Synchronization

By Brooke Shaffer

Apparently, things could get worse, though Tommen is tired of the universe rising to the challenge.

Any hope he might have had that the Akarin could somehow vanquish Rifun died with their defeat, even as the man himself lived, nearly a god to his army as he appears to shrug off what should have been a fatal injury.

In the aftermath of the fortress battle, Tommen is sent on a new mission, to find Richard's third journal, thus completing the Order's collection of holy texts. What sounds like a simple task quickly turns into a much larger mystery as he bounces from planet to planet, speaking to royalty and space pirates and diving into ancient treasure vaults, all the while certain that something just isn't right.

But there is another force at work in all of this, and it will take Tommen to where the dimensions fracture and are woven together. And that's only the gateway into Hell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brooke Shaffer
• Release date: Jul 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781953113306

Brooke Shaffer

Brooke Shaffer was born and raised in a small town in Michigan with one blinking light and a stop sign that's more of a suggestion. After dropping out of college in 2013, she married her husband Adam in 2014 and they moved out to an even smaller town that doesn't even have a stop sign, where they started a farm that continues to this day. Her favorite animal has been and always will be cats, of which she currently has five. Other hobbies include video games, construction work and tinkering, traveling, martial arts, and eating.

Book preview

Synchronization

Book Eight of The Chivalrous Welshman

The Timekeeper Chronicles

by Brooke Shaffer

Copyright © 2023 by Brooke Shaffer

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means-electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other-except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written consent of the publisher.

Published in Michigan by Black Bear Publishing.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

ISBN

Hardcover: 978-1-953113-28-3

Softcover: 978-1-953113-29-0

eBook: 978-1-953113-30-6

For Reaves

Prologue

Self-Defense

Walter stared down the Hands as they looked down their noses under their shrouds at him and the small child clinging to his legs. He didn't like his son being bullied, and he wouldn't allow himself to be bullied either.

If my son is not permitted to train early, there may not be an Apprentice to train in three years, he told them. And you risk losing a Captain if you do not allow it.

There are other Captain-trained Masters on your world, one Hand said.

Yes, but what happens when word gets out, hm? Will they say that the Hands fear a small child? Will they say that the Hands fear even the probationary Timekeepers? He gestured to Tommen, staring wide-eyed at the shrouded figures. My son is no threat to you. But he faces a greater threat that has already harmed him and could even kill him if he is unable to defend himself.

They'd been going around in circles for well over an hour. The Hands said it was irregular. The minimum training age for humans had been set based on physical and mental maturity and capabilities. Walter's claim was that the outside threat was too great; they could make an exception. It was only basic probationary Banding skills, only used for getting away from the threat. The risk of Tommen accidentally revealing himself and his abilities to others was no greater than any other human Runner with ill intentions. And, being a child, he was more likely to master it sooner and refine his skills before his rebellious teenage years when he couldn't be made to give half a damn about anything but himself, his friends, and any girls he was fawning after.

Very well, the Zero Hour decided. You may teach him under the following parameters. Up until such time as he is of an age to become a probationary Timekeeper, he will learn only Fast and Slow Banding with the intent of escaping the threat, with no thought of doing harm. In the event that he acquires any residual abilities, he will not be permitted to hone or expand them. His primary Time education will be spent on knowledge. He will remain a probationary until the appropriate time when he may test for his Apprenticeship. His use of Time for self-defense does not grant him the privilege of testing until then. Furthermore, when his Apprentice review does come up, there is no reason he should not pass, as you say, with flying colors.

I understand, Walter stated. And I agree. Whole-heartedly. If I did not believe it necessary, I would not have brought it up in the first place.

The case was dismissed. As they left the Seat, Tommen asked, Am I in trouble?

Walter smiled and shook his head. No, you're not in trouble. Not in the least. Actually, I think I'm the one in trouble.

Why? For teaching me Speed Up and Slow Down?

Yeah. For that.

Why?

Because that's something big boys learn, when they turn thirteen. But I decided you needed to learn it early, so you can stay safe from Tyler Freeman.

Oh. Do I have to stop?

No, not at all. Actually, I want you to do it more. Just enough to get away, but don't be afraid to use it. I want to keep you safe.

"Okay. Diolch, Tad."

He looked down. Croeso, mab.

Chapter One

A Dose of Punishment

Tommen hit the ground, rolled until his hands and feet were under him, and skidded to a stop. He looked up just in time to see a great rhino horn bearing down on him. He slipped to the side, but not fast enough as the enormous rhino man Berkloff snapped his head back and caught Tommen in the side, sending him flopping like a fish across the floor. With his head still spinning, Berkloff got under him with his horn and threw him another thirty feet.

He lay on the ground, stunned. The day was December 27th, about five o’clock in the evening at home. After getting off work at two, Tommen had gone home to fix himself some food, do a little channel surfing, and text his girlfriend to figure out when they were going to sleep together next. He managed to accomplish the first part, about getting some food. There were still huge containers of leftovers from Christmas dinner in the fridge, and he fixed himself a regular three-course meal from them.

Once that was finished, he went down to his room, intending to do something or other—he really couldn’t remember—but when he pushed open the door, he found Julianna standing at the foot of his bed. Originally, he’d feared that Rifun had died and she was there to kill him. Instead, she politely informed him that Rifun had actually recovered very well in the last week and now wished to speak with him. Tommen couldn’t decide which was worse.

He followed her to the Akarin fortress, now occupied by the Cult—ahem, First Order of the Akari. But rather than take him directly to see Rifun, she explained that there was something that had to be done first. All the other soldiers had already gone through, now it was his turn. Originally, he might have expected a debriefing, a congratulations, maybe some kind of undeserved medal. Instead of an after-action report or debriefing or awards, however, he was basically taken to court.

