Across the Multiverse (IC)

[Dragonsong]

Trent Venfield's first thought, when he awoke, was that he could no longer feel Sarah Cypher's arms wrapped around him. His second was, so there is an afterlife, and it hurts. His third was, I'm falling really fast.

His eyes fluttered open to a flickering orange screen covered in damage reports. Instantly alert, he quelled the panic rising in his heart as he scanned through them for the item that mattered most. Gravitic Stabilizers: Offline. "System reboot!" His shout was barely audible over the roar of the wind as he tumbled downward. Why can't I see? He scanned the list again. Night Vision: Malfunctioning. If this was the afterlife, why was he in his suit? And what had done such damage to it?

Then, all at once, the reboot kicked in. The air was driven from his lungs as the gravitic stabilizers pulsed once, twice, guttered out, and came back full force. And then the faulty night vision lens was whisked out of the way. Blinding light flooded in; Trent cried out, shutting his eyes and trying to shield them with hands outstretched to slow his fall. But the afterimage of that sudden burst of luminescence was burned into his retinas: deep blue, dark green, and bright silver below him, as far as the eye could see.

An instant later, he hit the ground.

[Dragonsong]

Had the gravitic stabilizers kicked in a second later, he would've been reduced to paste.

That cheery thought roused Trent from his daze. His ribs stung and ached all at once; he would have to check for breaks. Yet as comforting as the solid ground was after tumbling for thousands of feet, he gained nothing by lying there. Forcing himself to roll onto his back, he opened his eyes again, then quickly shut them. The same blinding light stung them, painting his vision flesh-red even with his lids firmly shut. The ground beneath him had give in it; he could force his hand into it like a mound of plastic explosive. Where was he?

As the ringing in his ears abated, new sounds flooded in. A sort of rhythmic swoosh and crash, the quiet whispering of a light wind, and, somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of large engines above him. A light wind? Trent reached up with both hands, grasped his helmet, and pulled it off in one motion, before he could reason otherwise. A barrage of smells struck him instantly, none of which he had any name for. But the air itself smelled sweet. Slowly and carefully, his hands held out in front of his face, he opened his eyes again.

In front of him, a grey path flanked by large stretches of green groundcover stretched down toward an endless, shimmering blueness. It shifted constantly, striking the sand before withdrawing, capped with white foam on each slow, peaceful advance. Beyond that meeting place it stretched on until it merged with the sky, a blue sky, clear of clouds save for a few spots of fluffy white. It was chilly, reddening his ears and nose as he stared up at the source of all that brightness: a great yellow orb hovering directly above. A sun.

What was this alien place? Where on Shyne was he?

[Dragonsong]

Trent walked along the beach, a wondering smile fixed on his features.

The surf engulfed his armored feet as they sank deeply into the wet sand or skated uneasily across slick pebbles. The horizon was reflected in his tired eyes, now wide with excitement. A smile skated around the edges of his features. What did it matter what this place was? It was beautiful, like nothing he had ever seen, and all the aches of his body could not distract him even for a moment. If he was dead and this was the afterlife, he could be happy spending eternity there. It was far more than he deserved after the life he'd led.

Deserved. The almost-smile became a frown. After all the people whose lives had ended because of his war and its foregone conclusion, this was where he was sent? Where were those who had made the same and greater sacrifices long before he had? And what about the people back on Shyne (for this could not be Shyne, no matter what or where it was) who had now lost their leader? Would they starve or be killed by the Omegadrones first? It was his fault either way; he knew there was a good chance he wasn't coming back, but he hadn't prepared them.

He sank into a sitting position, his gloved hands clutching the sides of his head. I left them I'm just sitting here I killed them all or will kill them if they aren't dead already it's my fault either way I never gave them a new plan they're not the first ones I've gotten killed I am a murderer I am as bad as Omega I only ever made things worse why did I fight when there was no point I am a waste of space why am I here I don't deserve FOCUS. He needed a task, anything to hold onto. Standing quickly, he pulled his hoverboard from its compartment on his back.

As he took off, he pushed all thoughts from his mind save one: I will now determine whether or not this is the afterlife.

[Dragonsong]

As he rose above the crags of the shore, Trent finally saw the city.

It was a tangle of silver spires and concrete overpasses, a mishmash of architectural styles, sprawling as far as the eye could see, and it was beautiful. Shyne must have been like this once, he reflected; he now had magnificent structures to complete the ruined foundations that had hidden him when he was a child, before even they were processed into dust. The foliage spanning the distance between him and the gleaming buildings was larger and greener by far than the little shrubs he had marveled at; these he had no names for at all.

