Sera and the Dragon

By Michael James Wilbur

Tasked by the mad king to rescue a beautiful princess, guard and aspiring samurai Jimmy Olsen Sakamota must scour the strange and wonderful country of Wenapaj with the aid of an ancient robot, an overeager student, a screenwriter, a possessed doll, and a neophyte soldier. With his friends at his side, Jimmy may have just enough strength, skill, and luck to rescue Princess Sera from the dragon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael James Wilbur
• Release date: Sep 16, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452488394

Michael James Wilbur

I'm an author of light fantasy and science fiction novels, my first being "A Dreamer's Knight"; and my latest being "Wisp - A Scarecrow's Tale". While larger themes may appear in my work, I'm simply out to provide an enjoyable experience to my readers ... and possibly a brief escape from the confines of this reality. I call myself a Dreamer, and while I lack the abilities of the Dreamers of the Elsewhere Incorporate, I do my best to leave things better than I find them, be it at home, at my secondary job, or in the world at large. Don't know if I'm really having an effect on any of those, but to try is the thing as far as I'm concerned. I sincerely hope you enjoy my work, and hope that you'll let me know if you do by writing a review.

Book preview

Chapter 1

A Message from the King

When I close my eyes, the Saybaro is there.

I hear the trickling of the river, the whispering of the wind through the long grass and the leaves of the ancient oak tree. I feel the warmth of Vinta’s twin suns on my face, the tickling of many small fish nibbling harmlessly at my toes as my feet float in the strangely warm water of the river. I smell the fresh country air and the sweet scent of the local wildflowers in bloom.

In my mind’s eye, I can picture everything with perfect clarity: the looming mountains, the sweeping plains, the remnants of the stone tile path surrounding the single tree in front of the dilapidated mansion I call home. More than anything, however, I see my bridge.

At the time of this tale, the simple construct of wood and stone showed definite signs of its age. One side of the once elegant whitewood railing was broken halfway across, the remaining railing would wobble at the touch of the weakest breeze. The boards creaked under my weight and vivacious ivies had long ago laid claim to the ancient stone supports and remaining railing, covering the bridge with purple and blue blooms during the last weeks of summer.

It was on one such summer day that I sat beneath the shade of the tree that stood between my home and my bridge, my attention caught in a book on the Streamer Arts. After marking my place and setting the book on one of the broken tiles near the old tree, I turned to face an empty cardboard box marked with the logo of the Zuen Mega-corporation. I took Glint, the battered ancestral sword of the Sakamota family, in both hands and closed my eyes.

I cleared my mind and focused on the sound of my breath. With each exhalation, the world around me faded away until all that was left was the sound of my breathing. I had done this hundreds of times; meditation was and is still a part of my daily routine.

As I held onto my mental focus, a stream of energy blew across my skin and through my hair like a warm breeze. This I knew to be the lifestream, the constant flow of life and magic that flows from Vinta.

The first stream was then joined by a second, faint at first, but gradually coming into focus. This one I knew well: it was the tree behind me, its stream old but comforting.

I gradually became aware of other streams from my surroundings: the river, the mountains that surrounded the Saybaro, and the ivies on the bridge. I could even feel the flow coming from Glint, its stream like that of an old friend.

It was my own stream that I felt last, and with it came a renewed awareness of all the others. At that moment, I could see the Saybaro as though my eyes were open.

Slowly, I reached out with my mind and pulled the separate streams into my own. As more and more energy poured into me, I could feel my own aura grow stronger. Opening my eyes, I saw the blue and green wisps of energy encircling my body. I shifted my focus to Glint, willing the wisps of energy into the ancient blade.

As the last few wisps of energy gathered in my katana, I felt the sense of anticipation that had been growing inside me reach a peak. Without a moment’s hesitation, I swung Glint at the box. A wave of prismatic light shot along the arc of my blade, spreading forward in a wave that hit the box dead center and sent it flying as though someone had given it a good kick.

I watched with mild surprise as the box spun high in the air, soared past my bridge, arced downward, and eventually bounced off the head of a familiar man wearing a golden band embroidered with the insignia of the Wenapaj Royal Family. He was Mox Wazoo Devon Ulyndia, leader of the Royal Guard, one of the King’s chief advisors, my boss ... and the closest thing I’d had to a father since my own passed when I was just a kid.

