Jeb had washed and changed his clothes. The coin he’d gotten off the assassins was more than enough to supply all four of them with food and shelter for a few weeks.

  The bath had been exquisite; grime, sourness, and smell floated to the top of the water, and they had to change his water twice.

  It had been three days since the rescue of the lady. She’d ended up with the room, shared by the monk. Probably sharing the bed. A pang of jealousy ran through his body like lightning, far more painful than just a thought.

  What the hell was that?

  Adrenal glands seem to have responded to your thoughts. It secreted a tremendous amount of adrenaline and hormones into the bloodstream, Jeebz answered.

  Later, the streets of the city were the same. It appeared no one, particularly the guards, recognized him. Though his hair had been cut short, and his clothes changed.

  The streets really were bad, but it was the guards he was reconnoitering. It was true; his recall of that night—the light didn’t touch them the same as the rest. He didn’t know why—the physics of it. He didn’t see any technology, no wires, and no electrical hum.

  At night, it was oddly more pronounced. Candlelight seemed to darken or dim in their presence more than the light in the day dimmed. That was likely just the quantity of light, though. It was still hair-raising.

  It didn’t take long to start seeing more of the character of the guards, not just their eerie presence. They frequented shops, bullying the owners with their presence. Everyone was cowed; everyone was ill.

  Following the guards, he found that they all, eventually, came back to the palace. They didn’t speak to each other. And when they spoke to the owners, it was in a low rumble, like a slow humid wind.

  Taxes, they called it. But the amount they took was clearly insane to him—ten to twenty percent, it seemed, from talking with the store owners after. And somehow, the guards always knew how much they had made that week.

  On the fourth day, Jeb found himself getting angry. He’d made a few acquaintances with some food cart operators. A few at other taverns. One was a silversmith. These were decent enough people. They were in the city to get away from the brigands, but they found themselves in a worse spot.

  “The guards didn’t start coming until I was settled in. I had spent all of my capital on wares to sell,” the silversmith said. “It was the timing. I had no money—all in or nothing. Business has been okay. But I can never make quite enough to save up, to get out. The taxes always increase as the economy gets better, and then it slumps again.

  “Why work if you can’t make a living that safeguards your future? I’m always week to week.” The silversmith was clearly upset, and Jeb could understand why.

  Jeb started to see the similarities between Azibo and Systems. The oppression was there, but different. He’d like to think it wasn’t that bad. But the only freedom he had was because he had hacked his A.I. He wondered what it would have been like those last nine thousand years, walking on eggshells all the time, never getting good at anything, just mildly capable at a little bit of everything. Guarding your thoughts. People didn’t talk much—just the droids serving booze. Most people were on their VR experiences to avoid the rest of society out of fear.

  It was the fifth night walking around, at the monk’s orders, that Jeb had decided something. He didn’t quite know that he had, but he found himself planning something. That’s when it had occurred to him. He’d made a choice. Now he was just working out the details.

  “The monk is right,” he said aloud. “I’m going to free these people.”

  He twisted on his heel and made his way to the tavern. There he found five guards and the pinched-faced man. They all turned as he walked in through the door. The small weasel smiled and stepped behind the guards.

  These guards were different. These were the dark ones. The others had just been wearing dark armor, looking similar to the main guards. These, you couldn’t see the faces behind the slits in their helmets.

  Five inside, two upstairs from the sounds on the ceiling boards. And three coming down the street, three from both directions, Jeebz reported.

  Jeb slowly backed up. He didn’t know what these guards were capable of. If they were anything like the assassin in the barn so many months ago, then he had a problem.

  Why doesn’t the monk just ‘illusion’ them away? he asked himself bitterly.

  Illusions are visual.

  I’m pretty sure those sandwiches were illusions, Jeb protested.

  The voice hit him. It was nothing he’d experienced before. A dark, deep vibration passed over his body. His body seemed to shake and weaken from the voice. His eyes grew wide, and he felt tiredness start to take him over.

  Shaking clear his head, he gave Jeebz an order. Mute! And immediately, the sound abated. It helped, some. But the body still seemed to be responding to the vibrations of it, but he wasn’t going to sleep now.

  He backed into the street and drew his blade, waiting. He couldn’t hear now, which hampered him. So, he had to use his other senses.

