The Dark Between The Stars

SEVENTY-SIX
ANTON COLICOS

The Mage-Imperator’s order was everything a scholar could possibly hope for. Jora’h wanted all possible knowledge about the Shana Rei, real answers about the previous crisis, no matter how deep the rememberers had to dig or which document crypts they opened.

Anton wished he could work without interruption—there were so many recovered documents to read and translate, so many lost records that no Ildiran eyes had seen in centuries. Five sealed vaults had been smashed open on the Mage-Imperator’s orders.

Scouring the document crypts from that time period, rememberers had indeed found old accounts of the Shana Rei, correspondence from the legendary Tal Bria’nh, even rudimentary designs for the sun bombs. The ancient plans had not been destroyed, merely buried by the weight of countless centuries of records. After the Shana Rei had been defeated, the sun bombs were considered obsolete, unnecessary, and resigned to obscurity.

Nevertheless, Anton had rushed the designs to Adar Zan’nh, who turned them over to his military engineers for study. The Solar Navy would begin building and testing prototypes right away.

For an eager historian, however, there was so much more to learn.

He and Dyvo’sh continued to unearth and catalogue the densely etched crystal sheets. The young assistant worked at his side, and excitement sent a flush of color into the lobes of the young assistant’s face each time he found some obscure mention of the Shana Rei.

Among the apocryphal documents, Anton found a bizarre and disturbing sketch of a shapeless black blot, like an ink stain that featured a central staring eye. Surrealistic certainly, meant to evoke a primal fear, but even the stylized representation gave him a chill.

The translation summaries would keep the Hall of Rememberers busy for years to come. Scholarly careers would be built around some of these apocryphal records, academic squabbles would flare up—but Anton brushed those thoughts aside. He had left that petty professorial life behind, and he didn’t care about the politics of academia.

But he couldn’t read everything himself, and so he had to set priorities for himself and for the rememberer kith. It was difficult to choose! He read until his neck ached and his shoulders were stiff and his eyes felt as if they might fall out of their sockets. He couldn’t stay awake all the time.

“I need coffee,” he told his assistant Dyvo’sh. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good strong cup.”

“What is coffee?” asked the young rememberer.

It was just an offhand comment. “A human beverage—it’s delicious and stimulating.”

“I understand,” Dyvo’sh said. “Like kirae.”

Anton remembered the one and only time he had tasted the Ildiran beverage. “No, not like kirae. Not at all.” Then he brightened, realizing that he could possibly find a cup after all. “We’ll have to go to the human enclave.”

He had always intended to visit the human district to see the shops and art galleries, eat the food, and sit at one of the cafés… the things that he had never appreciated in his years on Earth. On Ildira, Anton constantly immersed himself in his work, so a trip to the human district had never reached the top of his priority list. Now, however, he felt a sudden longing. He picked up a stack of restored documents to take with him. “Come along, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

He left instructions with Ildiran scholars who continued to comb through the recovered documents. The rememberers would sort out any records that mentioned the creatures of darkness, and Anton would review them himself.

Before he and Dyvo’sh left the Hall of Rememberers, Anton reminded the studious Ildirans who hunched over well-lit tables, scanning one document after another, “I want any legends, stories, anecdotes. We found the sun bomb plans—there must be more ideas waiting to be uncovered. As for the rest of the documents…” He let out a long sigh. “We’ll just have to read those at some later date. We’ve got enough to keep us busy for a long, long time.”

Anton had no idea how Yazra’h knew he was about to head across the city, but she was waiting for him when he and Dyvo’sh exited the Hall of Rememberers. She stood in all her intimidating beauty, wearing fine-scale armor with a crystal dagger at her hip. “I will escort you, Rememberer Anton, in case the streets are dangerous.”

He chuckled. “It’s Mijistra. How could it be dangerous?”

She tossed her long hair. “Nevertheless, I will escort you. What is your destination?”

“The human district. Join us for a cup of coffee.” Since she seemed stuck on the idea, Anton didn’t argue, but let her lead the way. “We’re searching for any tidbit, but since the Saga of Seven Suns is over a billion lines long and the lost documents are at least ten times that—finding a relevant passage is an extraordinary task.”

Yazra’h did not seem to envy his work. “That is a battle you must win for yourself, Rememberer Anton. Have you learned how I can fight the Shana Rei?”

