The Last Cycle

  The Last Cycle

  A.R. Knight

  Copyright © 2019 by Adam Knight

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN (ebook): 978-1-946554-32-1

  ISBN (print): 978-1-946554-33-8

  Published by Black Key Books

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  Black Key Books

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  Also by A.R. Knight

  The Mercenaries Trilogy

  The Metal Man

  Wild Nines

  Dark Ice

  One Shot

  The Riven Trilogy

  Riven

  The Cycle

  Spirit’s End

  The Rakers Saga

  Rakers

  The Skyward Saga

  The Spear

  Oratus

  Starshot

  Mind’s Eye

  Clarity’s Dawn

  Creator’s End

  Humanity Rising

  The Last Cycle

  Discover More Stories

  Want to find out when the next adventure comes out? I’ll only send out a newsletter when there’s a new release, so no spam, only sweet, sweet story goodness.

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  To Blanche and Don

  Contents

  1. Awake

  2. The Prisoner

  3. A Farewell

  4. The Enemy

  5. Approach

  6. The Show

  7. Oath

  8. Hunter

  9. Captives

  10. Ancient Adversaries

  11. Trespassers

  12. Worthless

  13. Creation

  14. Traps and Triggers

  15. Promises

  16. The Small Galaxy

  17. Going Back

  18. Meridia

  19. Human Spirit

  20. Apex

  21. Vengeance

  22. Paired

  23. The Last Cycle

  24. A Dying Star

  25. What’s Old Is New

  If you liked this story, please leave a review!

  Also by A.R. Knight

  Discover More Stories

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1 Awake

  Do you know the dreams you have when you think you’re dreaming forever? They’re slow at first, an endless series of stories, each one less and less real as you begin to find the flaws.

  Flashes of leafy canopies, my bright-lit home mingle with the fantastic. I share dinners with Father and Mother. Hunts with Malo and Viera through dense jungle and damp caves. Even T’Oli, the creamy Ooblot joins me as we climb through the sewers of a now-dead planet.

  I know none of this is real.

  Because I’m supposed to be dead.

  And yet.

  I’m not me anymore: the way you become intimate with your body over time, one season after another of touching your muscles and moving, jumping, thinking. Those connections are gone. I am adrift in an unfamiliar sea of strands. I cast out, trying to find parts of myself.

  Answers come slow. Tentative. Like a flowers blooming after the first rains, each connection is beautiful. Fragile.

  A voice from everywhere, nowhere tells me they will get stronger with time.

  The voice echoes in my dreams. Changes, too. Sometimes its Malo saying the words, veering away from our hunt to offer an explanation of why I can’t speak, or see yet, even though I’m right there with him in the forest.

  Other times, the voice fills a void of nothing. I’m between selves, a break in the stories and words of comfort come. The sounds of friends whispering to me wishes, compassion. Things I hold on to in the dark.

  Nerves had to be repaired, the voice tells me as I wander through the ash wastes of Earth’s far side. New strands grown and connected. Organs made using what limited examples exist of human biology. I don’t know what it’s talking about, but I hold on to the last thing the voice says: I am still a human.

  When I see for the first time, a phantom centers my eyes. My friend. One who, last I checked, was barely conscious. Had just been loosed from the clutches of a creature so evil that it took the very freedom away from Malo’s soul. But there he is, in front of me, his head wearing short black hair, still gaunt but smiling anyway. His shoulders show the long arc of ash-inked tattoos across his chest and arms as he leans over me. As he brushes my forehead.

  “Empress,” Malo says and his voice is slow, soft, as if I’m made of glass that might shatter should he talk too loud. “Welcome back.”

  The welcome comes with a barrage. I’m greeted first by Malo and then a parade of others, most straight from my dreams. A healthy Viera, though she still sports a bandage around her head. Lan, the emerald-scaled Oratus who keeps her four claws clasped and head bowed, who offers her thanks in a low hiss. Lastly, with Malo still by my side, the huge bulk of Kolas, commander of the Vincere force dedicated to the extermination of the galaxy’s enemies.

  With each of them comes bits and pieces of the story that brought me from the end of the Sevora War to a long and wide red sponge bed on Kolas’ cruiser, the Nunelite.

  Malo and T’Oli had made the docking bay on the seed ship. Ignos, the Sevora that had at one point been inside me and that had, back on the seed ship, been so determined to return to its place of power, had left the shuttle we arrived in undefended. T’Oli and Malo took the craft, lifted off, and made the leap back to Vimelia, the Sevora home world where Kolas and his fleet were still cleaning up the remnants of their enemy.

  Kolas came back with them, and a seed ship left empty by Viera and my efforts presented little trouble. Eventually, a Vincere strike team cut into the center and found me.

  “You were dead,” Malo says.

  “Actually,” T’Oli, who’s oozed its way up Malo’s side and rests on his shoulders, both eyestalks bobbing at me. “She was in the state called a coma. A living paralysis. Not really dead, but not really alive. Catastrophic failure of several organs. She would have died, though—”

  “She gets it,” Malo says to the blob, then looks back at me. “We put you back together.”