Tearing his mind from any sort of reflection, lest he fall back into the same destructive thought patters that had nearly overtaken him moments earlier, Trent considered the condition of his biosuit. Though the nanites that made up its armored surface were already smoothing the damaged areas, he could see where heat had melted and deformed the flexsteel fibers. That could not have been the result of the Oblivion Bomb; had it functioned as intended, his molecular bonds would have fallen apart, leaving him a pile of ash. This looked more like the heat of re-entry.

That seemed like evidence that he was alive, but how could that be possible? He had seen no evidence that anything but his gear and his person had come to this place from Shyne, and if he had simply opened a portal with faulty bomb construction most of the factory he'd targeted should have come along for the ride... along with Sarah and the others. He fought down the surge of hope, trying to keep a calm head, but rose nonetheless. Perhaps something else had landed nearby, further away than he could have seen from the ground.

The hope faded slowly as he spun in a circle, alert for anything that looked familiar. Besides, the logic of it was irrefutable: if anyone or anything else would have been transported, it would've been Sarah; she was closest to him at the time, very close. But she hadn't been there when he fell. None of it made any sense. Why him? Her arms had been wrapped around him; how had he been transported intact while she was left behind intact? No random phenomenon would do that. Perhaps this was the afterlife, beautiful but lonely.

And then he saw three figures down on the beach.

[Dragonsong]

None of them was Sarah... or any of the others. Why was he fixating on her? He had told her in their last moments that he could not love her, and now he couldn't stop think about her. Pushing these irrational thoughts from his mind, Trent analyzed the situation unfolding below. Two stocky, pale-skinned beings armed with what looked to be large bones wrapped in some sort of hide advanced on a lone human woman in a tan coat, waving their makeshift weapons menacingly. The woman had a small box in her hand - a stun gun, Trent guessed.

Though he had never seen anyone remotely resembling the short, pale humanoids, with their white hair and large, dark eyes, Trent could tell readily enough who was the aggressor here. He pushed his utter and complete bafflement at the situation from his mind as he pulled his helmet back on, then stepped off of his hoverboard, grabbing the edge and returning it to its compartment as he fell. He struck the ground between the taser-wielding woman and the little men, throwing up sand in every direction. When it cleared, he was standing tall.

"Explain yourselves." His voice was the deep, commanding tone of Defiant, bled dry of uncertainty; he was amazed he could muster it given the situation. The two little men stared at him, looked at each other for a moment, and turned and fled into a small cave Trent hadn't been able to spot from the air. He allowed himself a grim smile beneath his faceplate, then turned back to the woman. "Are you hurt?" She shook her head. "No, but we have go after them! They have my husband."

Inwardly Trent cursed; he'd allowed them, whatever they were, a head start into terrain he didn't know. But this was his chance to forget for a while how lost he was; this was his chance to have a mission again. And he was going to take it. "Any idea what they want?" The woman shook her head again. "My husband and I just went for a walk; he works at the naval base. The came out of the ground and grabbed him before he could get to his gun. I don't know why." Naval base? Guns? Kidnappers from underground? Strange afterlife.

"I'll find him. Stay here." A third shake of the head. "I'll come with you, I..." "No. I'm not putting anyone else in danger." Not ever again, he promised himself. This is on me and me alone. No one takes the blows meant for me anymore. Pulling out his hoverboard, he stepped onto it and rocketed into the cave. His advantage was speed; if he could catch the two he'd seen before they got too far, they might be able to lead him to the others. He would just have to focus on not crashing.

Then the focus set in, finally, and there was nothing but the mission.

[Dragonsong]

From the mouth of the cave, the tunnel beyond began to drop almost immediately. Trent had to crouch low on his hoverboard, and the twists and turns were tight enough that he couldn't employ the device's full speed unless he wanted to be turned to paste that day after all. Fortunately his keen ears were able to pick up the sounds of the creatures' flight even over the whine of the gravitic engine, guiding him past several forks. It occurred to him too late that he should probably have considered mapping his course so that he could get out again.

As he closed on his targets, Trent considered what he had seen so far. His appearance in imposing black armor had caused the woman he'd promised to help no particular alarm, but she hadn't addressed him by name; was such an appearance commonplace here? She'd been carrying a weapon when she and her husband were attacked, which along with the simple fact that they'd been attacked indicated a world where violence was relatively common at least. But what was a navel base? Looking down at his armored midriff, Trent could only wonder.

