Chapter 146: A promise of benevolation

There were no doors or windows in the Iron Wave fortress. The six Zorathians simply strode toward one of the massive panes of opaque glass that met with the ground and passed through it as if it were as insubstantial as mist.

James led Crimson Hydra up to the structure but couldn’t resist slowing down as he reached the huge wall of glass. The pane was straight edged but irregular, large enough for a truck to drive through but edged in black iron that was overgrown with black barnacle-like encrustations.

“Guest rights,” he whispered, turned to glance back at his crew, then pressed forward, into the glass.

Which gave way before him, not like mist, but rather like a giving gel. He pushed through easily and emerged into a great open space within.

The change in air quality was immediate; the caustic and toxic burning ceased and was replaced by an intensely humid environment, the air so damp that James felt as if he were inhaling through a wet cloth.

There were no walls or partitions. He stood high up on the edge of a great hollowed out space; the ceiling was low, he realized, because the Zorathians had built it over a ravine. In this space teemed life. The black volcanic rock was clearly a more recent layer, for only a few yards down the sides of the ravine it gave way to striations of sedimentary rock, rust reds, dull oranges, and sandy yellows demarcating the eons that had gone into forming the bedrock.

Gigantic ferns grew everywhere, their fronds larger than James himself, and vines climbed up the interior of the structure, gripping to the interstices between the glass panes to turn their golden green leaves toward a floating central sun that hung in the center of the fortress, a mote of bright light that shed warmth upon everything within.

Paths of white rock wound their way down into the chasm, passing over delicate bridges that crossed the ravine at different heights and leading to countless caves that pocked the cliff walls. Small dragonet creatures flew through the air, squawking at each other and letting loose small sizzles of colored sparks, while here and there upon the flat ground that surrounded the ravine on both sides great caterpillars the size of couches moved in slow undulations, excreting milky-white fluid from nodules along their back which were collected by suction cups attached by tubes to floating attendant drones with steel tanks suspended beneath them.

James released his Black Apotheosis form and shrank down into his human self. The air was indeed safe to breathe, though it tasted strongly of heated metal and ozone. He immediately began to perspire, and doubted that Star Boy would have been able to breathe in this overly saturated air.

Five of the Zorathians continued their journey down into the ravine; they split as they reached different forks, each intent on their own destination, while the sixth awaited them at the edge of the chasm. Its glass helm had retracted, and the crystal panels that had covered is lead-hued armor evaporated.

“Welcome to the Iron Wave fortress,” it said. Was that pride in its voice? James couldn’t tell. “Our clan has raised clutches here for over a thousand generations. We are not as we once were, but we persist.” And it raised its four-fingered hand to make a fist that had an air of symbolic meaning.

“Thank you for, ah, inviting us in,” said James. “This place is incredible. Is this what your world was like before the System?”

“No. Arkhos has been as you saw it for centuries. It is our fault. We scoured the skies and poisoned the ocean with ill-fated/destined for badness attempt at new power generation. The Cataclysm. Zorathians nearly extinguished as species, but few of us survived and we have swum back from total destruction. Come.”

The alien turned and began its descent.

“Kind of comforting that we’re not the only species to have fucked up our home world,” said Serenity.

“Shh,” said Denzel. “Rude.”

There were other Zorathians present, but not nearly as many as James had expected. Perhaps the bulk of the residents remained hidden within the caves, but only a score seemed out and about, crossing the bridges or hopping off them to fall several hundred feet into a gleaming pool of milky jade water that glowed from within as if a powerful light source were sunken in its depths. This lake filled the bottom of the ravine, and studying its surface James thought he saw enough movement beneath its opaque surface that the settlement continued far below.

The Zorathian led them along the white paths to a large cave entrance about halfway down the rust-colored cliff. Other aliens noted their progress and stopped to stare; all wore the same leaden armor that looked enmeshed with their physiques, even the few children that were in evidence. At least James assumed they were children; they looked exactly the same as the large specimens, just proportionately smaller.

The cave entrance was decorated with elaborate stone carvings. It was clear that the frieze that edged the opening told a story of some kind: Zorathians featured along its length, some emerging from waters, others harnessing technology, others dying or fleeing. But their guide didn’t slow down, so James passed inside.

The air was just as humid but cooler. The walls were of dressed stone with complex geometric patterns of inlaid gems running along its length. Light glimmered forth from these seams of ruby and emerald and sapphire, suffusing the tunnel with a subtle and shimmering glow.