  I try to ask what that means? Only my voice doesn’t work. Not yet, anyway. But my hands do, and when they get the message, I write out the words. The questions.

  It turns out there’s an advantage to being a species grown by experimentation. An advantage to being designed by another. Kolas has an Amigga with his fleet. One who is able to pull up the secret records of humanity’s existence. One able to find out how I function, and with that information put me back together. The Amigga wove new organs, new nerves and cells from vats of biological material and built me back. As I hear all of this, I can only think of what Ignos told me when it first crashed through the sky and took up residence in my mind: I will bring you miracles.

  “Kolas says we’ll be leaping soon to the Chorus,” Malo says some time later - I’m drifting in and out of consciousness, and as T’Oli puts it, time has little real meaning in space. There are no days, no seasons, only Cycles; major events marking the passing of eras. Despite that unsettling description, I know Malo has barely left my side. Only when I order him to sleep does he leave. “Apparently they want you to be the emissary for humanity,” Malo flashes me a smile. “I can’t think of anyone better.”

  “I don’t want to,” I
manage to say – my voice is coming back in spurts, what I’m told is the result of new muscles. Ones that need to grow and train. I won’t be able to run far for a while either, or breathe too heavy, or eat too much. All the result of organs learning their place in a new body.

  “I don’t think you have a choice,” and there’s real sadness in Malo’s eyes. “I wish you did. I wish we could just go home. But Kolas says we’re needed now.”

  “Why?”

  “Apparently we need to prove the Chorus is to be trusted. We need to stand up and proclaim our allegiance to them.”

  “Why? I know I just asked, but what does the Chorus need from us?”

  Malo shakes his head. “Kolas would not tell me. He only said, since you owe the Chorus your life, you must do this.”

  I close my eyes for a moment. The last time I owed an Amigga a favor, the last time I had to do what an Amigga said, it nearly ripped me apart. Dalachite, on another space station an eternity ago, threatened to use me as a project for its own research. Getting involved with the Amigga is a quick way to die, or worse. Why would I help them now? My life or no?

  “Kolas also told me,” Malo continues and now his voice is even sadder, as if not only what he’s saying is tragic, but ugly and distasteful. Exposing a weakness in himself. “They’ll destroy Earth, Kaishi. If we don’t give the Chorus what they want, they’ll send the Vincere to complete what they tried before.”

  That’s more like the Amigga I know. Pose generous, and seal the deal with a threat.

  Well, I’ve seen worse.

  As if waiting for Malo to complete setting the stage for my new life, the door to my room swishes open to reveal someone new. The Amigga. Unlike Dalachite, the one that ran Cobalt, or Sapphrite, the leader of Clarity’s Dawn and the resistance beneath the surface of Vimelia, this one is different. This one is smaller, a healthy gray-blue color that does nothing to stop the queasy shifting of my stomach as I look at a ball without eyes, without arms. It’s encased in a translucent sheath, one with the barest hint of yellow on the fringes. The Amigga floats on a set of micro-jets around the base and sides. No mechanical arms, but strange, pocked circles evenly space along a stripe around the Amigga’s suit.

  “Interfaces,” the Amigga says as it notices me looking, as it floats into the room. “Bring me near a device, and I can interact. Form a connection and control. Useful on ships, when the more crude methods of metal arms and legs have less value.”

  I blink at the Amigga from my sponge bed, and notice Malo sitting rigid. Neither of us like Amigga. Neither of us enjoy the thing’s presence, but I swallow my distaste. I put the crown on – not a real one, of course, but the one I have to wear at all times whether or not I’m in my palace or among my people. As Malo and Viera have told me; Empress is not a title to be worn and taken off at will, but rather bonded and lived with forever.

  “I’m told you saved me,” I say. My voice is getting stronger now. It has the volume, if not the flavor, of how I used to sound. “Thank you.”

  The Amigga hovers closer and Malo tenses, as if he’s going to get up and punch the thing. I want to reach out and touch him, tell Malo no, don’t worry. I don’t think the Amigga is here to kill me. I don’t even know if it could.

  “I was glad to do so. Partly because no Amigga has helped a human before, and new intelligent species are so rare. A scientific first, which my name will forever be associated with,” It’s hard to know where to look when the Amigga speaks. There’s no eyes, no mouth to focus on. The words come from the thing’s suit, from speakers that cause the speech to reverberate through the small room. “My name is Ferrolite. I am the lead Amigga assigned to this fleet. It is my job to ensure that Kolas and his forces carry out the Chorus’ demands. It is also my job to make sure I preserve those things of interest to the galaxy. Like you.”

  “Now you want something in return.”

  The Amigga has no capacity, that I can tell, to show surprise. Shock or disappointment. There’s no emotions to read and since its voice comes through a mechanical synthesizer, it lacks the emotional tones a human might be able to put in. As such, with Ferrolite hovering before me, I have no idea whether the Amigga is happy or sad that I move immediately to business. But I’m tired, and if someone is going to ask something of me I’d rather know and be done with it.