Wincing, I rushed over the bridge. By the Creator! Are you okay, Devon?

He laughed as he handed me the box. No harm, no foul, Jimmy.

I offered him my hand but he ignored it, clapping me companionably on the shoulder instead.

"It’s been much too long. He glanced me over for a moment before asking, New duds?"

Tugging at my black silk shirt, I said, This is a keikogi. Patting my black satin, billowy pants, I continued, And this is a hakama. I imported them from Earth.

"Well, it’s a good look for you, especially with your dark skin. I gotta say though, it makes your hair look almost completely white. By the creator, if it weren’t for your gray eyes, I wouldn’t believe you’re the same kid who showed up in the palace over a decade ago with that battered old sword."

"Katana, I corrected him, my hand brushing against Glint’s hilt. It’s called a katana."

"Still fascinated with that old Earth culture, eh?"

"A trained samurai can take down a troop of soldiers with nothing but his blade, even in this day and age, I said. I’m still a novice, but I can demonstrate if you want."

"No thanks, Jimmy. He reflexively put a hand to his head. My ears are still ringing from last time."

"As you wish. Gesturing to the mansion behind me, I asked, Are you thirsty? I’ve got some tea brewing in the kitchen, if you’re interested."

"Far be it from me to refuse your hospitality," he said, clapping me on the back again as we crossed my bridge and walked toward the mansion that had been my home for the preceding thirteen years.

According to official Wenapaj record, the Saybaro Mansion was nearly three-thousand years old. Built from wood, stone, and steel by a nobleman of the same name, the mansion had three floors that extended into the surrounding mountains and a deep basement that currently served as my larder. Back in the day, the Saybaro Mansion was home to over three-hundred people: friends, family, and servants of the long-departed Saybaro family. By the time I arrived, however, the third floor had collapsed onto the second floor, and only a few rooms on the first floor were still livable.

Of course, that was thirteen years ago. As I pushed open the double mahogany doors, Devon let out a low whistle.

"Damn, Jimmy, he said, staring around the restored foyer, You have been busy, haven’t you?"

The lobby floor was a collage of mismatched tile I scavenged from around the Saybaro. The only furniture to speak of was the old grandfather clock against the back wall, which held the switch that would allow access to the basement. Wide, sweeping staircases circled the walls of the lobby and led up to the sealed doors on the second and third floor landings.

Devon seemed impressed despite the lack of furnishings. If I ever need to redecorate, I’m definitely gonna give you a call.

I bowed my head respectfully at the compliment. Still a work in progress, of course. I’ve only just started clearing out the second floor.

"So the first floor’s done?"

"For the most part, but-"

"Well there you go! Devon said. Impressive work, especially out here in the middle of nowhere. Where did you get the materials, anyway?"

"Scavenging the ruins, I told him. And through the Weave. I found a good supplier that was willing to deliver."

"I’ll see about getting you some compensation on that, Devon said, still looking around. You are restoring a national monument."

"Any assistance would be appreciated, though not expected, I told him. After all, this is my home. Shall we go to the kitchen?"

My kitchen was a moderate-sized room with a black-and-gray tiled floor. A counter ran around the entire room, on which rested cooking devices I’d ordered throughout the years.

As Devon sat down at the table in the center of the room, I pulled two mugs from a cabinet and filled them both with some of the green tea I brewed to go with my lunch.

As I handed him a mug, he commented, Nice shot with the box, by the way. How long have you had the Streamer talent?

"Hard to say. I replied, sitting beside him, I only realized myself last winter. I was in the middle of my daily meditations when I opened my eyes and saw Glint levitating in front of me."

Devon laughed. I can see how that got your attention.

I smiled, not mentioning that Glint had fallen almost instantly once I broke focus, landing point-first only inches away from my leg.

Shaking my head, I asked, So, how has it been?

He shrugged. Same ol’, same ol’. One new thing, though; my oldest boy just joined the Royal Guard.

"Really? I’m sure you’re very proud."

"Oh, I am. He’s a bit timid, but he’ll make a good guard."

