Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End (16 page)

They’re trying to butter me up for something. Oh no! They plan to get me drunk and take advantage of me. Idiot!
My gaze darts around, taking in their muscles. They are giant! I must be wearing my fear because Or’ic interrupts my train of thought.

“We have no intentions of harming you.”

Oh.

“What . . . do you want?”

There’s got to be a way out of this!
I try hard not to cry.

He says, “You have something, a gift, we need. In return for your . . . assistance, we would give you something.”

My body releases all kinds of pent-up tension, kind of like letting go after holding yourself in a chin-up for a really long time, like one whole minute. This is kind of what I expected, deep down, actually. When he said
gift
, the word
sift
came to mind. And, I just got some
hand
here, didn’t I? Lt. Lazarus told me to
get hand stat
for Winters’ Storm. Different situation, but same rules probably apply.

“A trade?” I ask quietly.

“Yes. A trade,” he says, smiling, crinkling those eyes.

No wonder the men and woman live apart. They’d never get anything done.
Oh, wait, the women have no sexual desire. Uh, back up: Why am I thinking about this? Why does this man, this Prime Or’ic, have this affect on me?
I mean, I should be in serious crisis mode and here I’m enticed by the sound of his voice. Must be a hangover effect from the symbiosis.
Yes, remember you decided that they use their attractiveness as some kind of weapon, and he’s using it now to control me.

Ah, maybe you’re insane
. I touch my head and try to focus.

“You are not sick again are you?” asks Green Eyes.

“What? No!” I pop back up, alert, and glare at him. What is his name again? Oh yeah, Kell’an.

Or’ic takes me in, concerned.

Kell’an spills the beans to all of them about my little attack outside the room. They won’t make eye contact.
Disgusted?

Who cares!
And don’t go asking them about the details of the trade. You don’t want to give away your hand now that you have some. I still have hand, don’t I?
Or did my anxiety attack cancel that out?

Or’ic inhales deeply before he speaks.

I will my eyes to meet his, and to act emotionless in turn.

“We will help return your brother, Lt. David Alexander Zach Winters, to ESE.”

I almost choke on my sudden inhalation.

“You have Daz?” I shout, leaning forward, not caring one bit that I just showed both my hands and my tonsils.

I knew he knew Daz when we were in symbiosis!

If my eyes were laser beams, he’d be incinerated.

Thoughts race through my mind. How in the cosmos is that even possible? Adm. O’Reilly’s words, ‘misplaced operative’ ring in my head.
Shit
. Maybe Daz really was on a secret ESE mission and they took him!

“We do not have your brother,” says Or’ic, cutting short the line of accusations I’m compiling. Disappointment kicks me right in the gut. “But we know the Horde who does.” Elation cancels the angst instantly. “We have negotiated a trade on your behalf.”

He smiles again. No amount of respectful behavior on his part, and he appears to be really trying, could bottle up his sex appeal.
Well, guard against his unreal . . . pull on you! Focus on the salient issues here.

“What’s a
Horde
? And what did you negotiate?” I ask, forgetting all about hand. He wouldn’t have offered to trade me, would he? I mean, I would gladly go in Daz’s place. But . . .

“According to the Guardianship, our government,” he clarifies, “Prime Aardon captured your brother from the planet Taxata. You know of it. It was the planet your bumbling command claimed to be searching for your missing operative when you infiltrated our ship.”

He doesn’t let me defend myself against this accusation, probably pointless anyway.

“Of course, your people are looking for the sift, as is every Thell’eon Prime who has been given permission to do so. You would help me to find the sift on the planet and, in return, we would promise an exchange with Prime Aardon, who would return your brother unharmed.”

I need a moment to absorb this. He takes another shot of whiskey. The other Kirs take his lead and help themselves. He gestures that I should help myself but I decline. This is incredible. Of all the things I could have imagined, of all of the possibilities that could have been laid before me, I could never have hoped for a path that would not only lead me to Daz, but clearly help him out of the mess he’s in and take me to the sift. Could all of this somehow be a good thing? First things first.

“And how am I supposed to help you find the sift?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His unwavering eyes pierce right through me, pin me up against a wall, hold me fast. An air of absolute authority emanates from him. It’s those flaring nostrils. And something else. Smugness. Or, is that just his at-ease expression.

Oh. Did I just agree to something?

“That’s simple,” he says smoothly. “You have an ability that allows you to . . . sense sifting. Like Kir Kell’an’s, only much stronger. We believe it is a natural evolution of perception across humanoid species in our galaxy.”

“Hold on,” I cut him off, shifting forward in my seat. “What do you mean ‘sense sifting?’ I thought the sift was a weapon, but you used the term like a verb.” Despite all my initial fear, I’m unable to shut out the heady excitement of learning something I have searched 21 years for, about who or what I might be.

“Sifting is the ability to see across dimensions,” offers Kell’an.

Whoa
.

He continues. “I sense merely the energy when another brane collides into our universe. This way, I identify when a . . . rift, if you will, opens. That is how I knew you had sifted on our ship. You are able to . . . see into parallel universes through the rifts causes by colliding branes.”

Parallel universes? Rifts? Branes?

“Wait,” I say. They pause, as my gray matter catches up. “So you’ve proven there are multiple universes, or the M-Theory?” We learned this in astrophysics back in levels. According to the math, there are endless multiple universes lined up like sheets hanging out to dry in all directions and angles. When they expand, they collide into each other and create a cosmic explosion the likes of which is believed to end then restart a universe, or cause The Big Bang.