He was accused of cowardice in battle, which he certainly didn’t deny. He was nearly accused of desertion, but that charge couldn’t really stick, seeing how he had been in the second wave of battle, and he himself had accompanied the Faharoa—that is, Rifun—to the meeting with the Akarin council in which the Akarin surrendered. But cowardice, well, that was a fact. He thought he might have stunned the panel by not trying to deny it and make up some heroic story about him killing twenty men with a single blow. Actually, his honesty seemed to confuse them.

Nonetheless, he was sentenced to a beating. They couldn’t really strip him of rank because he was already vaovao, the lowest man on the totem pole. He couldn’t be sentenced to any kind of prison time because the prisons were kind of full of, well, prisoners, all the Akarin who survived and surrendered. Plus they couldn’t just have a useless body taking up space and resources. Even the prisoners were put to work. And then there was that whole fact that he was the one who gave up the antidote to the Borelian poison and so saved the life of the Faharoa, going against even his own friend, Kayla, who’d been the one to stab Rifun.

In the end, he had to be punished for his cowardice, but anything beyond that would be left to the Faharoa. When looking for someone to administer an appropriate beating, the panel had to look no further than Captain Berkloff, the Korin with a real ax to grind. He was already bad-tempered, a perfectionist, eager to please his master. His youngest son, Kiffin, who had trained side-by-side with Tommen for months, had died in the battle. It was a great honor, certainly, but he was still dead. It was only made worse by the fact that Tommen was supposed to have been on the staircase with him when it was collapsed, but he’d been off stealing books from the Archives instead of actually fighting.

So Berkloff was extra enthusiastic about giving Tommen the beating he seemed to deserve. By the time all these thoughts went through his mind, he found that he was stumbling to his feet, only to be knocked aside by the rhino man once more. Berkloff had gotten down on awkward fours to fight him almost as a real rhino. But he was a humanoid, not an anthromorph, and could not go from all fours to upright and back again with ease. His lumbering gait was awkward and comical to watch, or it would have been, if Tommen had not been on the receiving end of that massive horn, or the keratin-like pseudo-hooves that passed as the man’s hands.

He knew he had broken bones. He could feel them. But the events of the previous week as well as past events dictated that he get up, get away, fight back, do something, do anything. Anything was better than lying there waiting to be picked off.

Thankfully, Berkloff did not give him a full body blow this time, but it didn’t take much to get him back down to the ground. Berkloff put his horn on Tommen’s chest, effortlessly weighing him down. There was a time when such a position would have terrified him, and that wasn’t to say he wasn’t a little afraid, but just as recent events made fights with Tyler Freeman look weak and petty, so now did true battle make Berkloff’s punishment feel like little more than time out at recess. He’d seen thousands of men killed, barely escaped being crushed under a collapsing staircase, barely escaped being crushed between floors, and watched as two sides faced off over a big red button that could have killed every single one of them.

Something must have shown on his face, or maybe something didn’t show. Berkloff grunted and suddenly pushed down with his horn, effectively giving Tommen a perfect CPR compression, including a couple broken ribs and maybe even a broken sternum. He tried to gasp in pain, but his chest could not expand for his lungs.

Stay down, Berkloff commanded, backing off and standing.

Obediently, Tommen stayed down, gasping for air and yet trying to keep his ribs from moving so they didn’t hurt so much. He coughed and tasted blood in the back of his throat. Closing his eyes, he reached inside his body, Feeling out all the injuries. More broken bones than he cared to consider, including his sternum. One lung was bruised and that was where the coughing up blood was coming from, but it really wasn’t anything too serious. His insides had been sloshed about a bit, but were otherwise in tact. His head hurt and there might have been a minor concussion, but certainly not worse than his skiing injury. The worst injury above his neck was a bruised cheek which was beginning to swell.

Taking a breath and calming himself down, Tommen Banded to heal what he could. The bruising and swelling, easy. Broken ribs, a little more difficult, a little more painful, but no different than letting them heal naturally as there was nothing any doctor could do for him. Bruised lung, same story. Once the pins and needles had passed, he felt around and did a reassessment.

His left arm, the one burned from shoulder to fingertips, that hurt like a mother. His elbow was sprained and his wrist was broken, he could tell. His collarbone was also sore. He right knee and ankle were pretty tender, too. Those were going to require a little more medical prowess. Time could condense the healing time needed, but it wouldn’t magically reset a bone or reattach a damaged ligament or tendon.

So he did the next best thing. He reached and felt his left leg, Felt how everything was supposed to sit, supposed to attach. What did it look like normally? Then he returned to the right leg. He counted himself fortunate that the knee was only swollen, but everything was still correctly attached. The ankle was sprained, but once he maneuvered it into the correct position, he was able to Band and heal. His collarbone had a hairline fracture which was causing the nerves to flip out, but no doctor was going to touch that either. He set his arm where it would normally be held in a sling, and Banded.

The only thing he couldn’t do was his wrist. He wasn’t able to set it, and if he couldn’t set it, he didn’t want to Band it. It would have to wait until he got home. He could make up some probable story about slipping on the ice and wanting to tough it out, wait until it got really bad before going in. It would be just like him. Then, later, he could tell his dad all about it, how he was a disgrace to the Order army and was punished for his cowardice in battle. He doubted his dad would be too disappointed in him, actually.

Stand up, one of the panel members ordered.

Tommen did so, gingerly testing out all his limbs, being gentle with his right leg until he was sure it was healed and could move normally. He approached the panel and stood at attention as best he could, keeping his wrist close to his body and forcing himself not to wince in pain.