"I’m sure he will. He’s your son, after all."

Devon chuckled appreciatively, though there was a slightly uncomfortable tone in his voice I couldn’t help but notice.

"You aren’t here for the tea, are you?" I asked, lowering my mug.

He let out a sigh. I’m afraid not. I’ve got orders for you from King Iniagus.

"Truly? I said, curiosity piqued, What does His Majesty want with me?"

"Hang on a sec. After a few moments of digging through his pockets, Devon produced a folded piece of paper. On this, the thirteenth day of the third month of summer, in the Creator’s year of 77645, the presence of Jimmy Olsen Sakamota, blue-rank of the Royal Guard of Wenapaj is requested at the Royal Palace by his most benevolent, wise, and honorable royal highness, King Geraldo Iniagus XXVII."

"Do you know what this is about, Devon?" I asked.

He shook his head. He would only tell me that it was of the utmost importance that I bring you to him immediately. I tried to get more information, but-

Devon suddenly choked on his tea. Concerned, I asked, Are you all right?

"Bathroom," he muttered before heading toward the door on the right.

"It’s not that way," I warned him, but he was already gone.

Shaking my head, I cleaned the mugs and put them in their proper places. As I poured the remaining pot of green tea into a pitcher and set it in my refrigerator, I considered what the King’s new orders might entail.

While I had no desire to leave my posting permanently, the idea of leaving the Saybaro for a short time was worth considering. I hadn’t been near civilization for ages. It would be nice to see Yesrej again. Perhaps I could take the opportunity to pick up a few things for the mansion.

It didn’t seem likely that Devon would be back in the near future, so I decided to go ahead and gather a few supplies for the trip. Nothing too extreme, of course; just an overnight bag in case it took a little longer to get back than I expected.

As I crossed the tiled floor of the lobby, I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye.

Spinning about, I thought I saw a shadow beneath the western stairwell. When I hurried around the stairwell to investigate, however, I found nothing but an empty cardboard box filled with old books I recovered from the remains of the second floor library. I concluded that it had merely been a trick of light, or perhaps one of the cats that had a tendency to sneak into the mansion. It wouldn’t have been the first time I received a nasty shock from one of the mouse-hunting feline vagrants.

Shaking my head, I continued across the lobby and pushed through the doors that led to the west wing of the mansion. I had done more work in the west wing than in any other part of the Saybaro, mostly because my own living quarters were located there.

There were doors on either side of the corridor. The doors were unlabeled, save for the fifth door on the right: room 113.

Room 113 was my room, and had been the only livable room in the mansion when I first arrived. Despite my fascination with the culture that had inspired the samurai and my family blade, my room was much like the room I had back when I lived in Rimstak.

I walked around on the fluffy, dark blue carpeting, enjoying the feel of it tickling between my toes. My bed was still unmade; the comforter lay in a heap on the floor and the pillows rested on my desk. My previous day’s clothes hung off the edge of my computer monitor.

I approached my bookshelf. Pushing aside various science fiction and fantasy novels, I picked up a small box no bigger than my fist. It was just a simple wooden box, but the tourist who sold it to me assured me that no one other than myself would ever be able to open or break it. While that claim was debatable, I nevertheless used the box for my most precious of possessions.

As I opened its lid, I found myself staring at the picture of a man and a woman hugging each other. Both tall and thin, the man had gray eyes and light blonde hair while the woman had a slightly darker complexion and stark-black hair. They were smiling; the picture had been taken shortly after they had been married.

They were my parents. It was the only picture I had of them; most of our family possessions had been destroyed during the Corruption that had claimed their lives.

Just beside their picture was another, this one drawn and colored by my own hand. It was of Uncle Ann, the Rimstakken who had raised me after the death of my parents. Her curly red hair hung just past her neckline, and her blue eyes seemed to sparkle even in my drawing. I had even added a smudge of grease on her cheek, as that was how I always remembered her.

Shaking my head, I rifled through the remaining contents: a few pretty stones I had found in the river, a pressed flower from an old girlfriend in Rimstak, and a small device I made under Uncle Ann’s tutelage that did absolutely nothing aside from making an annoying chirping noise.