“Yes. Our universe is constantly colliding, on a small scale, with other branes, as they expand and shift,” says Or’ic. “What you see into, with your evolved perceptive ability, are alternate realities. While the variations are infinite, the reality you perceive is typically the one closest to our own, at least always in terms of space, not necessarily time. To some degree, all species sense it. Your people term it déjà vu. But it is no mysterious phenomena. Your perceptions are simply more enhanced.”

HOLY STARS! Is that it? Is that what my visions are?
An enhanced perception?
“So, there are windows into other universes,” I mumble, as everything comes clear. All those déjà-vu-turned-visions were real events. “I thought I was crazy.”

“You are not crazy,” says Or’ic. “You have a gift.”

I can’t believe this
. Should I believe them? Yes, because it all clicks.
And their science is more advanced than humans.
So all this time, is that what I’ve been seeing?
Alternate universes. Holy shit
. I help myself to a shot of whiskey. So that means Lt. Lazarus maybe wasn’t coming out of Daria Preston’s room, at least not in my universe! T
hat means the note was for me. I was supposed to hide—probably meant for me in this universe!

“Is it possible?” I begin, looking up, then stopping short when I realize they’re all watching me closely. Patiently.

“Yes?” says Or’ic.

Should I ask? Well, how else will I ever know? I’ve never been able to speak about my ‘ability’ like this, and it’s weird, but kind of necessary.

“Is it possible to interact across dimensions?”

Kell’an and Or’ic share a silent exclamation. Onegin moves a little closer. Pers’eus inhales noisily.

“In what way do you refer?” asks Or’ic.

“Well, hypothetically speaking of course,” I shift away from Onegin, “could someone in one dimension leave someone else a message knowing they might see it?”

More weird silent exchanges.

“Who has been communicating with you?” asks Or’ic sternly.

I’m surprised by the change. Still attractive. But sexy scary.

“No one. I—”

“You must tell us. There are things you do not yet know of, very dangerous beings, crossing over dimensions. They would not hesitate to harm you.”

“What? Beings are
crossing over
?”

“Who has been communicating with you? How?” He practically shouts at me, rising up out of his chair, his full height.

“I really don’t know!” I shout back, sufficiently intimidated. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t bad, though! It was cryptic, a message that was meant to protect me. It said I should hide. Clearly with good reason.”

After a moment, Or’ic settles back into his chair. His eyes fixate on something above my head, faraway.

“What are these dangerous beings? What do you mean they’re crossing over?” I demand.

“Aeons,” snarls Onegin beside me. I jump because he’s clearly insane and I’ve never seen madness up close before.

“Who?” I ask timidly.

“They are called Aeons,” says Or’ic, quieting Onegin with a glance. The way it’s translated, it comes out sounding like ‘eons.’

“They are an ancient race that has survived throughout time by traveling across the dimensional rifts when the current universe they occupy is close to its inevitable rebirth, interfering with the natural order,” says Or’ic.

“They travel across dimensions? How is that even possible?” I ask.

Shadon shifts in his chair. Pers’eus takes another drink. Only Or’ic and Kell’an look me in the eye.

“That is where the sift comes in,” says Or’ic. “It is a weapon. The most important weapon that exists. There are very few of these weapons in our galaxy. The Aeons, a race who I would add, destroys everything in the new universes they conquer and colonize, use sifts to travel across dimensions. Our people rely on sifts as well, when we find them, to not only find rifts and guard against Aeon entry, but to mount offensives.”

“You see, Cassiel, while your race has been pursuing the arts and telling beautiful fairytales, ours has been sacrificing hundreds of thousands of lives defending this universe from invasion for thousands of years.”

Oh for Pete’s sake
.

“Well, I’m sure once ESE knows the situation, we can work together to fight these Aeons,” I state confidently.

“Aeons,” says Kell’an, correcting me.

I repeat it a few times, but the translator must be off, because ‘eons’ is the only way I hear it.

“Anyway, when we work together to fight these . . . bad guys, we can share these sifts.”

Or’ic’s eyes narrow, and for the briefest moment his guard lowers to reveal an intensely mercurial man, fixed on me with direct and open possessiveness, and utters, “Never.”

Onegin punctuates this with a harsh laugh.

“Our Guardianship has been spying on ESE since it first entered space,” says Or’ic, joining Onegin in a shared sneer, before slipping his mask back on. “ESE is not capable of battling Aeons. Humans will need to give us alms instead, to fight.”

“Alms?”

“Yes. Species we encounter support our purpose by supplying resources. Food. Weapons.”

“Oh, I don’t think ESE will go for that.”

“We shall see,” says Or’ic, who, still standing, motions to the hunched over slave that he will pour the next round.

Yes, we shall see
.

He lingers, showing off his thighs, for a moment standing right in front of me, which if I didn’t know better is deliberate, to give me a good view (which I don’t take, thank you), before returning to his seat. I wonder if they’re aware how revealing their pants are.

Focus! Focus! Focus!

So let’s recap: our universe is under attack by some evil force bent on taking it over for its own survival. Meanwhile, presently, some wack-job Prime called Aardon has my brother. If I agree to find this sifting weapon everyone wants, Or’ic’s Horde will trade it for my brother.
Wait a minute . . .

“Two questions. You never said how I’m supposed to find this sift, or what’s in this for you? Why would you trade away this all-important sift weapon for my brother?”

“I did not say we would trade it. I said we promised we would trade it. Once you find this sift, we will steal your brother back and keep the sift for ourselves.”

“Wow. Is that how much a Thell’eon’s word is worth?”

I can just imagine the battles between fiefdoms. “How am I supposed to ever trust you?” I add, staring into coal. If he ratchets the fierceness up any further, he’ll make carbon out of those eyes.