There were five members of the panel, plus a few others: Berkloff, who administered punishment; a standby physician, ready with a medical kit, in case that punishment got taken too far; someone else whom Tommen figured to be Berkloff’s antithesis, the one who doled out rewards instead of punishments, but that was only speculation; and Julianna.

Tommen Forbes, your sentence for conviction of cowardice has been carried out, the head panel member—a hulking humanoid creature with four arms—told him, with about as much enthusiasm as relating what he’d had for breakfast. This conviction and subsequent punishment will be noted on your record and can only be changed by the Faharoa or a designated agent.

I understand, sir, Tommen replied.

You have been able to heal yourself of most injuries. However, it is noted that some linger. Report to the infirmary for treatment. Dismissed.

Yes, sir.

He left the recreational area, Julianna leading. There were twelve such recreational areas on the first floor of the fortress. According to some of the Akarin, those who were true Akari-bearers could use it as some kind of mind-reading holodeck apparatus. According to some of the Order soldiers, some of the Akarin had. Using the responsive nature of the recreational areas, some Akarin soldiers had conjured up infinite armies to scare the Order away. The nice thing was that it was only an illusion, and any of the phantoms that the Order cut down could be easily recreated. The problem was, it was only an illusion. Once the Order realized this, realized that the phantom soldiers couldn’t leave the recreational area, they simply avoided going into them.

Three of the areas had collapsed in all the earthquakes and the fighting. One was currently being used for an impromptu military tribunal. Four had been turned into various wings of an infirmary. One was being utilized by various engineers and architects to safely test out reconstruction ideas without having to actually worry about more cave-ins. Two more were used as impromptu cells and quarters for Akarin prisoners who were too weak to fight or help with repairs, and were considered very little threat to the Order. The last area remained strictly recreational, open to any and all who needed to relax or blow off steam.

Julianna took Tommen to one of the infirmary halls, the walk-in clinic if it could be appropriately called such. The other wings were of varying specialty and priority, from fatal wounds and burns, to minor fixes and outpatient surgeries. Generally speaking, the physicians were skilled enough in Time and Matter that even some severe operations by human standards were reduced to outpatient surgeries. It made recovery time a lot faster, but it also accentuated the grave nature of the more serious wounds.

Some of the soldiers had been wounded without ever getting to the front line, Tommen knew. That was the magic of portals, specifically microportals. Open a microportal for a knife, slice through midair, cut an opponent’s throat from half a room away. Shoot a bullet into thin air, open a portal to anywhere. They didn’t have to be big, nor did they last long, and it was almost impossible to tell who did it or where they came from, or where and how to fight back. Tommen hadn’t even been aware of the existence of microportals until the battle. Was that just something he’d been expected to know, or had it caught everyone by surprise?

It was a similar story with most of the fighting. Only those directly opposed to each other really did any hand-to-hand combat. Most of it was done from a distance. Time, Double Banding an opponent so they aged a hundred years in only a few seconds and dropped dead. Matter, taking the water out of an opponent and drying them up completely, or crumbling their armor. Energy, halting the flow of synaptic processes in the brain, putting an opponent at your mercy, if it didn’t kill them outright. Was it any wonder he had fled?

And here he stood with a broken wrist. Even now, almost a week after the battle, with all their abilities to speed up healing, the physicians were still overworked and understaffed. From what little conversation Tommen was able to pick out, more than half of the physicians had stayed back in the ruins, waiting to be called after the battle was won, or ready in the event of a defeat and retreat.

He smirked. Sadurnon had been called out for their harboring of intergalactic fugitives. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know Rifun was hiding in one of their underground cities; he’d asked politely to use it and they had agreed. The Order had actively helped the Elif as a means of rent.

The only reason they got called out was because he, Tommen, had written a note telling about the attack. His dad had found the note and taken it to the human colony planet Tacaga, along with a whole host of other information he’d been leaking for the last couple months about the Order, its numbers, location, and all that. Tacaga, being technologically superior to Earth in every way, had gone to the Hands of Time. They exposed the actions of the Elif and had been granted permission to completely decimate the ruins and scour the rest of the planet for other Order strongholds.

They’d been too late to stop the battle, as had been the plan, but a few goods things had come of it. For one, the Order still only had one base of operations, instead of two. Second, now everyone was aware of the battle, not just the Order and the Akarin, which meant Rifun and the Order were back in the spotlight. Third, it put a black eye on the victory, because the Order had left its backside exposed. Now they were down almost half of their physicians, and their little refugee camp had likely been decimated as well, which really didn’t go over well with public relations. And that wasn’t even accounting for losing most of the elite ambony force because Tommen redirected the initial invasion portal so it hit a black hole and sucked them all through, or most of them anyway.

The best part was that there was no way to pin anything on him. No one would believe he had the strength to curtail the portal like that. And as far as giving away the location of the secret base? Rifun himself had said that some Akarin had joined the Order after the Akarin split. Some of them could have easily been double agents. As far as Tommen was concerned, he was in the clear on both accounts.

Eventually, a physician got around to him. He felt the bones in Tommen’s good arm, did a little Feeling around—certainly much more gently than Tommen was capable of—reset the bones, then Banded his wrist until they healed. It hurt, and he cried out pretty good, but it was still better than having a cast for six weeks. He leaned against one wall, holding his wrist and gasping for air, not even bothering to try and maintain composure. That fucking hurt.

The only reason the pain lasted longer than sixty seconds was because of his arm. Because of the burn damage, it was hypersensitive. He’d learned to ignore the constant drum of pain that regularly fired off, but any time any new pain was added, the whole tidal wave moved through his arm and even his entire body. And, like a wave, it moved back and forth, growing larger for a time, and then mellowing out. It was a good minute or two before he was able to move and get going.