Beneath everything else, however, was something I valued above everything else, even Glint. I pulled it from the box and held it in cupped hands.

It was my mother’s wedding pendant, a heart-shaped ruby held in the grip of a golden ivy. It didn’t necessarily bring back happy memories, but it was the only thing I had of my parents other than Glint and the picture.

Shaking my head, I reluctantly set the pendant back into the box and grabbed the blue armbound. Iniagus was very lax in regard to uniform codes, but I wanted to wear it for the trip to the city; it not only marked me as a member of the Royal Guard, but also indicated my rank.

It took more time to find my backpack than it did to actually pack. I packed some clothes, my journal, and had just shoved a handful of shards into the side pouch when I heard Devon’s voice in the outside hallway. It was too muffled to make out, but he sounded like he was arguing with someone.

As I opened the door, I heard him say, … back to Iniagusville before-

"Excuse me?" I said, closing the door behind me.

Devon jumped, his arms inexplicably outstretched toward the door to the lobby. By the Creator! Don’t scare me like that, Jimmy! I don’t have any heart problems, and I’m not looking to find any!

"My apologies, Devon. I had no intention of-"

"No, it’s fine. You just startled me, that’s all. I was just having a word with one of the queen’s Shadows." He tapped his earpiece meaningfully.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. She’s just a bit further from her post that I would’ve liked, that’s all. Rubbing his hands together, he said, Ready to go?"

"You bet. I hefted my pack. Let’s head out."

Chapter 2

Catch a Ride

After shutting off the lights and locking the front doors, Devon and I left the mansion. As we reached the far side of my bridge, I couldn’t help but turn back to the Saybaro. My gaze slowly swept across everything: the bridge, the river, the mansion, the oak tree ... everything down to the small blooms on the ivies. I let every detail etch itself into my mind.

"Jimmy? I felt Devon’s hand on my shoulder. Are you all right?"

"I’m fine. Let’s go. Where’s your floater?"

Devon shook his head. The king’s been a bit stingy with issuing vehicles lately. I had to hitch a ride to Salutier before walking the rest of the way here.

I glanced down at his dusty boots and pant legs. I see. Well, I guess the next stop’s Salutier.

As we walked the five-hour hike to the nearest town, Devon shared some of the recent gossip from the palace. He mentioned names I wasn’t familiar with, situations that I didn’t understand, but it was interesting nonetheless. Occasionally, the conversation turned to a more political nature, but never for long. Vinta had known peace since before my birth, and Wenapaj was small enough to avoid the usual harmless squabbling amongst the nations.

During the conversation, he often spoke of a red-rank guard named Sera. Apparently she had beaten him at a recent tournament held specifically for the Royal Guard, ultimately winning second-place overall. I was somewhat annoyed and disappointed that I hadn’t been invited to participate, though I was careful not to let it show.

He was taking me through a blow-by-blow account of the fight for the third time when we finally reached the edge of Saluteir.

To this day, Saluteir is a small farming community surrounded with fields of waving trabia grain and patches of thorny nellberries. While technically a town, it’s really not much more than a small collection of farmers. The residents live in basic wood and plaster homes, most of which looked identical save for a few small elements and the occasional coat of paint.

A floater rental station was just inside the town, a large spinning sign proclaiming the name of the establishment, ‘The Rigger’s Folly Floateryard’.

It was a good thing the sign was there, as it didn’t look like a floater rental station as Devon and I approached. There was only one floater in the entire yard, and it was being repaired by a Galden woman with red hair kept in a long braid. She had a datajack in her neck with a wire running through the window of the floater, presumably attached to the computer interface inside. Her overalls and the smudges of grease on her cheeks reminded me strongly of Uncle Ann.

As we approached, she peered over her shoulder at us. With a lopsided grin, she called back, Sorry, gents. Most of my stock is out for mandatory company upgrade, and this old rust bucket ain’t going nowhere.

I walked over and crouched down beside her. What’s wrong?

She sat back with a sigh. Wiping the sweat from her brow with a dirty rag, she said, It’s the damn retro-thruster. It keeps flashin’ on an’ off, an’ makes the whole damn floater spin around.

