The Spatial Shard
Epilogue: Picking Up the Pieces

Javier and Sport arrived in time to pick up Sharon and get out of the area before the ‘rockets’ hit. Interesting choice of word: rocket. The fire suppression barrage rained down on a city that looked like it had become a war zone. Standing atop Qualcomm Stadium, they watched as the city re-engaged itself and started down the long path that would eventually lead to a time and place where people did not mourn the passing of family, friends and other irreplaceable items.

Though they had made a noble effort to stand as heroes, they felt more sorrowful than most of those who were native to the battered city. Whether she was called Sadaga, Wilma or Tempest, the hole her passing left in each of them seemed unapproachable. That hole was deepest in the one she had called her Fighter. He stood right next to Sharon and leaned against her body. He would allow no one or nothing else to touch him. She carried Wilma’s sword for him, as he had grown too weak.

“We need to get going,” Sharon said softly as she saw Rannis recall the lost Purgh. They were lucky; there were others from Undertown here who had their own means to get back to the Pointe-side of the Nexus. A stroke of greater luck was that even after the body sores Rannis had put on them, they were not moved to complain about bringing Nightmare and crew along with them.

“Why? Why, Legion? Wilma… dead! My sister lost!”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Sharon said, taking off her helmet and kneeling to face Gordon. She took off his helmet as she spoke. Electra had quickly cued Nightmare to erect a scrambler field around them as soon as Sharon reached for her helmet.

“Wilma dies only if you let her! You see this blade? You saw what she could do with this baby. She lives so long as you remember that, Gordo. She’ll live as long as we can remember what she did for all of us.

“And as for your sister,” Sharon chuckled as she stood and took her best friend’s little brother by the hand. “She’s not lost. There’s a place in Undertown, or wherever she went, that’s catching hell right now. When she sends up her flare, we’ll go and get our girl.”

“You hope,” Gordon assumed.

“I know!” Sharon stated confidently.

“What makes you so sure?” he asked.

“It’s easy to be a believer when you’re a fanatic,” Sharon answered. “I should be dead, remember?” Sharon pointed at her head where she had been shot. “But Genie did not give up on me, and Wilma would not let me die. So now I’m here, walkin’ and talkin’… do you really think I’m going to let either of those two just slip away from me?

“And don’t forget your Mom, and how she was the first one of your family to find her way to Five Pointes,” Sharon continued. “You guys are a pretty tough breed. Tough breeds don’t walk easy roads.”

Gordon was still sad, still furious, but he had stopped crying. He remembered too easily the beach and before that, the bazaar and before that, the park and before that, lots of early morning lessons at the beach!

“Why not?”

“They hate the traffic,” Sharon replied and Gordon managed a slight smile as he climbed aboard Nightmare. He looked down on Sharon who smiled with her eyes and handed him the sword, scabbard and belt. “High road, Sport,” she whispered and Gordon nodded as he fought back the tears. “Helmet on, Fighter,” she ordered as she took Wilma’s station and donned her own headgear.

“Would you mind flying her back?” Rannis asked. Sharon activated engines and assumed the controls. The trip home was going to be long and very quiet.

Cullen was the last to get on Nightmare. He made a silent vow: there would be no Enigma until they got Primo back. He walked over to his board and rode it in Simple Paddle configuration. Sport was in its station, but it had no rider. Cullen patted the board. “We’ll get her back, Sport. Don’t worry.”

“Well, this will certainly make for a fulfilling report,” Quiledel said, fanning herself and catching her breath. She sat back in her chair and looked at Webster who shared her spent countenance. “Prepare the drives for dimensional shift,” she commanded. She brushed her black hair out of her face and sighed again. She turned her back on the pilot’s and technician’s consoles and both men could hear her beginning to compose her report.

Planax kept his eyes closed and his head lowered. He followed the orders he had been given without opening his eyes. The woman… the Armonyean woman… had died in the very fashion he had hoped he could live: with unquestionable honor! Her passing was still with him and was heavy on his spirit; a weight which increased every time he looked up and saw the collected trinket of Commander Quiledel which was gathered through means far less than honorable. The man was down and bound, but that did not keep Quiledel from using her pedestrian combative skills on his jaw and head. The artifact was still giving off the unregistered energy form, which was her only reason for taking it. Planax also knew she would be so ambitious as to file her report with the word ‘Third’ missing from her rank, leaving only ‘Commander’. Quiledel was a fool, but she was not kept within the throes of stupidity. She would not let him or Webster out of her sight so long as they were the reasons behind her continued success. Reasons most certainly removed from any report she would write.