  “Human, Kaishi, the galaxy runs on a stable framework of species working beneath the Chorus to live fruitful, happy lives. We would welcome humanity within our community. But every species needs an ambassador, every species needs someone to bring it to the galactic stage. After what you’ve done I can think of no better.”

  “Because I destroyed a Sevora ship?”

  “Because you demonstrated the capacities civilization values,” Ferrolite says. “You are brave, courageous, intelligent and kind. Lan told me how you tried to rescue her and her pair, rather than escape and save yourself. Kolas told me how you gave everything to retrieve this one here on the Vimelia. These are laudable traits. These are valued. The Chorus is always looking to improve the make-up of the galaxy and if humanity is a reflection of you, then your species would be well appreciated.”

  It’s hard not to like the Amigga’s words. Hard not to feel a slight blush of pride, of embarrassment at being so singled out for something I thought was only the right thing to do. Yet, here I am, ready for more. I think it’s because, having gone so long, across so many places, there hasn’t been any outward acknowledgment of what we’ve done. My struggles have been made apart from the world I love, mostly apart from my species. Finally, here, as I claw my way back from death, I’m recognized.

  “Will you?” Ferrolite gets to the question. “Will you add humanity’s voice to the Chorus?”

  I don’t like the Amigga, I don’t trust Ferrolite, but I can understand its motivations. I can sympathize with its goals; the Sevora are gone, the galaxy is on the brink of peace and prosperity. Any Empress would want to bring her people into that oasis. I have to think of everyone, not just myself.

  “I will serve,” I say. “Humanity will join your galaxy.”

  If there’s any congratulations to be had for promising humanity’s part will be played, Ferrolite doesn’t give any. No fanfare bursts through the speakers, drinks and feasts don’t appear. The Amigga only gives the briefest sound of approval, then floats away as if the only thing I’d agreed to is a moment’s peace.

  “You trust that thing?” Malo says.

  “I don’t have a choice, do I?” I reply. “Ferrolite put me back together. Without it, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “That was its choice, this is yours.”

  “Then what should I say, Malo?” I look at my warrior, propped up in my bed. “What should I tell Avril, or all the refugees of Damantum when the Chorus declares them a threat and now, instead of scared Sevora, we’re facing an Oratus army descending on Earth?”

  Malo leans back against the side of the room. Stares across at the nothing on the far wall. “I just found freedom. I don’t want to lose it again. Not yet.”

  “We won’t,” I say, though I don’t know for sure. Another promise pledged in the dark. “I’ll make them respect us.”

  Malo laughs, and the hollow bark cuts me. “Kaishi, we were pawns to the Sevora, and we’re no different now. The Chorus doesn’t need to respect us, because we aren’t a threat, and we have nothing to offer them.”

  “That’s not true. They made us, remember? An Amigga built us, created us because they wanted something better. The Chorus knows we’re valuable.”

  Those words mollify Malo a little bit; he offers a half-hearted nod. Then his eyes go down to the tattoos on his chest. “All of these are lies, you know.”

  “Lies?”

  “Ignos didn’t create us. The Amigga did. All the gods, all of our society is based on lies.”

  “Now you’re being sad,” I fight back. “You don’t know whether our Ignos had a hand in our creation or not, and even if the gods didn’t directly control anythin
g, the idea of them helped us survive. Helped our people grow, love, and learn.”

  “And when the Chorus arrives and starts telling every human they’re a product of the Amigga? Like the crops we grow in our fields?”

  That’s a harder question to answer. I don’t know how my own people would take that, the Ignos-worshiping Charre. Avril and her hardy, logical Lunare beneath the mountains might absorb the discovery in stride, but the society I lived in... would it stand up to such a revelation?

  “It’s still a secret, right?” I say. “We don’t need to tell anyone. There’s no point in it.”

  “The Chorus will.”

  “Not all of them know,” I reply. “I don’t think Ferrolite knows - it said we’re a new species.”

  “Then we keep this a secret, for now?”

  “When the Chorus comes to Earth, there’ll be enough changes. I don’t think we need to doubt our gods at the same time,” I say, wanting as much to keep a hold of the rituals, the sayings and the beliefs I’ve held since my beginning as to keep my people from falling apart.

  We keep at it, discussing, playing with our past as though it’s something to be chosen or tossed aside depending on our whims. Until my own body catches up with me and I start missing words, start closing my eyes, and Malo does the nice thing and lets me claim victory by falling into a deep, deep sleep.

  2 The Prisoner

  The four of them, a true set and a terror to the Chorus’ worst enemies. Sent across the galaxy on more missions than Sax can remember, each one a dizzying array of objectives, attacks, and merciless slaughters of species who dared defy the command of the galaxy’s rulers. Each and every one of those missions plays, dragging Sax through a life lived at the fringe of sanity for far longer than he had any right to expect.