Chapter 5 No.5

A rebellion drove the Anki to the stars and the King's guard suppressed any new Anki from contaminating the Pneuma bloodlines.

Jaff had no idea where to go. He dared not seek refuge in any nearby farm or cottage, since whoever harbored him would take a grave risk on his behalf. His wound and the exertion of a first flight proved too much for the lad and he fell into a deep sleep.

Voices roused Jaff, but not before he had been surrounded by twice the number of guards he encountered in the city. He did not try to negotiate surrender; death alone served as punishment for his existence. He fought with lashes of flame and spent what little of his energy remained by telekinetically dropping a tree branch on two soldiers.

The butt of a spear on his temple knocked him into a daze. A guard pushed through his comrades hefting a battle axe. Another held the boy fast to the downed branch, Jaff's neck outstretched. The axe wielder poised for the death stroke.

"Leave these woods. You have already killed the young Anki, " a voice hissed from shrouds of evening shadow.

The guards' eyes clouded and the squad gathered their wounded and made for the city without a second thought.

Jaff tried to focus on the situation, but could make no sense of his fortune. Hours passed before he gained consciousness in a small warm room. A bent green skinned figure leaned over his thigh, stitching needle in hand. A wedge head turned to face Jaff.

"It's nice to have some company after so many years alone, " hissed the same voice from the shadows. An old Anki smiled and returned to its work.

Memoirs of an Ancient Explorer

No other humans aside from Jennings, Hays, and I have been able to say they lived to be thousands of years old. How old exactly? I could not figure a system for keeping track of time. We got pulled through what must have been a hole in the fabric of space and time while on patrol between Nibiru and its moon. Time simply passed without a planet and its star to anchor us to the false notion of days and years. There were no meals, sleep, bathroom breaks, or anything really, except the journey.

Being lost in the vacuum of space without a starship or provisions would have spelled doom for any man without an idgeul. At times I wondered if it was only a different kind of doom.

Idgeul are the fighting machines Nibiru's ancient inhabitants left behind. Designed to seal its pilot in stasis, it suspends all life function save for the pilot's consciousness, which controls the machine. Silver dragons stand upright about ten feet high, a total of twenty feet from tail tip to snout. Capable of flight from a planet's surface to the other worlds within a solar system, a sonic scream that shatters stone and flesh, agile limbs, acute sensors, and a short range communication system, these metal dragons have been our means of travel and our life support.

Save for the obscured forms I see through semitransparent belly plates, I had long ago forgotten what we looked like before the journey.

The event felt like a whirlwind. Like old videos we had all seen in school, aboard the colonial starship of Earth's weather phenomenon, the tornado. We had been battered and turned about for what could have been days.

Our unit had ten idgeul, but only Jennings, Hays, and I regrouped on the other end. Perhaps the others had been destroyed, perhaps they got dumped out elsewhere, but we hoped they never got pulled in.

Based on a constellation we recognized from Haran's sky, we set off for the colony.

In the early stage of our journey, we were determined to make it back before our friends and lovers finished their natural lives. Then, countless generations passed. Any populated world was a welcome new home, now that we three are all that exists of our former lives, save for the other machines left by Nibiru's ancient masters. It stands to reason that since the power systems on our idgeul have not failed under millennia of continuous use, their other devices continue to tick away and serve whoever can access them.

The star we approached looked like any other. Hayes, Jennings, and I had not spoken to one another in hundreds of years. Small talk lost context, not because of a malicious gesture, perhaps after so much time bent on a single purpose we had simply abandoned what sense of individuality we once entertained.

When we saw the blue green orb I heard three gasps of simultaneous awe. When we got closer and satellites orbited the world, relieved sobs filled the com link.

Compared to our journey, the last twenty years living as a man again seem like the blink of an eye. We never found humanity, but we did rediscover our own. My children are even half human.

I visit with Jennings and Hays about once a month. We've actually got things to talk about for a change. Sometimes as we grow old, one of us will joke about mounting the dragons and taking to the stars again, but I for one, look forward to the rest of my natural life.

Mythical Impostor

Before they came to steal the crops and wares, the village Hinrooth made an ideal home. The planet Haran harbored only a handful of cities, and nearly half the Pneuma lived in rural isolation. Peck, the miller's son, loved his small town. The boy hauled bags onto a cart, bound for the granary, in the midsummer sun. Sweat beaded on the brow of his wedge shaped head. His steely blue skin glinted with the sheen of his labor. His tail twitched instinctively at the strange rumbling and his long neck tipped skyward.

Five sets of wings thundered toward Hinrooth, blotting out the sun. Their hides shone brilliant silver slashed on hip, wing, and shoulder with black streaks. The giant beasts disappeared from Peck's sight behind rooftops in the village square.