by one skilled in its use,” said Bram, “but, essentially, it connects the observer to people or places that matter to him or her—or are, in some way, linked. What else did you see?”

“At first I thought it was you,” said Johnny, a little awkwardly. He didn't relish recalling the scene. “Someone was seated in front of a fire. Then they turned round and it wasn't you at all. They wore a mask—all black—except for this white explosion, like a really bright star. I could feel the hatred.”

“I have seen him too,” said Bram. “He is the Nameless One, from Andromeda … the force behind the invasion. Due to his actions, I was delayed in my journey to Earth. Half our fleet was destroyed in an ambush at the hypergiant Carinae. Another Star
Blaze …” For a moment the Emperor appeared distant, as if his mind were elsewhere. Then he continued, “Although we will not win this battle through strength of arms or numbers, it was a bitter blow. But there are better ways to fight and, when the time comes, you two will play your parts.”

As if galvanized by Johnny's report, the Emperor said, “Stand back—I shall return presently. Whatever happens, do not follow.” This was an instruction and not a request—there was no way Johnny was going to argue.

Bram stepped onto the lip of the lake and then took a stride into it. Instead of his boot disappearing into the thick liquid, it met solid, invisible ground just above the surface and the Emperor began to shuffle toward the center, as though walking on golden water. As he went, the waves moving past him distorted, flowing around him as if marking lines of force, and welling up and splashing about his feet. Finally, Bram reached the midpoint of the lake. He threw off his cloak, revealing a white tunic top like Johnny and Clara's, stretched his arms out wide and lifted his face to the heavens. The gold liquid all around shot high into the air, hundreds of meters into the sky beneath Saturn, encircling the Emperor with a rippling, shimmering curtain, like an aurora. As some fell back into the lake, more rose to take its place, drenching the figure under a constant golden deluge.

It must have been like standing beneath Niagara Falls. Johnny was worried Bram would be washed away—that he wouldn't be strong enough to survive the deluge. He made a move toward the lake but Clara grabbed hold of his hand and, this time, refused to let go. She shook her head and pointed. The glow from the center of the lake was no longer only from the glittering liquid. The drenched figure at its heart was shining brightest of all. Bram no longer looked bent over and old. It was almost the same as when they saw him arriving in Atlantis. He
strode out from under the golden fountain, which ceased as quickly as it had begun, the liquid falling out of the sky but no longer being replaced, like the slow fade-out of a firework. Striding purposefully, Bram marched along his invisible walkway toward Johnny and Clara. The four diamond-patterned stars of Portia blazed brightly across the chest of his white tunic. His hair was lively, and shining more brightly than Johnny could remember. The Emperor opened his arms and said, “Behold, the Fountain of Time—that which sustains me.”

“It's amazing,” said Clara.

“The effect is not what it was,” replied Bram, frowning, revealing a face still faintly lined. “Every time I come here, the impact is less and I find I must return sooner. I would have liked to have waited, but I need my strength for the struggle that lies ahead. Both of you must be strong too—you're special—and, whatever happens, you must stick together. The galaxy needs you.”

Johnny exchanged an awkward glance with his sister, before looking back at the Emperor. He'd failed Sol and knew the Sun was still in terrible danger. Special was the last thing he felt.

“But there are other special ones too,” Bram went on.

“Who?” Clara asked. Johnny waited for her to add, “Do you mean Nicky?” but the words didn't come.

The Emperor turned to the lake, hands cupped, and scooped up some of the golden liquid. He blew over its surface and, instead of forming a flat layer above Bram's fingers, the fluid began to spin like a whirlpool. Without warning, the Emperor threw it into the air. Johnny's eyes followed as it took on the shape of a galaxy, slowly rotating just over their heads. Clara clapped.

Bram smiled and sat down on the ground, indicating that they should do the same. “The lake is filled with chronons,” he said. “Particles of time. They retain an impression of what has gone before. What you see is our galaxy, the Milky Way, as it was in the beginning.”

When you looked through a telescope Johnny knew you were also looking backward in time. From Earth, even Andromeda appears as it was more than two million years ago—not as it is now—but it was fascinating to see his own galaxy looking so young.

“No one knows
how
the very first life began,” the Emperor went on, “but it is clear that our galaxy loved and embraced it.”

“I don't understand,” said Clara. “The galaxy's not got feelings … has it?”