  The guards came forward, blades drawn, and began to play with Jeb. They worked in unison, attacking a split second after the other, making defense difficult.

  Their blades resisted being sliced through, and their armor resisted his blade’s edge. It still cut, but it wasn’t like butter. Running one creepy guard through, he kicked back and connected with the chest plate of another, throwing him back several feet. Pulling his blade free, ink seemed to drip from its edge. Dodging the next attack, he took a step and an extra swing to lop the head off the one he’d just kicked.

  He began to circle the remaining five, preventing them from doing the same to him. It was hard work, corralling these guards. Two more attacked and he dodged, then three more, trying to pile on top of him. But he was stronger than the average human here, a lot stronger. And he was a master in his field.

  Twisting, fitting through cracks in their bodies’ motion, he found himself on the other side of the group. Now the other five were coming out of the tavern. Ten. Ten guards.

  How many shots are in the blaster? he asked Jeebz.

  Seven left, and then worthless metal, Jeebz replied.

  Jeb stood back, drew, and fired six shots, relieving them of their future responsibilities.

  “That’s better. Four is better.” The guards stopped to look at him, or rather, to look at his blaster. Once he holstered his pistol, they began again to try and surround him.

  “What are you guys? Robots? Zombies?” Stepping forward, his blade a glimmer of light, he killed the one on his left. Spinning, blade now reversed in his left hand, he used his right hand, palm forward, and pulsed his body’s weight into the armor. The speed and force, along with the technique, caused the energy to pass right into the body wearing the armor, bypassing it completely. A squish sound and blood poured out of the armor’s armholes.

  Three more motions and two more dead guards later, Jeb slumped to the floor. His body’s adrenaline was slowing down. The dance had taken a lot out of this body. His Doll, back in Systems, would have had no problem with this fight, at least in terms of energy. But this was a Sac.

  The small man seemed to be running up the street. Looking back, he tripped, rolled, and then crawled into an alley. Jeb let him go, both in mind and body.

  He sheathed his sword after cleaning the inky blood off its blade. The street was empty of people; they’d run and hid. The patrons inside had left or gone up to their rooms, probably packing and getting ready to leave before the rest of the guards arrived. Prisoners all, but still smart.

  He got up off the ground and stepped in. The barkeep was staring at him, his jaw attempting to touch the floor. Jeb nodded to the man and stepped past him, making his way to the stairs.

  Up the stairs, he realized he had forgotten about the two guards! He drew his blade, but it was not needed. Raul, with blood streaked down his side, was holding a heavy sword, and the two guards were on the ground.

  Looking about, Jeb gingerly stepped forward to take a look at the wound.

  Three flesh wounds. With stitches, he’ll be fine, Jeebz reported.

  Jeb glanced at the door, still closed. He opened it and inspected the room. The lady was on her feet, holding some kind of wooden thing that looked like a club, probably a leg from a chair. Yes, there was the chair it came from, upended on the floor. The monk, of course, was sitting on the bed, reading some kind of book.

  “Raul, can you stand?” Jeb asked.

  “Yeah,” he breathed. “I think so. Gimme a second.”

  Jeb nodded and began to inspect him. “We don’t have much time,” he said loud enough for everyone. “We should leave as soon as possible.”

  There was nothing particularly special about the guard. Now that he was dead, the light seemed to touch him just fine. The metal for his armor was banged up, with a large hole where Raul’s blade had punctured.

  Nothing else on him. Clothes, armor, and weapon. Not even pouches for gold. He checked the other guard. Identical.

  Raul finally stood and entered the room. The other two were still packing up, the monk going at an even pace. Not worried, but not slow either.

  The woman was the opposite. “How did you do that?” She was looking at Jeb. She glanced at the window, and he realized that she’d probably seen his epic combat against nearly a dozen advanced soldiers.

  Arrogance is the path to underestimating your opponent, then death.

  “Sometimes necessity raises a person to new levels of ability,” he answered back.

  Grabbing a smaller towel, he folded it lengthwise and handed it to Raul. “Use this to keep pressure on the wound. Once we get a moment, I can give you some stitches.” Raul nodded in thanks and gingerly sat down near the door.

  “No, you moved too fast. That was… It was… The way you moved!” And then the bangs. It was like you threw fire that erupted in their chests. Her eyes went big. “You’re a sorcerer!” The fear was palpable; she began to shake, wide eyes staring at Jeb.

