The Way [Part I]

“Listen up,” A lanky pilot got up from his seat and padded into the cargo hold of the ship, flicking on the overhead light as he spoke. “The MM has locked down Caesid and are checking all ships leaving for Analuna.  If they find you lot here, we’re all dead.  I’ve changed my mind about taking you, it’s just too risky you’ll have to find another ship.”  He wrung his hands and looked into the faces of the fallen, crammed together in between crates.

They weren’t hurt by his words.  They simply flowed out of the ship and skittered back into the city’s crevices.  The risk of being caught with Roshoqan refugees was punishable by torture until death or insanity and no matter how desperate some people were to leave Caesid, no one seemed to blame any pilot who was overcome by fear.  No one wants to die that way.

Cyrus, who had witnessed the pilot release his cargo on the ship deck, overheard a dock officer discuss the pilot’s itinerary.  He was on a direct route to Eiren.  Cyrus wasn’t aware of all the lockdown terms, but he did know that Roshoqans leaving the system was a great offense.   He thanked Eidos that he had been born Eirenian.

The pilot left his ship to buy supplies and freshen up.  Sometime later he returned, though Cyrus noticed something different about him.  It was hard to place, he didn’t even know the man but something had happened in the time he was gone, perhaps he had heard some bad news.   He puttered around his ship, doing a pre-trip check and inspecting the vessel.

Weaving his way through the dense crowd in the lower docks, Cyrus was a thread through a hundred needles. Unassuming in his plain coat and boots, the man approaching the captain was dressed to move and not to please. In fact, it seemed he bathed as such too. The captain's arms were full with a tool box, from which he extracted a multi-tool and checked the landing gear's brake systems. Only a few people milled about this vessel, most of the stow aways having fled in search of brighter prospects. Cyrus waited for a taxi to pass, and closed the distance.

"Hail, Captain." Drake's voice croaked as he spoke, as if he hadn't held a conversation in many hours or perhaps days. He brushed back tangled hair and stared down the pilot as he rose. There was something strange in his eyes, a liberation scarcely seen in Zenith. Indeed, he was poor but not Roshoqan poor. Cyrus cleared his throat and continued, "I need passage to Analuna, anywhere in Analuna really. So long as I don't incinerate or suffocate or freeze when I land. I don't have anything to pay you though. Nothing."

Digging his wallet from one of the many pockets sewn into his coat, Drake revealed it to the captain. Where most Roshoqans would have a credit card or some form of the usual digital payment, Cyrus didn't even have off world hard money. Picking through the compartments, he found a few coupons, a condom, and what appeared to be the removed safety button of a firearm. Cyrus stowed his wallet, gazing into the captain's eyes. In a tone suddenly more friendly than distant, "however maybe your illegal cargo had some money to spare, I'll go ask the MM if they've seen where those guys ran off to." However Cyrus did not turn to go anywhere, wondering instead if he'd made his point.

The captain spoke up but didn’t look up at Cyrus. “State your business in Eiren and prove to me that you aren’t a Bull Pup running away from Mama. Unless you have some kind of authorization to leave Caesid the Primus aren’t letting anyone out, and it doesn’t matter where you say you’re from. Haven’t you heard? Caesids under Martial Law. Yep, happened this morning. I was on my way out when a mass message from the Mutandis ordered us to turn tail and dock at the nearest location.” He spoke so casually, as if a lockdown were mere pillow talk on a steamy night.

A stream of medium sized ships docked over the course of the day and by night fall when the two men were speaking, the dock was once again empty. The barely audible primal scream of the protest groups floated on the wind. The civil unrest was escalating with every passing day it seemed.

Something dangerous suddenly smoldered in Cyrus' blue eyes. How dare he rebuke a channeler. His gaze bored into the pilot, and Cyrus Drake felt the familiar energy surging through his body. It felt like a stiff drink at first, a burning in your stomach that fought every second of digestion. But it grew, creeping into his heart, his extremities, and cheeks. The buzzing warmth enveloped Cyrus like a welcome cloak, a buffer of power between him and the mundane. His eyes became luminescent, never forgetting the object of their ire.

When his lips spoke, the words echoed both in reality and the pilot's mind. "Simpering fool I obey my own law." Cyrus, at 5'8", was not an imposing man, but he grabbed the unfortunate pilot by the shoulders and shook him as the man's brain was bombarded by Cyrus' mental fit. Unkempt bangs flew around and his voice sank to a low growl and extinguished.