The little grey-skinned beings were quick on their feet, but they couldn't match the hoverboard, even in such tight quarters. Trent bent low and raced over their heads, stepping off of the hoverboard and into their path. "I don't want to hurt you," he began. "I just want to know where you've taken the man you kidnapped. I'll speak with your leader." The two creatures stared at each other for a moment, eyes wider than ever. After a moment, they turned back and nodded, walking hesitantly past Trent to continue forward.

They walked quite some distance, and Trent was grateful that his night vision was functional again; it was pitch dark, and without his infared flashlight he would have been completely blind. How the humanoids he was traveling with could see remained a mystery; their eyes must have been well-adapted indeed, or else their other senses exceptionally skilled at compensating. Whatever the case, the cavern in which they halted was as dark as all the rest, though larger. And he could make out dozens of stocky body-shaped spots of heat in the dark...

[Dragonsong]

"Outsider," boomed a deep, rumbling voice, "you profane this place with your presence."

"I apologize," Trent calmly replied, trying to identify who had spoken, "but I'll be present until you surrender your captive, unharmed." The voice boomed with rough laughter. "Bold words for one so badly outnumbered. Take him, my tribe; we will add him to our offering to the Unspeakable One." Wordlessly Trent whipped his staff off of his back and assumed a ready position, the dim glow of its blasting end barely present in the overwhelming darkness. There were far too many to fight; he was in deep trouble.

In that moment he felt a new presence beside him, slightly taller than the others. "Don't hurt them more than you have to," came a whisper, "or I'll hurt you far worse when this is over. The one you're looking for is on the altar, in the center of the chamber. The priest is mine." Before Trent could so much as ask what any of that meant, one of the two beings that had brought him to the chamber hit the floor with a solid thud. Sweeping out with his staff, he knocked the legs from beneath the other, sending him the ground as well.

The closest threat neutralized, Trent took off for the center of the chamber, hoping to reach the altar of which he'd been told before the swarm of bodies coming in from all sides could reach him. From there... well, he would have to improvise.

[Dragonsong]

He made it to the altar, if only barely; the humanoids had tried to rush in to bar his path, but the speed of his hoverboard had been greater than that of their feet. Still, with the cavern's low ceiling, it wasn't as if he could fly over them. His escape route was blocked; if anything, his situation was worse. At least his newfound ally had spoken truthfully; he could see a human-sized body on the altar, breathing shallowly but alive. Standing between him and his goal, however, was something as tall as he was, but much colder.

He heard the creature hiss, then begin reciting strange syllables in the same rumbling voice that had ordered his death; whatever the being was, it seemed to be the leader behind the entire situation. Again Trent wondered at the strangeness of his life; he'd been in this place perhaps half an hour and here he was, fighting for his life against creatures he'd never seen before to save someone he'd never met. But he couldn't let that distract him. Raising his staff, he swung it in a downward arc at the cold, hissing thing.

Nine long years of constant struggle had taught Trent many things, but he had learned the most in the art of combat. His staff caught his target in what he estimated to be the side of the head, the electrical discharge of the shock prod flaring orange-white in the darkness for a moment, and pitched the creature to the ground, where it lay unmoving. Stepping calmly over it, Trent leapt atop the altar in the hopes of finding it an easier position to hold against the hordes closing in on him. Despite their leader's fall, they came onward.

Still keeping icily calm, a feat he managed only thanks to years of practice, Trent noted that manacles bound the kidnap victim to the stone beneath; it would take time to burn through the metal, time he did not have. He could not have escaped with the man even if there were a path out. There was no sign of his supposed ally, either; he needed a plan, and he needed it quickly. And then, an instant later, a tangle of stocky grey bodies pounced on him, trying to bear him down with their combined weight...

[Dragonsong]

The struggle ended as the dark-armored form of Defiant exploded out from the press of bodies, tossing his attackers back down from the altar in a display of both clever wrestling and raw muscle power. But it was only a momentary victory; the stone platform was completely surrounded by a swarm of bodies, each eager to rend him limb from limb. Trent cast around for some alternative to fighting them all, eight at a time; their clubs were unlikely to do much against his armor, but eventually he would be overwhelmed.

No easy solution was forthcoming. On the other hand, he'd managed to throw off four of the creatures at once; perhaps he could simply barrel through them using his own bulk and the thrust of his hoverboard. But he hadn't come this far to leave the man chained below him to rot. Leaning down, he began to burn through the chain binding the kidnap victim's left arm, the end of his blast-staff glowing brightly as it channeled tremendous energy. But his stocky foes were not about to let him steal their prize so easily.