“What am I trying to do?” Planax asked himself, pondering the meaning of his actions with respect to his aims. It was difficult to consider this mission successful with what he claimed as his life’s goal. He opened his eyes as the forward thrust of their ship moved them beyond the city that was San Diego.

“Good things come to those who wait,” flashed on his screen, a message that could have only come from the man monitoring the systems of the vessel. “We’ve been patient and we’ve got some pretty interesting data our Commander does not have. Will process once we get back to the estate.” The words brought a smile to Planax’s face as he responded.

“So, we will wait a little longer… and see what ‘good’ comes our way!”

The vehicle was barely out of earshot when the limousine pulled to a stop. Richard and Bonita got out as quickly as they could and ran over to the man who had been attacked by the strangely clothed individuals.

Bonita’s mind was still spinning. From the moment Richard had… done whatever he did, to when they watched the light hit the beach, witnessed the crash landing of a jumbo jet onto a sheet of ice, and the near destruction of the city. When they heard sirens, Bonita warned Richard, but he knew they were going to different sites. Apparently he had forgotten what sort of building they had breached. Four cruisers had stopped outside the front of the building, one of them was a K-9 Unit and the other three wore SWAT armor and uniforms.

“I can clear the lobby,” Bonita reported and Richard started walking for the stairs.

“Then do it.”

Bonita had taken out her phone and her lipstick. She called the limousine and had asked the driver for her view of things. She did not get the woman’s name, but she was very thorough in the information she delivered. Bonita then called the police department, claiming she was a representative of the law firm. She had demanded to be connected with the man in charge at the site. Her request was only slightly granted and she had been allowed to give a message to the lead officer. It was close enough for Bonita. She directed him to go to the desk where he would find the keycard to allow him up the elevator. She had stayed on the line until the officer she was speaking to said that the officers were at the desk and could not find the keycard. Bonita had depressed the switch in the bottom of her lipstick, detonating the explosives in her purse. She could not be assured she got all of them, but she had known they would be more than a little distracted for a few moments. Richard and Bonita took the executive elevator which was inside the office and exited the building in the rear. The limousine had picked them up and they sped off for what Richard called higher ground.

There were too many things happening to see it all, but Richard had not simply watched; he was recording everything. After the man they were now saving had attacked the young girl and glowed in a pink-purple light, Richard had decided to do more than watch. A willing spirit, however, was not as potent as the debris, explosions and flying bodies that had plagued their every move.

By the time they reached the man in question, he still possessed his property. But the way the aircraft landed in the middle of the street gave Richard reason to pause. Three people walked from the vehicle. One looked to be trained in nearly every form of combat known to man. He had seen Richard, his assistant, and Bonita and though he looked at the threesome longer than he looked at anything else, he did not move against them. Bonita had to be told about the other two people because she did not see them; her eyes never moved from the first man.

“We must get to a private airport,” Richard said as he held on to the mysterious man. “There is too much of a risk the safe houses here are or will be compromised.

“We will get you to safety, brother,” Richard said, brushing the man’s hair back.

“Golly,” Jeff said as he shook his head, not sure what to make of the story he had been told. But as the events unfolded on the television in front of his very eyes, Jeffrey Thayer had little ground to stand on to refute what the prisoner was telling him. “And you felt that thing?”

“Felt it?!” Solomon exclaimed. “You make it sound like I looked around and said ‘They’re heeeere’! This thing was in my mind! That’s why I told you to shock me!” Solomon said as he stood up, knocking over the table. Jeffrey got up and quickly drew his stun stick.

“Easy there, Doc,” he warned. “Don’t make me sing you another lullaby.”

“No!” Solomon said, holding up his hands and falling to his knees. “Please, not that… not again.”

“Well then, dangit, calm down!” Solomon let his hands drop as he breathed deep and quickly. “Now that’s better,” Jeffrey said, easily placing the table back where it belonged. “Now sit down here and talk to me.”