I walked around to the back of the car. The hood was raised, exposing a small stream engine that was currently non-functional. I quickly identified the retro-thruster and yanked it off with both hands.

"Hey! She protested, Whaddya think yer doin’?"

Turning the thruster unit over, I saw the problem immediately. Ah, there’s the problem. The connection pins have corroded.

"Huh, she said, looking at the corroded pins. But why would that stop the engine from starting?"

"Safety feature, I said, glancing over the floater. Common in the Cresste-models, especially those manufactured in Rimstak. If the onboard computer detects a backup system is non-functional, it won’t allow the engine to start."

"But it’s just the retro-rockets. The main drive and the backup generator would have to fail for it to be needed. How often does that happen?"

I looked at her, uncertain if she was joking. When it was clear she wasn’t, I coughed and said, Let’s just say you’d understand if you grew up in Rimstak and leave it at that. Do you have a scrubber?

"Uh, I think so. Hang on a sec." She disconnected from the car and ran into a nearby shed.

I blew the dirt out of the old unit, and checked for other problems while I waited for her to come back.

"I didn’t know you were a tekker," Devon said, leaning against the side of the floater.

I grinned at him. Like I said, raised in Rimstak. You can’t live there for any number of years and not pick up a few things.

The mechanic exited the shed and hurried over with the scrubber. You sure this will work?

I nodded, taking it from her. It’ll be fine. See where the metal has turned bronze at the edges? Cyclide alloys do that when they lose their conductivity, but only on the outside. Scrape it clean, and it’ll be as good as new.

"Whaddya think caused it?" She asked curiously.

"Probably just use and exposure to air through small cracks in the casing. I finished grinding away the last fleck of bronze from the three connector pins and handed the scrubber back. Could you bring me some grease, preferably something with an anti-rusting agent?"

She pulled the caulk gun from the holster on her hip and tossed it to me. I put a small amount on each pin and smeared it over the exposed metal. There! That should keep it from degrading for a while. Okay, let’s see if that did it.

After I replaced the retro-thruster module, she jacked into the floater and closed her eyes in concentration. A few moments later, the small engine flared to life.

"Nice! She said, grinning at me as she disconnected from the floater, Here I was looking for a software problem. What’s your name, sweetie?"

"Jimmy Olsen Sakamota. I’m glad I could help."

She grabbed my hand and gave it a shake as she said, Nice to meet you, Jimbo. I’m Meryli Grange.

She tossed me a somewhat clean towel. As I wiped my hands, she asked, I don’t reckon I’ve seen you before, Jimbo. You from around here?

I folded the towel so the grease was on the inside and handed it back to her. I’m from the Saybaro.

Meryli seemed thunderstruck by this. Creator’s underpants! You actually live in that place?

With a questioning glance at Devon, I said, Yes ma’am. I’ve lived there for over a decade.

After a quick glance around the yard to make sure no one else was nearby (though only the Creator knows who she expected to see), Meryli said in a hushed tone, Granma Fauna went there as a little girl, playing hide-and-seek with her friends. She said she heard voices speaking in the basement. When they went to look, they were chased away by a ghost.

"Ha!"

Devon’s sudden laugh made us both jump. Ghosts! Jimmy, you’ve been there for thirteen years. Ever get spooked by a spook?

"I’m afraid not, I said, hoping Meryli wouldn’t be offended. Perhaps the spirit crossed over in the intervening years."

From the offended look she gave me, my attempt to placate her failed. Fine. Believe what you will then. It’s no skin off my nose.

"So, can we rent the floater?" Devon asked, smirking.

She nodded curtly to the unit I had just helped repair. Go ahead and take that one. I won’t charge ya this time since the gent helped fix ‘er.

I couldn’t help but watch her as she stomped back to her office. I thought she might be angry at me until she turned back and gave me a wink. I glanced briefly at Devon, feeling that he had intentionally provoked her but I was too polite to say anything.

It wasn’t a fancy floater, but the seats were well-cushioned and the radio worked. As we prepared to leave, Devon cleared his throat and said, You haven’t seen or heard anything, have you?

"Nothing comes to mind. Why? Is there something I should know?"

He shook his head. Nah, it’s nothing.