Again the stunted beings swarmed up the sides of the altar, grabbing at Trent's arms, legs, torso, neck, whatever they could reach, and pulling with all their might. But again he managed to throw them off, panting under the strain, and cast them back down into the mass seething around him. The first shackle fell away, the chain red and smoking just below the cuff, and the dark-armored hero turned to the other one. But the grey-skinned beings continued to converge, the ones at the back pressing the ones around him ever onward...

[Dragonsong]

So focused was he on melting through the second shackle that Trent never saw the cold-blooded being he'd struck down at the altar rise from the floor, hissing. This time it completed its incantation unopposed, hissing terrible syllables of power. Flames raced from its outstretched hands, illuminating the entire scene for the first time: dozens of grey-skinned beings, wrapped in hides and armed with clubs, rocks, and fists, and a single green-scaled being towering over them, dressed in an ornate yellow robe painted with symbols that made the eye water.

The flash of illumination overwhelmed Trent's infared flashlight, flooding his eyes with brightness, and he didn't see the gout of flame coming toward him until it was far too late to dodge it. The burning projectile struck him in the side, spattering his armor with superheated particles. But his armor had survived a partial reentry less than an hour before, even if only barely, and the spell could not breach it. The flames lingered for a moment, probing hungrily for flesh to burn, and then guttered out. The scaled creature hissed in outrage.

What kind of technology was that? And how did primitives like these get ahold of it? Trent's musings were cut short as a greater mass of his stocky foes than ever before swarmed up onto him; eight of the thickset creatures pounced him at once, bearing him down to the stone with their weight just as the second shackle popped apart. He hoped he wasn't crushing the newly-freed man. Pushing up as hard as he could, he found that he couldn't rise. The weight was too great this time, perfectly spaced along his back, holding him down.

This has to happen. I have to get up. I am not going to die here, with so many questions unanswered. Clenching every muscle in his body, his eyes screwed up in concentration, his tongue held between his teeth so hard that a bead of blood formed in his mouth, Trent summoned reserves of strength born of a lifetime of day to day survival. And bit by bit he rose, his arms and legs shaking under the strain, until he was kneeling rather than kissing the ground. And then, with one final effort, he threw his arms back.

Eight assailants, as one, tumbled back into the mass around him.

[Dragonsong]

Breathing heavily and aching head to toe, Trent nonetheless managed to pick up the man he'd freed, smoke still drifting up from the molten remains of the manacles on each wrist. Affixing his feet firmly to his hoverboard via the lightweight nanoseals, the would-be rescuer fired the grav-engine with all the power it could muster from a stop, straight into the crowd of foes. Even as he bore down on them they refused to step aside, but the gravity-wake picked them up and tossed them away like rag dolls. The tunnel from which he'd come drew closer...

And then the sheer numbers of the creatures overwhelmed his forward momentum, causing him to gutter to a stop just shy of escape. Two of them still stood between him and the tunnel mouth; grasping his staff in one hand and holding the rescue-ee tightly to his shoulder with the other, Trent could only hope that he could bring these two down before the rest of them closed in from behind. He was weary, and growing moreso by the moment; he could only keep up fighting for his life so much longer, but he couldn't let himself fail when success was so close!

And then he heard a crash beside him; the cold-blooded creature he'd fought when he first reached the altar crashed down beside him, unmoving. In an instant, everything changed: the grey-skinned creatures looked around uncertainly, pawing at their eyes, drawing back from where he was standing. He wasn't sure what had changed, or what unseen force had sent their scaled leader flying, but he wasn't about to question the beneficence of fate. Yet as he prepared to rev his hoverboard, a familiar voice rang out again.

"So you can fight and follow directions. That's rare in a surfacer."

[Dragonsong]

"I am so sorry, chieftain," one of the grey-skinned creatures gushed, bowing low as the presence that had advised Trent at the beginning of the battle walked out of the mass of bodies. "Our minds were clouded. We never meant to..." "I know, Koago," came the voice again, strong and icy and distinctly feminine. "Lead everyone back to the village. I'll meet you there when I'm done with this surfacer." The one that had spoken - Koago, apparently - bowed even lower, if that was possible, before moving back amongst the crowd and shouting directions. Trent paid him no further heed; the woman approaching him was his concern.

"These are your people, then. That's why you didn't want them harmed." She stood before him now, a foot and a half shorter but radiating the same kind of self-assuredness and iron determination. After a moment, she inclined her head. "That's right. This filthy forktongue," she punctuated her statement with a kick to the scaled creature's stomach, "used magic to turn my tribe into its slaves. Then it had them take your friend there to sacrifice. It would've eaten his heart if you'd arrived much later."

