The Ballad of Omega Brown 3:
Omega and the Sorcerer of Space Station 9
by Tom Vaine
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
conclusion
Over the years, Omega had learned that it was important to count personal victories, even the little ones. For example, he considered it a victory that he had, by some miracle of chance, managed to bring himself back to the portion of the station where he’d parked his ship. The fact that the process of doing so had seemingly attracted the attention of what must be absolutely every Drone available did not diminish this victory for him. It wouldn’t either, provided that he managed to board the Buccaneer without becoming riddled with laser holes.
Any pretense of art or grace that Omega had put into his diversion was gone now. His escape had become pell-mell. He dove from alcove to door jamb to hallway corner, all the while firing backwards, hoping to hit anything. Taking the time to aim had become far too dangerous, and it occurred to Omega that his only real advantage now came from the fact that there were simply too many Drones behind him for them all to manoeuvre and shoot with any precision. Another little victory.
Omega rounded the last corner and bolted, his eye on the hangar door. He could hear the Drones close behind him, but it didn’t matter any longer. Getting inside the hangar would allow him to lock the door. Hoonra was likely already aboard, engines primed, waiting for him to get in. He just needed to get there.
He banged against the door controls, jabbing at them distractedly while looking back down the hall. He leveled his ray gun, firing at the first red lense to round the corner. It felt like ages for his fingers to find the overly large door control. He fired again, but there were too many targets now for it to matter. He flattened himself against the door and shot again, his fingers finally landing on the right spot.
The hangar door slid open and Omega fell in. He scrambled to his knees, switching the door closed and locking it. He slumped then, his forehead pressed against the steel control plate, his chest heaving. Just a moment. Just a second or two to catch his breath. But when he stood and turned, it was knocked back out of him again.
Hoonra was not aboard the ship, nor was she or any of the survivors in sight. Instead, Omega turned to find himself confronted by a dozen or so Drones. All of them had trained their weapons on him. For some reason, they weren’t firing. Omega leaned back against the wall shaking his head.
“What, do you all have some collective flair for the dramatic? Shoot, already.”
There was a faint crash from the hallway, something electrical discharging, but Omega didn’t care. The Drones remained motionless.
“I hope Hoonra makes it out,” Omega breathed. Then, louder:: “Are you all on standby or something? I haven’t got all day here.”
He glanced over at the door, hearing another burst of electricity. This one sounded considerably louder than the last. “Just standing around while your friends cut their way in?” Omega hauled up his ray gun once more. “I don’t really feel like waiting around for the fight to start.”
He drew a bead on the closest Drone. He wondered, briefly, how badly it would hurt when the others started torching him, when, as a body, they moved forward. Ignoring Omega, the Drones seemed intent on what was happening out in the hall. They didn’t have long to find out.
The metal of the door changed rapidly from cold white, to seared black, to livid red and yellow, all within a second. The metal began to distend, then stretch, until finally it peeled inwards from the center.
As the hole widened, lightning poured through the gap. The Drones didn’t even have a chance to start shooting. As a group they were lifted from the floor, the energy holding them aloft even as it tore and burned them.
They might have screamed in that horrible grating voice of theirs, but Omega couldn’t hear them. He was, in fact, only peripherally aware of them at all. As soon as the door had split open, Omega found his thoughts pulled inexorably to the figure pushing through the gap. The room seemed still to him now, almost silent. All he could be sure of was the sound of his own heartbeat, and the creature who now stood before him.
It was dressed in long, black robes, its face a mass of tentacles writhing beneath four ink-dark eyes. Golden embroidery flowed down its robes, forming symbols and letters that seemed to move and reform as Omega watched. The thing approached him now, its dark green arm extending to his temple while the other channeled the spray of lightning at the Drones. It was painful to look at, and Omega dreaded its touch, but he couldn’t move at all.
When its finger alighted, Omega’s mind was filled with images he couldn’t understand, conflicts raging across planets and star systems he’d never dreamed of before, tears in space and time where huge intelligences waited and watched. Beneath it all, a desperation, a certainty of failure before a task could be completed.
This creature was dying, he realized, and it was trying to tell him something before that happened. He saw the planet they orbited, saw the Hive ships leaving the system, knew that they were afraid, even as the creature began to disengage. He noticed the sound then, a chant repeating itself beneath the roil of his vision, a noise becoming concrete. A word: Cirella.
The hand on his head let go, but instead of freedom, Omega found himself compelled to raise his left arm. Vaguely, he was aware that Hoonra and the other survivors were in the background, that Hoonra wanted to help, and that she was just as powerless as he.
The creature took hold of his left hand. When the lightning brushed his skin, he thought the pain of it might drive him mad. It tore up his arm, his neck, across his bones. Omega felt as though his teeth might rocket out of his mouth as the energy shook him.
He had no idea how long the thing held him like that, power flying through his body, visions of a strange past saturating his mind. He became aware of time again only when he felt the creature withdraw, its presence falling inward. The thing’s skin began to pale, its eyes withering, its tentacles spasming and then dropping, limp. It began to crumble before his eyes. In seconds, it was nothing more than dust and a pile of cloth and weird bones on the hangar floor.
It took time for Omega to become fully aware of his surroundings again. At some point, he realized he had fallen to his knees, his hand still extended up to where the creature had held it. Around him, the floor was covered with the bodies of broken Drones. He blinked, his voice returning.
“I beat you back to the ship.”
Hoonra rushed forward, catching him before he could fall. She settled him back against the hangar wall, crouching next to him. Beside her, one of the survivors stepped in.
“This is Kirin. He and the other scientists here discovered something on the planet they did not expect.” It was always a little difficult for Omega to read her features, but he was sure that Hoonra looked frightened. “It was a sorcerer, Omega, a thing from the outer realms.”
“What? What are you talking about?” The man beside Hoonra stepped forward, motioning to Hoonra’s arm.
“Look what it did to her.” he said.
“To you?” Omega asked.
“And to you. You saw the visions, yes. You heard the word?” Hoonra held up her left hand, dragging Omega’s up as she did so. On both he saw identical symbols; the outline of a circle, like a child’s depiction of a sun split in two. One half was cut into the skin, jagged, erratic, the flesh bruised reddish purple. The other side was measured and stable, raised lines set against alabaster, almost pallid skin.
Omega snatched his hand back, brushing the mark tenderly before looking to Hoonra again. “What the hell have we gotten ourselves involved with?”
*
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Alien wizards? Dangerous artificial intelligences? Visions of the ancient past? What have our heroes stumbled into, indeed? Find out the answers and more in the next episode of The Ballad of Omega Brown: “Omega and the Mark of Doom”!
Copyright © 2021 by Tom Vaine