Didn’t you have a Funnel Band you developed for your arm? Julianna inquired.

I didn’t want to mess with the physician, Tommen answered tightly. By the time he released his Band, I was too slow to get it up.

I bet your girlfriend didn’t think so.

He blushed hard before his mind fully registered her words, and he followed her silently out of the infirmary.

The main floor of the fortress was originally dedicated to the non-essentials, like recreation. So far, only the recreational area had really been turned. The cafeteria remained in the same area with the same function, though the nutritional cubes had been replaced by real food. Tommen glanced in that direction, but said nothing. He was here for a purpose, and he had to fulfill that purpose. Maybe afterwards, if he was still upright, he would see about some lunch. Yeah, he just ate, but so what? He’d just gotten the shit beat out of him by a rhino. That was hungry work.

They emerged into the western corridor and made their way south. They might have gone north except the northwest stair had been completely collapsed. Looking back, Tommen saw that reconstruction efforts were presently concentrated in that area. If that corner could be stabilized, then relief efforts in all three remaining corners on all floors would be that much safer.

The southwest stair was unique in that it housed the only access to the lower portal room, which was now as heavily guarded as it was used, and the sub-levels.

The Lower Akarin had been holed up in the lower sub-levels. From what Tommen had heard, the Lower Akarin’s biggest mistake was getting involved, trying to bring the fight into the open. If they’d stayed holed up in the lower levels, they would have been able to bottle neck the Order forces and hold them at bay, possibly indefinitely. But in exposing themselves, they had, well, exposed themselves, and went the way of the Upper Akarin. Now they were held in their own prisons. The second sub-level was the prison for those deemed a powerful threat, and the third sub-level was for the majority of the prison force. They were generally unhappy with the arrangement and could make a fuss, but they could just as easily be subdued. They were also used for a majority of the work force when it came to repairing the damage to the fortress.

Tommen followed Julianna up the southwest stair. The second floor was the common barracks. Unfortunately for the Order, the Akarin fortress, while nearly impregnable, was not built to house an entire legion of soldiers for an extended period of time. The entire fortress itself wasn’t big enough to properly house all the soldiers and all assorted necessities therein. It could comfortably house twenty thousand for a short time. Cramped quarters and an even shorter stay could push it to a hundred thousand or so, depending on the aliens. When all was said and done, between the Order and the Akarin, they were looking at about a quarter million soldiers, give or take.

The fourth floor was officer barracks. That was where the higher officers like Berkloff were moved to, as well as what remained of the ambony. There was still some room left over after that, so some of the offices and meeting rooms from the third floor had been moved to the fourth floor, and part of the third floor had also been turned into barracks, mostly reserved for the afovoany and some of the lesser officers, like the instructor aides. The second floor barracks were primarily vaovao and afovoany. Space limitations meant that the lines were not so clear cut as they had been in the ruins, and the two groups were often housed together. Space limitations also allowed greater freedom for those like Tommen who were of Unengaged races and couldn’t just disappear for weeks or months at a time to live among the Order.

Nowhere in the fortress was unscathed from battle. Cracks ran the length of the walls, ceilings and floors were cleft right down the middle, uneven and unsteady in places. Doors hung sideways on their hinges; most had been removed entirely. Everywhere, there were signs of reconstruction efforts. Braces and scaffolding had been installed, tools laid out, ready for the next phase of a restoration project. Large creatures with mighty strength held up or held back rock so it could be repaired using Matter and Energy. Small creatures, able to get into the tiniest cracks and crevasses, scoured through said cracks, looking for weak points or pointing out better uses for a particular tool or method.

It was a bit like magic, watching a bunch of wizards use their scepters to magically fit broken rocks back together. All it was, really, was using Matter to examine the composition of a rock and its surroundings, then using Energy to superheat the rock and essentially weld it back together. Every so often, Tommen and Julianna had to be careful to step around or otherwise avoid such work, as hot magma would drip from the ceiling or bubble up from the floor, like a bunch of tiny volcanoes.

The three major areas of construction were the northwest stair, first and foremost, then the other stairs, then the main floor and on up. The stairs were the pillars of the fortress; if they went, the whole place was liable to collapse. The closer one got to the northwest stair, the more uncertain his steps became. After that, it was a matter of strengthening the foundation and ensuring each successive floor was solid and secure.

For the most part, Tommen felt pretty secure on the second and third floors. They had seen a lot of action and a lot of bloodshed, but the cracks and crevasses were the least of the problems this place had, by way of renovation. And, the way he figured it, if a hundred thousand soldiers of all shapes and sizes could go glomping around without much issue, then he probably wasn’t going to suddenly break the camel’s back.

Now, the higher floors? Yeah, those made him nervous. The fourth floor itself wasn’t too bad, but he had serious doubts about the ceiling, even with the added bracing. The sixth floor had collapsed into the fifth floor. Well, the floor of the fifth floor was the ceiling of the fourth floor, and the bowing of said ceiling made him very nervous. It looked a bit like a suspended tarp full of rocks; eventually, the tarp was going to rip open.

The fifth floor was a mess of rubble, with virtually no discernible features other than where it should have been. Where the corridors branched off from the staircase was the only indication of said corridors. Other than that, it was like a bomb had gone off and the roof was suddenly twice as high as it should have been. With that loss of structural stability, Tommen wasn’t keen on going higher. With the collapse of the sixth floor, all of the staircases became shaky and uncertain. Part of the northeast staircase had been destroyed because of it, and it was impossible to get to the eighth floor from the fifth floor, as it just ended, a gap up until the stair rejoined at the seventh floor.