“In a way it has. Life was the ultimate in its evolution—the Milky Way made conscious. At first, it is said there was only one. Over time, aeons, others were created or came to be. They were still few, but the life they contained was rich and thick and not like today. They had wondrous gifts—great power. They were the lawmakers and lived, effectively, forever.”

“The Lysentians,” said Johnny.

Bram smiled and nodded. “Yes … the Lysentians were the first ones. But the galaxy that had given birth to such wonders somehow knew it had made a mistake. To concentrate so much life in so few led to terrible problems—trouble in paradise.”

“What happened?” asked Johnny. He and Clara were sitting cross-legged in front of the Emperor, hanging on his every word.

“The story is a long one—no one knows it fully. But there was war … the most terrible devastation. The Milky Way realized its error and decided to diversify—life began to spread out. New races were born, vast in number, but short-lived. As consciousness spread into every nook and cranny the galaxy had to offer, it became diluted, individually less spectacular, but more diverse and vibrant and without the destructive power of some first ones.”

“And what happened to the Lysentians?” Clara asked.

“A few stayed behind—guardians of the cosmic order—to
nurture and care for the new races. They created the Hundra, to help the different lifeforms communicate. They built a peaceful civilization. Some of them ruled as the first, benevolent Emperors, molding the galaxy for different races to flourish. But this busy new Milky Way—buzzing with its fireflies of life—was not for most of them. They went on, clearing the way for the new lifeforms to spread unimpeded.”

“Where to?” Johnny asked. The picture Bram was painting of ancient, ultrapowerful first ones reminded him of someone—his mother. More than anything he wanted to know what had happened to her and where she'd taken their human father. He wanted specifics.

“Alas I cannot say,” Bram replied softly. As if reading Johnny's thoughts, he continued, “When many of the others left, your mother, the Diaquant, was one of those who stayed behind. Gradually the others departed—I believe she was the very last of the originals to leave.”

“So there are no guardians at all?” Clara asked.

“There are some,” said Bram. “But we are not first ones—the life in us is not so strong so our power is less. But I sense a new awakening within the galaxy … perhaps a longing for what it once held within itself. Give me your hand, Johnny.”

Bram took hold of Johnny's left hand and rolled up the sleeve. In this strange bubble of timelessness the lights on Johnny's wristcom were neither red nor green. Instead, on Johnny's inner arm, something else was glowing.

“This is your Starmark,” said the Emperor, tracing out the five stars of Cassiopeia, the big “W” on the inside of Johnny's forearm. “It is a sign—an imprint from the Milky Way. The five stars tell us that, when you were born, you were one of five in all the galaxy imbued with some of the first ones' life and powers. This pattern of stars was the brightest in the sky on that day—it tells us where in the galaxy you came from.”

“I'm … like a first one?” Johnny couldn't believe it. He knew he had strange abilities—he could do stuff with electricity—but he couldn't control it very well and most of the time he felt very ordinary.

“Not yet,” Bram replied, his eyes smiling, “and we don't know how you will develop. Let's just say you have potential—with a mother like yours, it would be hard not to. But with great power comes great responsibility—never forget that.”

“Who are the others?” asked Clara.

“A very good question,” Bram replied. “When I was born, I was one of four.” He turned and lifted up his top, revealing a smooth back except for four splashes of glowing green, perfectly matching the stars of Portia. “I cannot be sure, but I believe you met one of my contemporaries.”

“Neith!” shouted Clara.

“Very good,” said Bram. “Queen Neith of Atlantis … she had undoubted power.”

“But now there are seven,” said Clara, rolling up her trouser leg to reveal her own pattern of freckles, now glowing, in the shape of the Plough. They were the only marks on her otherwise clear skin.

“Yes—now there are seven,” said Bram, nodding. “The galaxy has been busy. One was born between you and Johnny, doubtless somewhere undiscovered but with a Starmark in a pattern of six.”

“Erin,” said Johnny, as much confirming it to himself as announcing it to anyone else.

“Erin? The boy you rescued?” asked the Emperor, his blue eyes narrowing.

“Erin son of Marin, King and ruler of the Alnitak Hegemony—apparently. He's the one who hurt Sol,” said Johnny bitterly. “He had a hexagon on his face … great big splodge.”

“And I just thought he was ugly,” Clara added. “Like his sister.”

Johnny had thought Zeta was quite pretty, but that was before they'd tried to kill Sol. Now he was in full agreement with Clara.