Neither of us spoke for the next hour. The dirt path surrounded by crops slowly became an asphalt highway with billboards and eventually other floaters. I even saw a few automobiles on the road, doubtlessly imported from Earth and refitted with Vintan technology. Instead of spewing smoke, they let out the wispy greenish-blue energy of recycled lifestream. Devon steered the car above the traffic to avoid the worst of it and swiftly returned to the ground.

"Bunch of nonsense," Devon muttered derisively.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It’s nothing, really. Noticing my continued gaze, he sighed. Look, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now. There’s no easy way to say this, but the Saybaro was built by the Glyche."

I could tell from both his tone and the way he kept glancing at me that he was worried how I’d take the news. He needn’t have bothered.

"Well, rumor has it that the mansion was a cover for a Glyche facility, He quickly added, Of course, it’s been searched and scanned hundreds of times, and no evidence was ever found of there being anything beneath the mansion other than the basement."

Looking at Devon, I asked, Was that why Iniagus posted me there?

"I doubt it. He may have been aware of the rumors, but even so … He suddenly let out a laugh. If he really suspected there was a Glyche facility beneath there, he’d have sent more than one fledgling samurai to guard it. No offense, of course. No, the mansion is technically under his domain, he just wanted someone there so everyone else would know it."

That wasn’t particularly comforting, but I didn’t say so out of politeness. It wasn’t his fault after all.

Chapter 3

Iniagusville

My memories of the city were rather limited; my first visit had been brief, and most of the city had been covered with various signs of construction. As such, I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect.

I felt my breath catch in my throat at the sight of gleaming silver skyscrapers that seemed to stretch impossibly high into the sky. Thousands of floaters flew over and through the city, looking like a swarm of glittering flies from a distance.

The only thing that seemed strange was the absence of Iniagus’s palace. I was fairly certain it had been in the center of the city during my first visit, but all I saw there was a massive chain tethered to the ground, the attached chain trailing into the sky and directly into the center of a thick cluster of clouds. I tried to see if it was attached to something, but the clouds obscured my vision.

The city wasn’t all high-tech. There were several areas we passed that had a distinctly different style: A small cluster of trees linked with a spider-web of bridges used by idestans, a homey-looking set of suburban houses and apartment complexes that most Shoran tribes prefer, and even a few environmental enclosures like those in Ronisgald, no doubt hiding larger living areas beneath the ground.

As we neared the edge of the city, Devon advised, Better put on your seat belt; traffic can be a bit rough around here.

He wasn’t joking; not ten minutes after our floater took to the sky, a freight floater six times our size pulled in front of our flight path. Devon pulled on the controls, swearing loudly as he barely avoided the collusion. Damn freight cars! Think they own the skies!

As I watched people on the streets below us, a sudden shudder jolted my attention back to the floater, where Devon was still struggling to regain controls.

"Devon?" I asked, worried.

"I’m having a little trouble here. He said as he tried to steady the floater to no avail. Engines faltering! Emergency retro-thrusters are firing, but they’re not enough to keep us in the air."

"So much for the safety redundancy, I said as the floater lurched from side to side erratically, as though trying to escape from Devon’s control. Glad I had taken his advice about strapping myself in, I asked, Can you get us to the ground?"

"At this point, I think we’re gonna end up on the ground one way or the other," he said through clenched teeth.

The floater descended rapidly, a cloud of green-blue stream energy billowing from the exhaust port as the floater’s stream engine flickered on and off. Without warning, the steering handles tore themselves from Devon’s hands and reintegrated into the console.

"What in Nocturnes," he managed to say as a series of straps secured us to our respective seats.

There was a loud bang followed by a bright flash of light, after which I found myself falling through the air while still strapped to my seat. I wasn’t falling for long; my parachute opened a few moments later with a gut-wrenching jolt.

Hearing the sound of another chute opening somewhere behind me, I tried in vain to turn around for a few moments before calling out, Devon?

"Yeah, it’s me. You okay, Jimmy?"

"I’m fine."

A gust of wind carried me away from Devon. I was helpless to prevent it; there was no way to steer the chair, and the ropes of the parachute were just out of my reach.