A flash of clarity cut through the mindless rage in his heart, rendering Cyrus dizzy. He let go of the man nearly stumbling back, as surging energy dissipated it left a forlorn emptiness. Sadness washed over Cyrus and it was all he could do remain standing. Have I no pride?

But Cyrus could not afford to dally, for the pilot would surely report him. Regardless he couldn't face the poor man after his conniption, this encounter would remain a blurry anomaly in the pilot's memory, and Eiren would remain out of reach for now. The pounding in his heart played bass to the temp of his feet, running through the dock warrens. Somewhere in the back of his head, the sound of protests grew closer. Panic.

Fighting to regain his balance the pilot pushed away from Cyrus, confused and visibly put off by the man’s odd behavior. “Have you gone mad boy?” he barked and distanced himself. Cyrus fled from the docks, avoiding any further judgment from the pilot.

After venturing through a system of convoluted pathways, Cyrus was spat out on the other side, led by the roar of rushing water that cascaded from the upper levels. The heavy sun sucked daylight out of the darkening corridor before him as it set. Orange honey painted the sides of the buildings and seeped along the water’s edge, creating an illusion that the thick foundation pillars were set in hard dry earth like that found beyond Zenith’s walls. Despite the depraved ecology of Roshoq, life teemed within the city’s watery microcosm. It was still a grand mystery how there could be such an abundance of water in one of the most inhabitable dry planets in Caesid. All the species there dangled to life by a delicate thread.

For a short moment there was a peacefulness that hushed the angry voices of the city, but it faded as quickly as it came. On a balcony above Cyrus, the sounds of an argument broke the still air.

“By order of the Mutandis, place your palms together. You are forbidden to channel and if you disobey this command you will be arrested and prosecuted”. Shuffling of feet echoed off the walls of the otherwise silent corridor and from where Cyrus stood he could not see the accused.

“You fucking Bulls!” The person’s voice was filled with rage and before the word could be finished, a loud boom of energy exploded from the balcony, spitting Mutandis soldiers into the water below. The balcony sagged and split from the blow, crumbling in a heap of screams and gun shots. Cyrus flung himself backwards to escape the debris coming down on him, but the danger was not over yet.

“Don’t let him get away. Quickly, before he opens a waygate!!” The voice of the squad leader, which at first held an authoritarian tone, squeaked in frustration through the settling dust. The silhouette of a short man in a trench coat ran through the dust in Cyrus’s direction, nearly knocking him down.

The man met Cyrus’s inquisitive gaze and stopped for a split second. “Hope to Eidos you’re not a channeler boy, they’ll find you.” He flashed a grimace before speeding off in the opposite direction of the turmoil behind him.

"Were it that everywhere in Roshoq were as peaceful, perhaps they might know a moment of tranquility." Drake found himself lost between the thunderous water above and stucco sunset splashed on the walls. Maybe Cyrus didn't know much, but he captured a moment like no other. The silence stretched on, putting distance between him and the chaos of Zenith. Cyrus Drake sighed in his amber prism, one indelicately shattered moments later.

Somebody bellowed from the neighboring building, and the structure echoed with one of its own. Mortar and dust came raining down with the bodies of several officers, with Cyrus ducking into a neighboring alley to escape the debris. A man in a trench coat, unbelievably even shorter than Cyrus, escaped from the scene; a few whispered words into the drifter's ears was all it took to instigate a chase.

Blinking the dust from his eyes as the man dashed off, Cyrus felt a surge of energy flood his body. His eyes became luminescent but quickly burned out as a wave of dizziness overcame him. Now is not the time, not after earlier. I can't focus. Cyrus shook his head, grabbing at a dumpster for support. Catching his breath, he sprinted after the strange man. The Mutandis were not far behind.

The canal stretched on indefinitely, dotted by strangers who yelped as the pair tore through the narrow strip of walkway. Behind them was their impending doom, closing in with the urgency of a viper on its prey. They fled down a staircase onto the boardwalk below and ducked into a derelict building on their right.

The short fellow yanked open a large vent cover and ushered Cyrus inside. Shortly after, the Bulls stormed through with a rain of gun fire, and quickly realized their escape. The officer roared at the other men to block off the building’s perimeter and locate the other vent exits. For good measure he threw a device into the vent and then jammed the cover’s latch to close it off.