  Shaking his head, he said, “No, magic doesn’t exist.” He glanced at the monk, wondering how he did his illusions. Hallucinations? Drugs? “Just finish packing. We only have a few more minutes. We need to go.”

  The remainder of things were placed in bags, and they stepped down the stairs. As they headed through the common room, Jeb tossed the barkeep one of the sacks of coin he’d gotten earlier that week. “For the trouble.” And then they were out the back door. He’d made a mess and brought trouble. It was only right to keep the balance and do what he could as amends.

  They couldn’t take the cart, but they undid the horses. No time for saddles, they only used harnesses. “We can get what we need later.” Guiding the animals out and to the nearest corner, they began to zigzag. Jeb guided them in such a way that people would see them multiple times but going in different directions. Eventually, they found an alley with no traffic and used that to get out of the maze they had created.

  On the other side of the city, they found another tavern, a little cleaner than the last, and a larger barn for the animals. They picked the three rooms in the back, using much of their coin to purchase silence and anonymity.

  It was all a blur, but he had to focus. He put Raul in a chair and had him remove his shirt. Needle and thread in hand, Jeb went about stitching up the three gashes on his torso. Never quite too deep to kill, but he’d lost some blood.

  Without the right supplements, he will heal slowly. He’ll need several days of rest before his blood supply is back to normal, Jeebz replied.

  “You are on simple rest for the next few days,” Jeb said. Raul nodded his agreement.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Jeb looked at the bed. He was tired, but he had more work to do. “I’ll take the first watch. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. You get sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Raul wrapped another towel around his wounds and eased himself onto the bed. Jeb left him there, heading for the monk’s room.

  Before he could knock, the monk bade him to come in.

  “Quite the afternoon,” the monk said, glancing out the window into the darkness. It had taken hours to do what they did to get out of there. Several close calls, people pointing for guards in directions they thought they’d seen Jeb and his companions travel, but then further on, others pointed back where they’d come from.

  “You could say that. It’s only going to get harder.” Jeb sat down on the small chair next to a table. “If we are going to do something, sooner the better. I think those guards recognized my blaster.”

  The monk nodded, considering. “What is it you want to do?” he asked.

  The morning rushed back to him, his walk and his plans flooding into him.

  “I’m not a tactician or a general. I’m a combat engineer and a pilot,” he said, leaning back in the small chair. “So, there is only one thing to do. I sneak in, using the passage the girl says exists, and then kill anyone and everyone that are running these drones they call guards.”

  “Hmm. Drones. That’s a good description.” He nodded. “There will be troubles inside the palace. How do you suppose these drones came about?”

  “Probably a hypno-sphere,” he said, with a yawn.

  “And the light?” The monk asked quietly.

  Jeb thought about it. “I don’t have an explanation for that. Is there some kind of secret that you know and I don’t? Because it’s my ass on the line.” He leaned forward, speaking at the monk.

  “What I know is of little importance, for what I know is incomplete, and being incomplete I have no answers, not yet. I’m hoping that during this, or after this, I’ll have a better understanding.” He settled himself onto the bed, spreading his robes as usual. “I’ve seen similar mind-dead. It happens more and more when a collection of people start to agree too much with each other. Collectivism has always been a bane to the universe. The more collective beings are, the more they operate like matter, only able to react, never analyze and act. Just abreaction, as though they were only stimulus-response capable.”

  “You talk a lot, you know that?” Jeb chimed in.

  The monk chuckled. “It’s true. Then again, I haven’t really had anyone to talk to that knows more about the outside universe than a worm knows about a beach.”

  “Okay, but when it comes to the actual mission, why don’t you do it?” It had been boiling up in his head. “Why am I doing the combat when you can just illusion them away?” Jeb realized he’d tacitly just admitted to magic. He winced inside.

  The monk studied him for a bit while Jeb fidgeted. “My ability would likely trigger an event. Minimally, attention we do not want.” The monk sighed. “I have been here a long time. I have learned, with some regret, that putting out too much influence seems to attract attention, not the kind that is useful. And so, I must keep my influence contained. Instead, I have spent my time looking at a puzzle.”

  “A puzzle? What puzzle? You are on a prison planet,” Jeb replied.