“I’m looking for how the Solar Navy and the Confederation Defense Forces can fight them. Adar Zan’nh and the CDF are about to engage in more war-game exercises, but I doubt their traditional maneuvers will be useful against the creatures of darkness. First I have to separate the legends from the genuine historical events. By all accounts, the Shana Rei are fearsome opponents.”

She gave a gruff nod. “Then I look forward to fighting them.”

When they reached the section of the city settled by human expatriates, Anton smiled at the familiar architecture, the open shops, and the business banners, and the outdoor tables. It reminded him of the university district on Earth where he had spent so many years.

He heard music from some kind of old-fashioned instrument, pleasant tones played by someone who knew what he was doing. A middle-aged couple displayed ornamental clay pots they had glazed themselves. Another craft shop offered yarn soul-catchers strung with sparkling crystals. The milieu itself was enough to reenergize Anton after his long hours in the Hall of Rememberers. Then he smelled the coffee—a rich, roasted essence that was unlike any traditional Ildiran beverage. It was so strong that even the aroma seemed to contain caffeine.

He claimed an outdoor table and yanked out chairs for his two companions. A fascinated Dyvo’sh continued looking around, particularly interested in the soul-catchers. He tapped one with a finger, and the inset crystal caught the light as it rotated.

When the café owner came out, Anton greeted her with a grin. “Large coffee for me, please, with a dollop of cream. My friends will each have one, too.”

Dyvo’sh took a seat next to him, copying Anton’s every move, like an apprentice. Yazra’h remained standing until Anton insisted that she take a seat.

The café owner was a Rubenesque woman with cool blue eyes and curly ash-blond hair. “I’ll brew it fresh,” she said. They were apparently the only customers in the district. She glanced at Yazra’h and Dyvo’sh. “I’ll bring some condensed milk as well. Ildirans tend to like it sweet.”

When she delivered the coffee, Anton wrapped both hands around his cup, savoring the smell before he sipped and let out a sigh. Dyvo’sh mimicked his every move, took a sip, and struggled to control his grimace.

Yazra’h was brave and took a gulp, but the coffee didn’t appeal to her either. “It is potent,” was the best she could say.

Anton looked around the empty café. “Not many customers? I suppose Ildirans don’t come back for coffee once they’ve tried it.”

“We’re all hurting,” said the café owner. She glanced around. Several blocks away, the streets of Mijistra were filled with bustling Ildirans, but the human district seemed isolated, as if shunned. “The Mage-Imperator visited not long ago, encouraged Ildirans to do business with us—and that lasted for about a day.”

The art gallery owner came over and took an empty seat beside them. “It wasn’t always like that. We were at least curiosities, but something’s changed.”

Anton took another sip of his coffee and made up his mind to come back here as often as possible. “Why would customers avoid the whole district?”

“Nobody knows. Maybe we did something to insult them.” The café owner brought him a refill. Dyvo’sh and Yazra’h did not need one. Dyvo’sh added some sweetened condensed milk at the woman’s suggestion, and he seemed to tolerate it better.

Anton recalled how he had suffered censure from the Ildirans years ago when he pointed out errors in the Saga of Seven Suns. “With all the new archive crypts being opened and mountains of new documents revealed, there’ll surely be more turmoil.”

Yazra’h frowned. “The turmoil is not caused by the human enclave.”

“Well, Ildirans shouldn’t be afraid of what the rememberers find—we’re just making the history accurate.”

“They are not afraid of the history,” Yazra’h said. “It is the Shana Rei. They fear the shadows are coming again.”

Dyvos’h seemed very nervous. “Perhaps it would have been best if all those stories remained hidden. Then the Shana Rei might not have returned.”

Anton scoffed. “It has nothing to do with cause and effect. You shouldn’t fear reading old records.”

“They are the darkness,” Dyvo’sh said. “Of course, we fear them.”

Anton had never understood the irrational Ildiran fear of the dark, but it was an integral (perhaps even pathological) part of their being. Yazra’h, who was one of the bravest people he had ever met, shook her head. “Even though Ildirans are surrounded by light, we understand the power of dark, and we know that its tendrils can slip in anywhere.”

She defiantly finished her coffee, as if going to battle against the taste. “If the Shana Rei have indeed returned, we must know how to fight them. Sun bombs? Then we must build them! It will not be a traditional military effort. The creatures of darkness can strike everywhere and at any time.” Then she looked at him with absolute confidence. “You will help us understand, Rememberer Anton.”

Anton could see that Yazra’h was deadly serious. He sipped his coffee again, but it had gone cold.