The sixth floor hadn’t been much of a loss, really. It had been a weapons cache. Small, personal weapons. Knives, guns, bows, things of that nature. But it was a shame that the fifth floor had been destroyed. It had contained the Akarin Archives. While not as big or dizzyingly impressive as the Wheel Archives, it had been more like a step into history with scrolls and old codex manuscripts, right there alongside true printed and bound novels. The foremost of these had been the Authored Books. Perhaps the only good Tommen had managed to do during the battle was save those Books, though he questioned whether it had been worth it as Rifun had confiscated them for his own ends.

Tommen swallowed as he looked over the edge of the staircase to the atrium, a straight shot to the main floor. That was a long way to fall. The staircases here were not like staircases on Earth. One staircase here was like four at home, so being on the fifth floor here was like being on the twentieth floor at home. That was a long way up, a long way to fall. He could feel Julianna’s gaze, how she silently mocked him. He took a breath and continued up.

The seventh floor was perhaps the most frustrating one to have been cut off as it was the primary food store of the whole fortress. Right now, they were running off the cache on the first sub-level, but that wouldn’t last long. The seventh floor was where it was at, and it was nearly impossible to get to easily.

Only the northeast stair went all the way to the eighth floor, so, on the southwest stair, Tommen and Julianna disembarked on the seventh floor and made their way along the south corridor to the southeast stair. Only a few people were on the seventh floor, large aliens capable of hauling the large containers of food and other nutritional sustenance. None of them really acknowledged Tommen or Julianna. Part of it may have been the load, as it largely blocked their view. Part of it may have been just the dull monotony of hard labor.

They bypassed the southeast stair and headed up the east corridor to the northeast stair. As they stepped out onto the platform, Tommen paused. On the one hand, he was glad to have a way up here that didn’t involve manipulating Gravity to move enormous slabs of stone to walk almost straight up to the eighth floor just as a show of power. That didn’t make the view any less terrifying as it was now the equivalent of falling twenty-eight stories—about to become thirty-two. It certainly didn’t help when the stairs themselves moved with just their weight. He was about one-eighty, tops. Julianna, one-thirty soaking wet. So with a combined weight of just over three hundred pounds, and the staircase was wobbling, it was not a comforting thing.

The eighth floor only had one real room. It housed the inverter which kept the entire planet from tumbling into a black hole. As a side effect, it also made it so the fortress could bypass the temporal Energy of the Wheel in order to make it easier to open a portal in a specific location, that is, one of two portal rooms. The first was on the main floor that everyone knew about, but the second was an emergency exit on the eighth floor, just off the inverter room. Given that the only choices one had when trying to open a portal into the fortress was either a portal room or a black hole, blind portals were greatly discouraged. All in all, the fortress was strategically sound and nearly impregnable. Nearly.

The staircase ceased to shake when they stepped on the platform for the eighth floor. Tommen’s stomach rejoiced at that, yet remained twisted for the fact of what came next. The last time he had seen Rifun, the man had been lying on the floor with a knife in his chest, bleeding and seizing violently. Tommen had given up the antidote to the Borelian poison in order to save this man who had killed his friend, tried to kill his father, stolen part of his hearing. All in the name of some no-kill vow? If anyone ever asked him what possessed him to do it, he could honestly say he didn’t know.

Julianna stepped inside the inverter room, and Tommen reluctantly followed. Initially, he was stunned by the change. Before, it had been all business, a war room for the Akarin council to debate whether the time had come to push the big red button on the control panel. Now, it was decidedly...homier. A bed had been erected, a rug laid out on the floor. Some of the weapon racks had been moved to make room for chests, dressers, and tables of varying shapes and sizes. One corner had been sectioned off for reasons Tommen didn’t want to think about. Overall, it looked more like some oversized office that someone had decided to convert, badly, into a studio apartment for someone to rent on the cheap. On one wall was an enormous board, half whiteboard, half pinboard. Some stuff was written on the whiteboard, a few notes on the pinboard, but it was all foreign to Tommen. Probably Malagasy, if he had to hazard a guess.

It wasn’t as sinister as he thought it might be. There was no shark tank, no pack of Dobermans or Rottweilers, no trap door in the floor. It was just an apartment for a dude. With a big, red, world-ending button in the middle, but hey, every place has its quirks.

In the middle of it all was Rifun Ndolo himself. Tommen almost didn’t recognize him. He didn’t wear a Disguise, but a change of clothes did wonders. On a normal day, the man couldn’t be bothered with much more than a hoodie and jeans. During the battle, he’d elected to wear Borelian battle gear. Today saw him in cargo pants and a button down shirt. The only indication he gave that he’d suffered a mortal wound was the gauze on his chest, visible against the fabric of the shirt. Otherwise, he did not falter, limp, gimp, hunch over, or show any kind of favoritism. Tommen might have said he looked a little paler than normal and maybe had a little trouble breathing, but that was only because he knew what to look for and why.

You like it? Rifun asked, looking around the room. I admit, it’s not my best work—certainly not as great as what I accomplished in the Wheel—but it’s cozy.

He began walking toward Tommen who was still only a couple steps in from the door. As he walked, Rifun began unbuttoning his shirt, a small chore considering his missing fingers. He pulled the one side open and peeled back the gauze. A single line of stitches, about an inch and a half to two inches long, just off to one side of the sternum. Nothing gory, nothing scary, providing only slightly more interest than the twisted scar flesh surrounding it.

Thought you might like to see the damage, Rifun said. Or all that remains of it. There’s a similar mark on my back. I’m told I have you to thank for giving up the cure for the Borelian poison.

Um...yeah, Tommen said. He cleared his throat. Yes, sir.

Please, Tommen, you don’t have to be so formal. He gently replaced the gauze, smoothing the tape on all sides. Say what’s on your mind.

Tommen made a tight sound, then asked, You’re not going to rape me, are you?