Meanwhile, the pair crawled away from the hissing sound of the knock out gas, taking turn after turn of lefts and rights through a surprisingly convoluted system. A final right deposited them into a room with no doors, windows, or other vent openings. The man worked fast, turning on a headlamp and digging through his pockets until he unearthed something slightly larger than the man's hand.

It was laid in the middle of the dark room and all that could be seen was the distortion of air as the field grew larger. “It’s not ready yet”, he grumbled to himself as he paced.

Cyrus noted the long path they had taken to get to this room. Weren't they in just a tiny broken down building? He thought he had remembered it so. Something was strange about this place. The walls themselves seemed to distort.

Cyrus lit up upon glimpsing the stranger's catalyst, any ticket off of Roshoq would suit him just fine. He thought of the ship captain earlier, thoughtlessly marching in tune with these despots. The sound of the rioting still bounced around his skull; somebody would surely die for their liberty today, but not Cyrus Drake.

Faint light thrown from the Tevaret illuminated the metal chamber, casting the men's faces in pale lambency. Drake's eyes wandered from the catalyst to his companion's features, almost as if recording them. A thought twisted itself around Cyrus, a poisonous suspicion. What if this catalyst opens into a prison, or the void of space? A gauntlet of ten thousand deaths ran through his head, narrow eyes glaring at his executioner. Yet the sound of heavy boots and a faint scent of gas shattered his delusion. Better a potential death than a sure one.

"Let me help, I know what to do." The stranger had already activated the catalyst, and Cyrus could see the space warping around it. He had never aided another in such an endeavor, for the wanderer knew no wayfarers other than himself. Yet in theory all he had to do was channel his energy alongside his partner.

A deep breath brought a rush of oxygen as well as energy. The alien power spread through Cyrus' body as he opened a conduit to Eidos, an all too welcome and familiar sensation. Focusing on the catalyst, he shifted the energy from his body to the tevaret crystal. A satisfied grin split his face, for there was no elation compared to raw power obeying every whim of the mind. He continued to channel energy into the catalyst, allowing his partner to direct it. The field grew, distorting the space around it as if staring through a prism.

Their pursuers could be heard stomping around above, and the sound of a high powered saw almost broke Drake's concentration. They were going to cut through the ceiling.

Cyrus could no longer see the catalyst, lost as it was within the field's refraction. "There's no more time, we have to go." He covered his head with an arm as metal shavings started raining down on him, the saw was breaking through. "There should be enough energy to take both of us." Without waiting for a response, Cyrus ducked into the field and dove for the catalyst with eyes closed tight. He felt his body land on the hard crystal carving, and braced himself as he felt dissolution seize his physical form. A brilliant white light illuminated the backs of his eyelids, and he was whisked away like so many photons.

A flash bathed the room in light as the gate finally opened. The two channeled their energy into the catalyst, stretching the opening until it could sufficiently fit both of their bodies.

“Let’s go” the short stocky man said, flinging himself into the unknown light with complete abandon. Cyrus was flung himself, an unearthly blast of light surrounding every atom of his body as he traveled through space at high speed. In this place, if it could be called any ‘place’, there is no concept of time. He could have been there for hours, or days, or even seconds, but it felt irrelevant.

When the light diminished, so did the deafening silence that chilled him to the bone. It took some time for him to want to open his eyes as even the slightest exposure to light in the pathway would destroy his sense of sight. Only until he was absolutely sure that the darkness had swallowed this light did he open them.

His eyes took time to adjust, at first he experienced pure pitch blackness, but as they did he began to make out the shapes of his surroundings. The previously damp scent of watery Zenith was long gone, leaving what smelled more like a dust bowl in its wake. He felt sand between his fingers and the dry air made him cough as he rose to his feet. A residual whining sound in his head faded into feet running towards him.

“Abraxas!” a voice with urgency resounded in the cave and Cyrus rubbed his head, lifting his face to meet the male before him. “Wait a minute, who the hell are you?!” All at once, ready guns echoed in the space and pointed at him.

One of them whispered to who seemed to be the leader of the bunch, something about the man getting lost in the network and being deposited someplace else. "We have a serious problem here. Are you a wayfarer? Identify yourself." They all awaited an answer from this stranger.