Beneath his faceplate, Trent frowned. Apparently these primitives not only believed in magic but had some form of technology he'd never seen before that they'd taken for such supernatural power; for such devices to be in the hands of those who would engage in such horrible, bloody practices was dangerous indeed. But he should be wary; this woman was not only a leader but clearly possessed power of her own. "Thank you for bringing it down, then. I could not have lasted much longer against your people." It was the truth; no shame in admitting it.

It was hard to tell by the glow of his infared flashlight, but it looked like she gave him a confused look, as though taken aback by his statement - or his thanks. She was quiet for another few seconds, as though deep in thought. "You probably have no idea where you are. Surfacers have no sense of direction. Come with me and I'll show you the way back to the upworld." He acquiesced with a nod of his head, stepping off of his hoverboard and stowing it away before trudging up the tunnel after her.

[Dragonsong]

They walked in silence for some time, the grey-skinned woman picking her way nimbly through the rough caverns and tunnels. Trent was glad she'd offered to guide him out; he could've been lost for years. It was amazing to him that such a vast network of underground passages could exist beneath the unassuming land he'd walked over an hour earlier; they could've sheltered Shyne's rebels for... well, practically forever. Finally he broke the silence. "Thank you for guiding me; to my eyes this place is a maze. What should I call you?

She neither slowed nor turned around. "You'd be wise to stay in the world you know, and if you do we'll not meet again. But if you have to call me something, call me Thane." Trent considered her attitude toward him and wondered if there was a history of unpleasantness between humans and... what was Thane, exactly? She spoke again, as if reading his mind. "My people are called Morlocks, and I keep this tribe sane. Most Morlocks aren't any more; they're just violent now. They'd even attack us, let alone your kind."

She paused, turning back to face him. "You're not from around here, are you?" Trent shook his head; there was little point in explaining the complicated truth when he himself understood it so little, and he was too tired to think about it. "I'm sorry if I hurt any of your people," he offered after a moment's silence as their ascent toward the surface resumed. Thane laughed bitterly. "We'll hope you didn't. It'd be just what we need; any of half a dozen enemies could see we're weak and wipe us out."

She shook her head, suddenly picking up her pace. "It's only a matter of time before we're all dead, the last of the sane, semi-civilized Morlocks wiped off of the map. But you wouldn't understand." Behind his faceplate, Trent raised an eyebrow; that tale was familiar, too familiar. "You'd be surprised, he replied. "You live day to day because you can't think about tomorrow without hating or pitying yourself. And you're tired, very tired, because you can't burden anyone else with knowing that every day could be your people's last."

She stopped and turned back again, staring at him intently, quizzically.

[Dragonsong]

"You're a very strange surfacer. But you're not wrong." She turned back again and resumed the gradual climb, leaving Trent confused as to how to proceed. There had been a moment's connection, an understanding that passed between two leaders of dying peoples, but Thane had done nothing to acknowledge it. "Your friend there is lucky, you know," she called over her shoulder. "Someone was watching when he was taken. Someone cared. Often it's the people no one cares about that are taken, and no one even notices."

Trent considered the gleaming city he'd seen and tried to imagine Morlocks snatching anyone there without someone trying to stop them. "Who do you mean?" She laughed again, equally bitter. "You're really not from around here. I mean the homeless, mostly. A lot of them go through these tunnels and don't come back out. And there's no one to come looking for them." Homeless... Trent had considered Shyne his home, though it was more a hell than anything else. What did it mean to be homeless? Could a lack of a dwelling be such a social stigma?

And then it struck him: his purpose in that new world. "From now on I'll come looking." Thane half-laughed, then turned to look over her shoulder at him, that quizzical gaze on her face again. "For people you don't even know? People no one cares about, even themselves?" Trent nodded his armored head. "If others are already protected, this will be my role. I need to do something I know is right, and I need to do it fully. This will be it." Thane continued to watch him a moment, deep in thought, as though trying to read his emotionless visor.

It wasn't long afterward that they reached the mouth of the cave into which Trent had first pursued the Morlocks; sunlight flooded in, once again startlingly bright, though not quite so blinding as the first time. He deactivated his night vision as he stepped toward his exit from the tunnels. "Thank you, Thane. I doubt I'd have had a chance without you." In characteristic fashion she paused a moment, staring, before nodding. "Maybe we will meet again, Trent."

As she disappeared back into the darkness, he realized he'd never told her his name.