Rifun paused and looked at him, his expression completely baffled. Why the hell would I rape you? I wouldn’t rape you. I wouldn’t even hint a proposition, even if I were in a good mood right now. He shook his head, began buttoning his shirt back up, and walked away. Believe me, Tommen, regardless if you had been the one to stab me or save me, I have no inclinations toward you. That’s not how I get off. He leaned back on a dresser, elbows resting on top, facing Tommen. Though it is a curious choice of topic. If I remember correctly, Christmas was the day you were supposed to finally get some. He grinned as Tommen blushed. That’s what I thought. But why is it that you thought I was going to rape you? Between getting stabbed by your friend and you subsequently saving my life, that I would somehow seek either retribution or amusement? He shook his head again. No. As I said, you have nothing to worry about there.

Relief flooded Tommen, though he was careful about making it too obvious.

Now for the real question, Rifun went on, more serious now. Why did you do it? I know you’ve at least fantasized about my death, probably numerous times. Julianna gave me one explanation, but I want to hear it from you.

Tommen took a level breath. I will not kill. Julianna was going to kill Kayla. If I wanted to save her, I had to save you.

Please, Tommen, we all know Kayla can handle herself. Barring that, she was certainly more than willing to die in order to kill me. And you knew that. I can understand that battle can take its toll, and you certainly saw some terrible things. But only a fool believes that he can save everyone.

Then perhaps I am a fool. Because here we are. You’re alive. And Kayla’s alive.

Rifun grinned. Here we are. He shifted his stance, Banded briefly, then continued. "I can also respect the notion of a no-kill vow. It works wonders for animal shelters, but is wildly impractical in war, for obvious reasons. Even conscientious objectors understand that in war, people die. Most often, those conscientious objectors have something of a moral compass, compassion for both sides, much to the dismay of their superiors.

"So here I am, once again, questioning your motives. I will give you credit. In the time that we’ve known each other, you’ve gone from being wildly predictable, to being just a touch unpredictable. I can respect that. At the same time, perhaps I myself am afflicted with a touch of survivor guilt, wondering why in the world you saved me.

"On the one hand, you could be a humanitarian who believes in saving as many as possible while the battle rages on, and, once the fighting is done, it’s done. Kayla got in a cheap shot. The problem with this is that most humanitarians still believe in justice. They may have saved me in the hospital, but would happily deliver me to the electric chair once a verdict has been rendered. As you enjoy pointing out my crimes, I can’t believe that this is the case.

"On the other hand, perhaps you finally chose your side. Perhaps some semblance of military order finally seeped into your brain and you discovered great respect for and loyalty to your superiors. I find this highly unlikely, however, seeing as you just took a beating for cowardice in the first wave. Considering that you took the time in the second wave to visit the Archives and take the Authored Books, I’m guessing you didn’t do a whole lot of fighting or medic work then, either.

On another hand, it could have been something reflexive, a child sitting in the corner while Mommy and Daddy scream at each other, all the while shouting, ‘Stop, stop, please, just make it stop!’ I find this explanation the most plausible. You want both sides to get along, want both sides to live and be happy, and you can’t bear to listen to the screaming anymore, especially after the battle had already been won. Do I have that about right?

Tommen elected to remain silent.

He is learning, Rifun mused. He stood up straight and again approached. "Well, here’s the thing. Mommy and Daddy aren’t just screaming at each other anymore, they’re going for the full divorce. In this case, Daddy is winning custody. And as in most cases, I have no problem with you, the child. I just can’t afford to lose you to Mommy.

To that end, you will be joining your vaovao friends on journal study nights. War is confusing, especially when you have no foundation of beliefs to either justify or rebuke it. You see me as evil; the Order sees the Akarin as misguided, if not evil. What does it all mean? I want to help you understand so that the next time Mommy and Daddy fight in front of you, you won’t be the scared child in the corner, but can take a side.

Your side, you mean, Tommen cut in. Do I get education on Akarin beliefs as well? It would be a more well-rounded education. And if all they need is a small correction in order to come to your side and see the light, the flaws should present themselves. I am a huge skeptic after all.

He didn’t like the man’s expression. It was one he got when he was already five steps down that road and knew what was coming. That you are. And while I appreciate the thoughtfulness of your suggestion, I don’t think the Akarin would take it very well. You may have noticed, but relations are a little sour between us right now. Maybe wait a bit until things have cooled down and smoothed over, hm? And before you get all huffy over the rest of your Christmas vacation getting ruined, it won’t be any time soon. It’s hard to hold class in a collapsed fortress, so construction efforts naturally take precedence. This also means that regular training is also being put on hold, though you may still get called to help with some of the physical labor.

Yes, sir. But if I may ask, if you were skeptical about me in the first place, why not send me to journal studies sooner?

Because, quite frankly, I needed a fresh perspective on things. You said it yourself, these people idolize me. You know what that makes them? Drones. All the same. When it comes to ideas, all we have is multiplicative idiocy. You were the outsider, the skeptic, the one who hated my guts and would do anything to see me dead, but have no power to effect anything to that end. But you also had a working mind, one that could come up with great plans that might be seen as service to me, while secretly trying to get me killed. All I had to do was flesh out these plans and run with them to the end, see how they might work, how I could turn them in my favor.

And make yourself the good guy, Tommen finished. Train me, when the Akarin wouldn’t. Offer peace to the Akarin and have them make the first move.

Exactly. Make no mistake, however. I am exceedingly grateful that you chose to save my life, but I do not in any way believe that you are loyal to me. You have to prove it to me. Over and over and over again. But before you can trust me and I you, you must have an understanding of what is going on here, what we believe, why we did what we did. Otherwise, it’s just a centuries-old cycle of revenge. Someone has to be right.