Tunnels led off from the main entrance, and it quickly became obvious that an entire complex was hidden underground; even these tributary tunnels were large, and James espied tertiary tunnels leading off each. Still, the place felt half-abandoned. It felt like the complex could have accommodated ten times as many residents and not been crowded.

Their guide led them to the end of the great tunnel where it fetched up against a series of broad steps that led to a huge archway. This doorway was flanked by twin statues depicting Zorathians in ceremonial armor that looked antiquated compared to the modern suits the aliens wore.

Crimson Hydra followed in silence, everyone looking about themselves with avid interest as they followed their guide into a great circular chamber. Its floor was of perfectly translucent crystal, beneath which surged aquamarine waters through which swam ivory serpents banded in gold. So perfect was the crystal that James thought their guide was going to plunge into the large pool until he stepped on the solid glass and strode across.

Tiered seating circumnavigated the chamber, giving it the aspect of an audience hall, and six large thrones were set against the far wall, each massive and made of obsidian shot through with bands of wavy silver. Upon the central three thrones sat a Zorathian, but these appeared diminished, their frames less imposing, their heads hanging lower upon their armored chests.

The three Elders.

Their guide stopped before the thrones. He stood still for a few moments, then abruptly turned away and moved to stand to the side.

No words or introductions.

The stands were filling with other aliens. None of them spoke. They moved in utter silence, the effect eerie.

James moved forward hesitantly, walking over the crystal floor and trying not to stare at the bearded white serpents that intwined beneath him in the azure. Occasionally one of them swam right up against the underside of the crystal and eyed him with orbs of pure gold.

James stopped at the same spot where their guide had stood, but the movement amongst the seating bade him keep his tongue. The Zorathians were quickly filling the chairs, and soon enough no more new arrivals appeared.

“Welcome to the Iron Wave clutchdom/nursery/fortress,” said the central Elder. James was almost amused at his own fierce desire to know if he was being addressed by a male or female. “You have guest rights. I am the Iron Wave Prime Elder, Gvathua.”

“I am the Iron Wave Secundus Elder, Ravthorra.”

“I am the Iron Wave Tertius Elder, Psathua.”

“Hello.” James resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. This was it. Official first contact with an alien species. And for all the primal feel of these guys - caves and tunnels and jumping into blue pools, they had done better than humanity with the System. “My name is James Kelly. I’m from a planet we call Earth. We were, ah, visited by the System a few months ago, and it’s been all down hill since then. Most of our species has been killed, our cities are in ruins, and we’re sick and tired of being manipulated by the demons toward their own mysterious ends. We’ve broken free in search of allies, and hope that together we can find a way to defeat these bastards and send them packing.”

His words rang out in the great audience chamber, but the Zorathian impassivity - not like they had much choice, with their skull heads - made his words feel more like bravado than inspiring. Should he have used Inspire? No - the risk of offending them by deploying a System power was too high.

“We see you, James Kelly,” said Gvathua, the Prime. “We lament for your planet/city/clan loss. We have suffered greatly as well. Iron Wave alone has lost four in five of our people.”

“Thank you, and I’m sorry for your loss, too. Your, ah, friend there said you guys had managed to crack open the demon nodes? That you’d reached Level 1,000?” James grinned nervously. “That’s some feat. Even the one Reservoir Cube was almost too much for us.”

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“Our greatest warriors have taken three,” said Gvathua, but it didn’t sound like a boast. “We are deeply connected to each other inside the clan/clutchling. This allows us to resist the annihilation of self. How are your kind connected?”

“Connected?” James frowned. “As in… I mean, we’re companions, we fight together. None here are related by blood, if that’s what you mean. We came together to fight the System.”

“No, I ask, how does your kind/species commune/integrate/correlate?”

James hesitated again. “You mean, like… worship? God? What do we believe in?”

“No.” The Prime shifted in his seat, the first movement James had seen him make. “What do you call yourselves? We are Zorathians.”

“Humans,” said James quickly. “We are all humans.”

“How do humans integrate? Zorathians, especially clutchlings, connect on substrate spiritual plane, we bond for life as a group, clutchlings, even clan, and are able to communicate across distance, without the need for vocalization. To feel/emote/receive/blend/elevate/connect/integrate/correlate.”