"Jimmy! Devon shouted, a separate gust carrying him in the opposite direction, Head to the nearest waystation and send a message through the-"

I did not hear the rest, as the wind coupled with the growing distance between us made his voice little more than a whisper. I looked around as best I could as I floated down through the honking floaters and floating billboard. Soon, the tops of trees began to rise from beneath me. As I continued to drift down, I realized that I was about to land in the very park where our floater crashed.

The park was empty save for a giant sculpture of a hand with the middle and pointer fingers held up vertically in the universal symbol of friendship and peace. The floater had crashed through the pointer finger, breaking it just above the knuckle, which left the middle finger standing alone.

The parachute caught in the branches of a nearby tree. Fortunately, I was close enough to the ground to slip out of my chair and land without injuring myself. The trunk of the floater was knocked open from the crash, so I was able to retrieve Glint and my pack with little trouble, both fortunately undamaged.

Still a little dazed, I glanced around the area wondering why there were no security force officers or royal guards. It seemed strange that the accident would go unnoticed in what looked like a public park. Deciding it would be in my best interest to leave, I started down a path that I hoped led out of the park. In my haste to leave, however, I nearly bowled over two people walking the other way. From their dark skin and pointed ears, I knew they were idestan.

"I beg your pardon." I sad, bowing politely.

The male started to reply when his eyes caught on the damaged statue. By the Creator!

He rushed past me and stood in front of the ruined sculpture . Who did this?

Feeling a bit guilty despite the fact that I was just the passenger, I opened my mouth to apologize.

He turned to me, a look of absolute wonder on his face. BREATHTAKING!

That certainly wasn’t the response I expected. I stood there in confusion while the idestan circled around the statue, talking nonstop.

"The classic image of peace, symbolizing the tie of friendship shared by all, broken by the floater! Notice, Casey, that it is the middle finger that remains undamaged, symbolizing not just the dangers of excessive dependence on technology, but the anger, the repressed rage buried in the subconscious minds of those trapped by it. Yet, despite the gravity of this image, we see the abandoned ejection chair from the wrecked floater ... a symbol that the one who was once trapped in the way of technology has escaped no worse for wear."

The red-haired idestan woman who the man had referred to as Casey rolled her eyes. The look she gave me said quite clearly, See what I have to deal with?

The art critic ran back to me. Tell me, is this your creation?

Before I could even open my mouth, he continued, Truly remarkable! I must report this find to the Institute immediately. What was your name again?

"I’m Jimmy Sakamota, but-"

"Jimmy Sakamota. Good! Good artist name. Casey, make sure you get it down. I’m off to the Institute!"

He turned to the statue and let out one final OUTSTANDING! With a shiver, he disappeared behind a sculpted hedge.

"Sakamota, not Sakamoto, right?" Casey asked, scribbling something in a small notebook.

"Yes, but I didn’t make this. It was an accident."

"I guessed as much. Still, if Meister says it’s art … She shrugged, and closed her notebook with a snap. Well, it was nice to meet you, Mister Sakamota. I’d better go catch up with him before he decides one of the traffic lights is a piece on transhumanism. I’d like to get back to Wukice before the next cycle."

As she started to walk away, it suddenly occurred to me to ask her the location of the nearest waystation. I hurried after her, but she had already walked past a thick cluster of trees and shrubs. I rounded the corner and immediately stopped dead in my tracks.

Just a few feet beyond the trees and grass of the park lay the city. Grass became concrete paved sidewalks, shrubs and bushes became traffic lights and computer access terminals, and trees became buildings and corner food stands. Some of the buildings were small, such as the donut shop just outside the park. The larger buildings, on the other hand, stretched high into the sky, seeming much taller than I’d realized during our approach to the city. Then again, at the time, I had been more concerned with not ending up a greasy smear on someone’s hood.

I took a few small steps onto the sidewalk, trying to look at everything at once and giving myself a sore neck in the process. Floaters practically lined the roads, barely moving in the thick traffic. Some were flying through the sky, weaving around the skyscrapers.

"Hey, watch it!"

I quickly stepped aside as a portly Galden man stepped out of a floater. Flashing me a contemptuous look, he sauntered off into the crowd, followed by two solemn-looking men in black suits. As he disappeared into the donut shop, a sudden surge of people swept through the street, taking me along with them.