How do you know it’s you?

Clearly, the Author has shown us favor here. And if that’s not enough, well, we could stand here all day and debate theology. I figure to let more learned men than me explain things. Go straight to the source material, as it were.

Tommen immediately thought of Kayla, telling him to bypass everything and go straight to the Author. The journals, the Authored Books, the Order, the Akarin, children playing in the sandbox. Find the Author, find the material that matches it. Figure out what the Author really wrote and fuck the rest of them.

Furthermore—and this is more of a bit of philosophy for you to chew on for a while—I want you to consider your actions against your plans. You seem to believe that the Order, the Akarin, and the Hands, all together could defeat the Borelians. As I’ve mentioned before, this is still genocide. That means people die. A lot of people. You’re the one who proposed the plan in the first place; now you take a no-kill vow. The Borelians are still a threat. New Year’s Eve is a pretty big target. If something happens then, what are you going to do? The Borelians are relentless, especially when they know they have the upper hand, which they do. Are you going to be the one to stand before their firing squad and tell them they have to leave? Are you going to make them? Rifun took a step back. As I said. Just something to consider over the next few days.

Do you know what they’re planning, where they’re going to attack? Tommen wondered.

Sadly, since murdering all the Borelians in our ranks, I do not. I am not privy to such information. I expect that, while it may take some time as the aftermath of this battle gets sorted out, the Borelians will hear of my treachery. Of course, like Charleston Police, I’m already at the top of their Most Wanted list. A few more bodies isn’t going to make much of a difference. Except this time, I’ve lost all my insurance. Isthim, General Misik, all of them.

Rifun casually shifted his stance. It’s a similar situation to the one between Tacaga and Sadurnon, wouldn’t you say?

Tommen felt the color drain from his face. I...did hear there was a raid.

The man’s expression was unreadable. Did you really think you could get away with something that big? I will admit, it was very clever of you to use Tacaga—devoid of my influence—as a private conference center. I can only imagine the things you told your dad and Kayla. Oh, wait, I don’t need to. Because Sadurnon is now lost to us. Seems this battle came none too soon, hm? Except I imagine you warned them about that, too. Perhaps they tried to head us off and arrived just a bit too late. I’m not entirely sure; I still have some catching up to do from the few days I was out. But rest assured, I will find out. Unless there is something you’d like to tell me now?

Tommen took an even breath, let it out. Honestly, I’m just tired of the fighting and the war and the threat of war. It feels like it’s been a non-stop thing, ever since last year with the murders and the elections and everything else. Fine. You won your war here. Now that it’s over, I’d like to get back home to Earth and figure out a way to stop the Borelians. And if—

Are you done? Rifun cut in. Let me spell it out for you. The Akarin are defeated. The First Order won. You went out on stage and made a scene, defying Kayla and saving my life. You will never not be part of the First Order. That’s a hard thing to take in, which is why I am sending you to journal studies, so you do have an understanding. To that end, I also fully expect that everything we say and do will get reported back to your dear Daddy and Kayla. So I want a little something in return. I want regular reports on their progress in defeating the Borelians, whether it be cures for their poisons, planetary defenses, everything. And because I don’t trust you, you are going to report everything directly to me. It’s easy to lie to Berkloff when the man hates you and you can’t please him one way or the other. It’s much harder to lie to the man who holds reward in one hand and punishment in the other, and who can read you like a book. And whom you saved.

Yes, sir. If I may ask, are the Borelians the next target?

I only said you are reporting to me. That doesn’t mean you get a promotion. I’m having a hard enough time with inter-faction politics. If I do have something else for you, I will let you know. Dismissed.

Tommen nodded, turned, and made to leave. He hadn’t gotten more than two steps before Rifun called to him again and he turned.

And just so we’re clear. I am grateful that you saved my life. Never think I’m not.

Yes, sir, was all he could manage.

He started down the stairs. Okay, so, he was free to tell his dad everything that went on. Problem was, the battle was already over. Not a whole hell of a lot was going on. Construction, politics, all the boring clean-up. If the most exciting thing that happened was he had to come to a few extra classes to read some boring ass journals, well, intel would be limited, say it that way. He didn’t expect that Rifun would bring him onto his secret war council and impart dastardly schemes which he could relay to underground intelligence. Probably the only reason he wasn’t being punished even more for snitching and getting the Tacagans involved and everything else was because he’d saved Rifun’s life.

Julianna caught up to him on the stairs somewhere around the fifth floor, or what remained of it. Despite there being a second portal room on the eighth floor, they were made to go all the way back to the main floor, to the main portal room off the southwest stair. He did not complain, however, lest he put his foot even farther down his throat. He really just needed to keep his mouth shut.

Rifun will contact you when he is ready for you, Julianna began as they stepped off the stair onto the main floor. It may be for physical labor in reconstruction, journal studies, or because he wants a report. The aftermath of battle is always messy and timelines are nebulous, so you may have to be patient.

Well, I’m not exactly in a hurry, Tommen told her honestly. If possible, I’d really kind of like to spend this Christmas vacation not worrying about me dying, my dad dying, or anybody else dying.

I’ll be sure to let the Borelians know.

With that sarcastic comment, she opened a portal into his bedroom, and he stepped through.

A few hours had passed. The house was quiet. His dad was gone to work. As his phone finally found signal off a tower, it gave a buzz.

When can we get together again? he’d texted a few hours ago. When will you let me?

Becky’s reply had come in about an hour ago, but he’d been a little busy. And halfway across the universe with no cell signal. Tommen, we’ve already stepped over that threshold. We can do it any time we want. When we won’t get caught obviously. Come over, and if we want to, and we can, then it’ll happen.