“Oh. Sorry, no, humans don’t do that.” James half turned to check on his crew, but what were they going to say? He looked back to Gvathua. “We need to talk to communicate. I mean, the closest of us, say, married pairs or best friends, we can intuit what each of us is thinking, but it’s not like… not like telepathy, I guess. We don’t access this spiritual substrate you mentioned.”

It was weird; nobody in the audience chamber said anything nor moved, but still James sensed a flicker of consternation pass through the crowd, like a silent wind passing through the canopy of a forest.

“Then it is impressive that your kind can absorb even one Reservoir Cube,” said Gvathua. “Have you entered the Pits?”

“Yeah. We reached Level 18 - kind of - before jailbreaking out of there. We stole a portal key and used it to come here.”

“Impressive. What is your level in the System?”

“Lord of the Increate 1.” Should he be playing his cards closer to his chest? James had no idea.

“Powerful enough to reach/conquer Level 17, perhaps 18.” Gvathua fell silent. Was he communicating on the substrate? “Our best reached Level 25 before stopping.”

“Right, yeah, I heard. Why did you all stop?”

“The Eluthaarii/superior beings/cosmic conglomerations/overlords came to us directly and offered us victory/emancipation/elevation/release. In exchange for every Zorathian over Level 1,000 immanentizing the stellafication, they cease the incursion and allow patronage to begin immediately.”

“Wait.” James blinked rapidly. “I don’t understand. The… Eluthaarii? Are they the guys running this whole show?”

“They are.”

Kimmie leaned forward. “The Towers of Creation guys.”

“And they offered - what exactly? What is stellafication?”

“Every Zorathian over Level 1,000 will leave Arkhos to become Eluthaarii. There are one hundred and seventy-eight who shall be elevated/released. They in turn can begin patronage of Arkhos, guiding us to eschaton.”

“Escha-what?” hissed Yadriel.

“Eschaton,” whispered Kerim. “Utopia.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said James. “You guys are throwing in the towel?”

“There can be no victory against the Eluthaarii,” said Gvathua, his tone growing weary.

“Wait, hold up.” The chamber felt as if it were about to start spinning. “You guys are Level 1,000. We have the Bifrost. We can work something out. You can keep fighting.”

“Zorathians have lost too many clutches,” said Gvathua. “Yes. If we fight/persist we may ‘win’. But what does ‘win’ mean to you?”

“To me?” James blinked. “Shit, it means kicking the System out of our home world. It means making sure no more demons come back. It means teaching them that they made a profound mistake when they came to Earth and started fucking with us.”

“Perhaps matters are different in your world/home. We have lost too many in Arkhos. Zorathians reproduce slowly. Require critical mass to maintain species integrity/access to spiritual substrate/overall viability. Already clans are fragmented as never before. Elders can no longer commune/integrate over distances. Many Elders dead. Grand Nominal Elder dead. Seventeen clans across Zora shell broken/extinguished completely.”

James glanced around the audience chamber. “You guys here at Iron Wave look like you’ve taken the fight well. Things here look… I don’t know, like they’re holding together?”

Gvathua waved his massive hand dismissively. “Technology/sentient stone repairs/restores integrity after damage. Our clutchdom/fortress is alive/self-sustaining. But hollowed out. Iron Wave has done well, yes; but our existence outside of the ocean is artificial/necessary/delicate. Critical mass of nursery tenders/parents/society necessary for regeneration. There is no ‘winning’, James Kelly. Only gratification of the ego/blood lust/desire for vengeance.”

“So they’ve offered you a deal.” A hand was clutching his heart. “You guys quit fighting, do what you’re told, and in exchange you get… patronage? What’s that?”

“An elevated/Eluthaarii Zorathian will remain in our solar system to benevolate Arkhos, to guide/shepherd/nurture Zora and the remaining clans. To use its power to restore our glory and guide us to greater fortune/larger clutches. Zorathians shall have a future.”

“Well shit.” James’s shoulders slumped. “Can’t argue with that, I guess. But…” He searched for some protest, some line of argument. “This is what they want, isn’t it? What they wanted all along? Their System worked, even though you cracked their nodes.”

“Yes.” Gvathua’s monotone betrayed hints of sadness. “All roads lead to either elevation/Eluthaarii or shell breaking/extinction. Our champions fought well, but there is one truth Zorathians no longer can deny: even the greatest of heroes/clutch leaders cannot defeat gods.”

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