I had never seen so many people at one time in all my life, not even when I lived in Rimstak. Hundreds, thousands of people were all walking along the sidewalk. Most of them were speaking on communicators and barely paying attention to where they were walking.

More than the number, however, the variety of the people astounded me. When I had first come to Wenapaj, most of the people were either Galden or Rimstakken. This made sense, as Wenapaj was on the border of Rimstak and near one of Ronisgald’s major Strands.

Times had evidently changed. While walking through the crowds, I spotted idestans, Shorans, Cleftans, and even a pair of sentients. The male was either an Alcian or a Sirenes, his blue-feathered wings partially hidden beneath a quilted cloak. The dark-haired woman with him had dragon-esque wings covered with ruby-red scales, a sure sign that she was Xemptarian. As they passed by, the two seemed to be arguing good-naturedly about a recent slamm match.

A few moments later, an android wearing a t-shirt and blue jeans parted the crowd (including me) as he rode through on a lightboard. He was followed by two others: a Galden with cybernetic legs and a little Rimstakken girl with goggles and a flight suit, both also on lightboards.

As I watched the three disappear into an underground tunnel, something suddenly occurred to me; there I was in a city of technology wearing the garb of an ancient samurai warrior. Even though no one seemed to be taking notice of me, I felt more than a little self-conscious about my dated appearance. That was, until I bumped into the man in plate armor.

More surprised than anything, I said, Oh! I beg your pardon.

He looked at me ... at least, he turned his head toward me. Truth be told, I couldn’t tell where he was looking. The only part of him that was exposed was the small opening in his helmet that started just above his chin and ended a little below his nose.

He immediately raised his hand in a salute, his voice younger than I expected as he said, Sorry, sir! I wasn’t watching where I was going, sir!

"Sir? I’m not …" I stopped, noticing the white band on the man’s arm. From what Devon had told me, white-rank was the lowest rank in the Royal guard, usually carried by new recruits.

"Uh, at ease," I said, feeling a bit less at ease myself. I never really thought of myself as having a rank. Sure, I had the blue band, which marked me as a specialist, but the only other member of the Royal Guard I had ever dealt with was Devon.

As the man in plate armor relaxed ever so slightly, I asked, I was told to look for a waystation, but I’m not sure where one might be.

"Do you want me to take you to the nearest station, sir?"

"Please, I said, smiling in what I hoped was a reassuring way. Call me Jimmy, if you don’t mind; formality has never suited me."

"It would be inappropriate for me to address you so familiarly, sir."

I sighed. Very well then, but I assure you I won’t be offended.

As he lead me through the city, I couldn’t help but notice that he was walking a bit stiffly; he obviously wasn’t used to the armor just yet. If that wasn’t bad enough, the young man was clearly nervous to the point of paranoia. Every now and then, he would look behind us as though checking to see if we were being followed.

After about the fifth time he did this, I turned myself to try and see what was distracting him.

I stared at the crowd for a moment before my eyes stopped on one person who was standing still a good distance away, staring right at us. Before I could get a proper look, the person ducked into a nearby alleyway.

"A friend of yours?" I asked.

"I don’t know what you mean, sir."

"Whoever’s following us. Who is it, anyway?"

"No one is following us, sir."

My companion was a bad liar. Still, the fellow was agitated enough at the moment, so I didn’t pursue the topic. As we continued on, however, I glanced back every now and then to see if I could catch a glimpse of the person again. Every time, the person would duck out of view just before I could get a proper look.

The waystation was a circular construction rather like an oblong dome made of stone. The glowing purple symbol above the spire on top of the building caught my eye. I didn’t know what the symbol meant, but I knew what it was: an area identification marker. Waystations are quite common in Rimstak; the only difference was that the node booths were contained in the waystation building, as opposed to just being out in the open as they were in Rimstak.

As we reached the entryway, the guard turned sharply toward me and saluted. I must return to the park area, sir.

Bowing, I said, Thank you, friend. What is your name?

He saluted again. Terry, sir. White-Rank Terry Ulyndia.

I gave him the same sort of reassuring pat on the shoulder