“I can’t make you understand,” Solomon claimed. “I lost it, Jeff. I lost everything! My woman, my career, my God… everything!”

“It’s been my experience that we don’t really lose God,” Jeffrey explained. “We just forget how to find our hearts. You made some choices, Doc. Now some of ’em might’ve been out of your power to make with a clear mind. But if you want to find your way back, you gotta come clean about one thing: you can’t do it alone.”

“Thank you, Jeffrey,” Solomon said as he began to cry.

“Don’t mention it,” Jeffrey said as he walked toward the security door. “What you need to do is talk to the Chaplain! Let me go and see what his schedule is. You sit tight.”

“God bless your heart, Jeffrey!”

“He blesses all of our hearts, Doc. I’ll be right back.”

Solomon waited for a fifty count after he heard the door secure itself. Thayer was a good guard. He did not forget to increase the power of the roofing apparatus, just in case Solomon developed a sudden case of flight. He had not expected there to be a Chaplain, but they were even easier to manipulate than any guard he had ever met. There was much going on outside the walls of this place, he could feel it! It was only a matter of time before he was once again a major player in the game of the Shard and its power.

The amount of debris had only increased as more and more of the building seemed to be caving in on them. It had not been a good idea to move him from their apartment. But the windows there were so large and all she could imagine was a piece of glass cutting into his tender skin. Now a cut seemed like a small price to pay to remain alive.

Rajana had picked Hiram up and jumped out of the window in the middle of the earthquake that was not a quake at all. She had ushered the children who were waiting for their school bus to follow her to what her scans told her was a sound building. It had indeed been built to weather an earthquake of superlative seismic ability. But constructions made to withstand natural disasters could do little against energy blasts strong enough to knock out a fleet of ships. The woman had looked like she was from Undertown, but that did not change what her phenomenal electrical blasts yielded. It seemed that each bolt found the worst possible target and composed a symphony of destruction with Rajana, Hiram and fourteen children in the midst of a fatal crescendo.

It was either grab Hiram and get out, or grab the three remaining children and take them inside. Her maternal instincts had gotten the better of her practical thinking. Proof she was more human than machine, despite where her soul was housed.

“See if you can wake him now,” she said as sparks flew from her leg and back. The Mark Five was not designed for sustained heavy lifting. It had some augmented strength, but she had exceeded that minutes ago… minutes that now seemed like hours. The children shook him as she had instructed them, but her scans did not change. Whatever had struck his mind still had a hold on him and he was restrained from regaining consciousness.

“Not that he could do anything,” she thought. She had gone over the data hundreds of times, and each scenario she ran through her processors resulted in the same conclusion: eventual power failure and/or the collapse of the building. But her mind would not allow her to relinquish its attempts, especially after she felt a signal… the signal! The sounds of her son!

“Does this help?” one of the younger girls asked as she used her compact mirror to reflect sunlight on Rajana’s face.

“You know what, it actually does,” Rajana answered in the most tender voice available to her. She smiled at the child and then looked up, but she could not see the origin of the light from her position. “And if there is light, then there is air, and a way for someone to hear us. In teams of two, I want you to go up and call for help. Once you get tired, I want the next group of two to start calling.”

“And don’t get in the way of the light!” the girl shouted, still handling the mirror.

“Right… don’t get in the way of the light.”

The plane sped down the runway and was quickly into the air. The pilot was receiving a number of transmissions, telling her she was in a no-fly zone and ordering her to land. Perhaps the actual pilot of the aircraft might have. But he was unconscious and in the cargo hold. She did not do as she was told. She turned westward, dropped to 1,000 feet and throttled up for all the engines could deliver.

“We still might be seen, Richard,” she reported.

“Let me take care of that,” Richard answered as he closed his eyes and summoned the strength for another incantation. Two in one day was considered suicidal in the ranks of The Sharks, but he had little choice.

“Allow me,” Staydenn said as he lifted his hand and caused low and thick cloud formations to gather on all sides of the plane. It was a very simple spell, and the Atlantean did not know what to think of the effort his savior was putting forward to cast it. But in the time he had begun to focus, he could feel the manna within him and knew this man was the reason why the Custodian had failed to apprehend him when he first arrived at San Diego… which made two occasions the man had saved Staydenn. He was no Telishe, but he had served a purpose just the same. Of course, only time would tell if this man was as dedicated to Staydenn... or as eager to serve. The plight of the humans Staydenn did not know was of little concern to him, not in relation to his concern for Atlantis. He had stayed because he felt the Shard approaching. Seeming heroic was a means to recruit the aid of others. It turned out that he had needed it.