He liked the sound of that, actually. No more tiptoeing around the issue, pushing just a little more, toeing the line. As she said, they’d crossed the line. They’d both given up their virginity. Sex was theirs to explore now. Kind of like being married, but not really. They still had to keep it secret from their parents. But there was no more waiting. If it happened, it happened. Him and her, her and him, together. Joined at the hip.

He looked at the time. Even if her mom was off to work, her dad would be home from his practice by now, otherwise he would have gone right over. As it was, he could still probably Funnel Band the room. It would give the illusion of danger while removing any real threat. It was a tempting proposition, but he decided against it. For now, while they were still new and exploring, they would have to play everything super safe. He would pull out the party tricks later.

After a minute or two of consideration, he pulled out his phone and dialed his dad. To his surprise and relief, he picked up.

Hello? Walter wondered.

Dad, it’s me.

I see that. Is everything all right?

Is it safe to talk?

Sure, for a minute. If you’re really worried, speak in Welsh. What’s up?

I got called to the fortress to speak with Rifun.

Yeah? How’s that son of a bitch doing?

Up walking around, no worse for wear, from what I can see. Same smirking asshole he always is. But he’s basically given me the green light to talk to you. It’s like Kayla said, I made a spectacle of myself, word gets around. He says the only thing he wants in return is updates on our progress against the Borelians, seeing how he murdered all of them that were in the Order. He also says he knows that we used Tacaga to talk, and that I’m basically the one who set them on Sadurnon and the Elif. The only reason I’m not being punished for it is because I betrayed humanity and saved his life.

His dad grunted discontentedly. Well, I’m heading to Tacaga tomorrow morning once I get off. If you don’t go, you won’t have anything to give. If you do go...

Dad, he murdered his twenty best warriors and completely destroyed any future alliance with the Borelians. I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing if he knows. I don’t really care if he knows. If he wants to destroy them, more power to him. And I never thought I’d say that.

You may be right, but I’m still not a hundred percent. Rifun has proven himself more clever than we give him credit for. I think we should be careful.

All right. I’ll probably sit this one out then. One missed meeting won’t kill me. I wasn’t going to every single meeting before, either.

Very true, and anyway, this one is meant to be a little more serious and higher up. Not exactly open to the public.

Got it.

I’ll give you the gist when I get home. If he has to know what we talked about, you can give him a summary version.

Tommen nodded though his dad couldn’t see. That might work. Okay, mostly I just wanted to let you know that we don’t have to be so secretive about it anymore.

Good. It’s a relief. And I’m glad you’re home safe and sound.

You’ve been saying that for the last week.

And I still mean it. I love you, Tommen. I don’t want to see you get hurt because of a psychopath.

I don’t want to get hurt because of a psychopath. Anyway, I’ll let you go. See you in the morning.

See you in the morning, kiddo.

Click.

Chapter Two

A Dash of Sugar

Sunday nights weren’t usually too busy for the county boys. People had to be to work early in the morning, so antics and shenanigans, if there were any, typically tapered off about nine-thirty, ten o’clock. It made for an easy night for Walter who got off at the correct time, more or less. He punched out, but did not head home right away. Instead, he made a quick trip to Laura’s apartment. His girlfriend, accustomed to being woken up at all hours on account of her work on the ambulance, was a light sleeper and an early riser. She wasn’t too thrilled about being woken up at five-thirty in the morning, but it was one of the last times for a while that they would be able to have breakfast together.

Walking in the apartment, Walter saw stacks of boxes as Laura prepared to return to Minnesota to help care for her elderly father who had been given only a few months to live because of a multitude of health problems. Breakfast was uncharacteristically quiet. Walter wished he could find some way to lift her spirits a little; he hated to see her sad when she left. Laura assured him that breakfast with him did lift her spirits, and she was ready to skip ahead a few months, just get the whole thing over with. He didn’t try to talk her out of it. He was the one who talked her into returning in the first place. It was the right thing to do. That didn’t mean the separation was going to be any easier on either of them.

He left her apartment in a sullen mood and went home. It was a little past seven. The first thing he did, after taking his shoes and coat off, was go down the hall and push open the door to Tommen’s room. The teenager slept, though he did not sprawl like he used to. Rather, he lay on his side, every muscle completely rigid, ready to fight. He did not twitch or yell or struggle, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting the demons he’d brought back with him from the battle. Tommen hadn’t talked about it, but Kayla had told him enough to get an idea of what had happened. Walter had never been in war; all his fighting came in bars or other, much smaller, slightly less violent affairs. These were demons he could not help his son understand or overcome. That was why he’d had to call a shrink. He wouldn’t be available until after New Year’s, but it was a start. Tommen denied it now, but he knew he needed help. He’d asked for that help; he was going to get it. Just not until after New Year’s.

That was assuming the human race made it past New Year’s. Halloween had been a huge target because of all the costumes and how easy it had been for the Borelians to blend in. New Year’s would be an even bigger target just for the sheer volumes of people as they gathered in large areas. Times Square? A neon bullseye.

Tacaga had developed planetary defenses which they used to keep the Borelians at bay on their own world. They were working on similar measures on all human worlds, but it took time as each world had to be calibrated differently. They’d also agreed to hide a chemical engineer from Earth so he could work on solving the mystery of the Borelian poisons and finally unlocking the key to a universal cure. The preliminary data suggested it was as simple as glucose.

Right now, the question was whether they would get anything more than preliminary data. In the negotiations before any work had begun, Tacaga had claimed all rights to the cure, its production and development, its distribution, but most of all, its secrets. Tommen had basically announced to a huge audience, a huge swath of species, the preliminary findings. Maybe the findings only worked on humans; maybe they would be proven wrong, or prove to be more intricate than