“We’ve been here five standard weeks, and I’ve made no headway with the Kalari. They’ve accepted our presence, though I still cringe over my first bumbling attempts communicating with them through thoughts. My introduction was the equivalent of me nice, star bad.”
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I think I would call this pain if I could feel anything at all.
My cousin used to rave about float tanks. He said they were the ultimate form of relaxation, drifting in warm salt water in complete darkness. The experience disconnected your brain from your body, so you became a mind suspended in nothingness.
The ornate twin doors opened and the black clad figure of Queen Elandra entered the crown prince’s chambers and commanded her two automated sentry droids to remain at the entrance.
Harsh voices carried down the hall from the sitting room. Yet another argument had broken out.
They call us the Misfits. They don’t give us battle armor. Just what we can collect from the bodies of fallen friends and foes.
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“There’s another one, boss.”
I peered at my monitor screen. Sure enough, the telltale shooting star effect had almost gotten past me. We angels are not incapable of error, unfortunately. Gripping the controls with renewed enthusiasm, I cornered and contained the time bubble. When I heard the satisfying click of the “Save” button, I sighed. “Almost missed that one.”
“What did you just do?”
El’s thought pinged into Jay’s brain, and he willed his thinking to be casual. “Nothing.”
“I thought we just came out for a flight. But you vented something.”
Jay lifted his hand from the control panel and waved it innocently. “Nothing really.”
Tamara stood on tiptoe and flipped the switch on the flickering Open sign, officially closing Reused Realities to the public. When it came to repairing and refurbishing virtual reality systems, Tamara needed interruptions at a minimum. Besides, switching between the real world and the virtual almost always jeopardized her productivity.
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“Do you remember your name?” A woman’s voice echoes in my mind.
My eyes open. Fluorescent lights stare back at me from the ceiling as my surroundings begin to register. I am lying on a steel gurney, wearing a dingy set of medical scrubs.
“Nelson. Nelson Duran.” I cock my head at the sound of my own voice. Is that right?
I was surrounded. There, atop the ruins of what was once a great symbol of power, I lifted my hands in surrender.
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I have started to turn.
The others haven’t noticed. The rot, the size of a cigar burn, is on my right wrist. I’m wearing short sleeves, so I can’t hide it. I keep my arm turned over and favor my left, flipping switches, preparing for take-off. It won’t do to have a pilot who’s infected.
Death didn’t chase him. It surrounded him. It was just dormant for the next twenty minutes.
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It wasn’t anything like TV. The engines fired, flames brighter than the sun, the sound beating at Sue’s chest. Then the launch, starting ever-so-slowly, the winged capsule atop the slender booster reaching for the sky. Sue bent backwards, shading her eyes to watch it roaring upward. She found herself whispering, “Go, baby!”
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