“They destroyed a Custodian,” Staydenn whispered, looking up into the sky where he could still feel the impression the release of immeasurable energy had carved in the vacuum of space. He knew it would be days before he could not feel it, but he would not look upon it again. At that moment, it had been a distraction. But in the hours to come, Staydenn managed to heal his wounds using simple mental talents.

He was told what had happened to the Shard and his mantellum, but neither bit of news came easily or rested well with him. He had kissed the power of the Shard and found it was greater than he had been told, completely taking over his mind and body. Whatever had struck him to interrupt his feed had used enough force to literally separate his head from his body, but it had only managed to knock him unconscious. In that brief moment, the Atlantean Staydenn had become something else… perhaps the very thing his Masters had chosen him to become, the instrument through which Atlantis and the Atlanteans might taste freedom once more.

But he had lost more than the Shard. His mantellum was also lost. One teleport spell, one arcane bolt volley and two shield spells were gone from him. He still possessed his mental talents, his ability to wield augmented energies and of course a small talent for technology which seemed to exceed the best this place and time had to offer.

But it was the flow of manna that surprised him. There was hardly any to be perceived in the world. Spell casting would prove to be greater than difficult in this environment. It would take hours to cast some of the more simple spells, and days to recover from the effort. Earth had become a far more tragic prison than anything the Rotai could have built. But there were hints every now and then. Quick and subtle slips of energy, but he could not mark the source of the power. Perhaps after Atlantis left the Earth, the ties of manna had shifted and protected themselves. Perhaps they were now hidden.

He could not feel the Shard anymore, and he knew that a very special pocket dimension held a place called Undertown where his Aspirant had found the Shard. But achieving that place was going to prove to be most challenging, even with the company he now found himself keeping. They called themselves The Sharks and were a secret society. After a few moments of listening to Richard, Staydenn quickly concluded they were the descendants of those chosen to leave Atlantis before it was made to leave Earth. Through the passing of time they had witnessed and recorded the changing of humanity. So much had been lost, and with it the ability to maintain simple life. No one aboard the transport had been alive when Staydenn was born – they did not live one-tenth the lifespan he had already exceeded. They had some knowledge and the very shavings of power. But resources were not something that could be measured as wanting so much as having. Power, money and access! Correctly applied they were much like a spell that simply took longer to be realized. Staydenn decided quickly that he would remain in the shadows of this place, this new Earth, and make his ventures into inquiry in secret. He had avenues which his instruction and new alliances afforded him.

He should have been pressed for time, but he had already come to understand what the Rotai had done to the dimensional breaks between the realm where the Atlanteans were being held and this one. He knew why the Shard had been lost. Firvah had fought like the champion everyone claimed him to be, and against the worst of odds he was winning. He had managed to save Staydenn from the Custodian and ushered them both through the aperture. But Firvah had been struck and the blast made his movements too powerful. Staydenn had lost his hold of the Shard and tumbled into the field just as the Shard came away from his hand. The Custodian must have been just as close to Staydenn.

“I wonder what happened to Firvah,” Staydenn thought.

The voyage would be recorded with more than an ample share of surprise and the inexplicable. None of the fishermen remembered leaving port, none of them remembered sailing so far off course and they definitely had no answer to why it was they were all waking up at the same time in the middle of the Atlantic at the end of one of the worst storms they had ever seen. But it was the tail end of the storm and the boat still swam. Their nets were filled, and as the captain saw to his wife, he spied something in the water… something that looked like a man draped over flotsam. With the captain ringing the alarm bell, the crew of the large fishing boat put away their mysteries and went quickly to work.

They toiled until they reached the body and pulled it up on board. He was very heavy and his incredible muscular build explained the trouble they had in getting him to the deck. He was a dark brute and the side of his face had been tattooed. It was an axe with very exotic crescent moon-shaped blades painted over the right side of his face. He was bleeding badly and had been burned.

“Anehta!”

The trials of the Shard continue in Book One of the EdgeWorld Series:

Undertown: The Edge of Enigma

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