  “Oh, yes. This is most definitely a prison planet. But do prisons usually have life sentences that go on for eternity? Do prisons that go on for eternity benefit anyone?” The monk squinted at Jeb, leaning in and holding up a finger. In a whisper, “An eternity.”

  Jeb hadn’t thought of that, not really.

  The monk chuckled. “Also, it appears this galaxy and the one nearby, your Systems, have been sending not just petty criminals and perverts, but also their best and brightest. At first, I thought they were just criminals, but then I started to have my doubts.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his interest piqued.

  “This system, Sol, has been a prison planet for many millions of years, maybe tens of millions. Maybe not quite a hundred million. And only a few have escaped this system. This is not the only prison planet in this system, nor this galaxy. There used to be quite a large presence here, another civilization that spanned these stars.”

  “Uh huh…” Jeb was getting disinterested. He stood up; his stomach was rumbling. Time to spend some coin on a good meal. Maybe the girl would like to eat with him.

  “What happened to them?” It was an honest question, and one that Jeb was not expecting.

  Jeb looked back at Bleek, consternation riddled his face. “What HAVE you been investigating for all these eons?” Jeb asked his companion.

  With a sigh, Bleek continued, “There has been a ‘plague’ in this sector for some time. I have been tracking down the source, much like you track down the source of a rumor.”

  “A plague? Like a disease among biologics?” Jeb attempted to clarify.

  “Not quite,” Bleek answered. “It has spread like a disease, but the symptom is not biologic, not exactly.” The monk studied Jeb for a moment. “I can… show you… the problem.”

  Jeb frowned, “You mean with one of those illusions? Wouldn’t that attract attention?” Jeb asked.

  “Yes, well, much like it anyway. Much smaller scale. It should not attract attention,” the monk answered.

  “How? What would I have to do?” Jeb was dubious.

  “This would be with your consent. Otherwise, it would require too much influence, similar to altering reality for many.”

  Altering reality… Jeb laughed.

  Does not compute, Jeebz answered.

  “Alter reality,” he mumbled under his breath. Jeb took a deep breath. “Fine, maybe I should know. What do I do?” he asked.

  “Just have a seat.” Jeb sat down. “Alright, now, close your eyes. The first thing you must learn is that energy, motion, and thought have a pattern, or shape, depending on the purpose of the motion or thought. There are four primary patterns.

  “The first is a flow from a source point out. This would be from self out. The second is a reversal of this flow, an intake. The third is a dispersal, starting from center and expanding outwards, much like an explosion. And the opposite, an implosion.

  “Another special condition of energy flow is when two or more flows of equal volume and velocity collide, producing what is called in engineering a standing wave.

  “The standing wave can retain other impressions on it, much like a carrier wave can carry many different wavelengths or frequencies within it, as long as the wavelength is less than the main carrier wave. These impressions can literally record light, energy wavelengths in the emotion ranges, and it can be positive or negative, thereby storing actual electrical charges.

  “In the mind, there are many of these standing waves, and they hold, basically, the memory in picture form, much like a movie records. Everything seen, felt, imagined, and experienced. Any and all sensations. There is nothing that does not get recorded, even while unconscious.

  “These impressions can be viewed, both with technology but also with another mind, if one knows where to look.”

  “Again, you talk a lot.” Jeb announced to a blank room as his eyes remained closed.

  Without pause, the monk continued. “The mind is not, as primitive sciences believe, confined to the brain or cells of the body. Though a biologic has something similar, it is not the same. A much cruder mind is used to operate a biologic. “Instead, the mind is composed of the electric field around a being, or spirit. The electric field has layers upon layers of these standing waves in a general geometric pattern. The standing wave has hardly any mass to it, some more than others. “These layers can be shifted around so as to let the outer layers come in close to the being, compressing into what is considered their current thought processes, personality, and even opinions. The opinions and views can be shifted about simply by altering the pattern or compilation of these standing waves because they contain not only perception at the time of creation, but also the thoughts and opinions impressed upon them by the spirit. “The mind can be configured in such a way to have only relevant information, from the various layers, to be operating for the use of computation of answers towards the purposes at hand. “The mind seems to put in gaps for these mortals for each death, leaving the rest of the information—all the data learned from their lives—compartmentalized and inaccessible. This is what is called amnesia.”

  The speech was beginning to turn monotonous, and his mind began to wander. In the black of his vision, he began to see a faint cloud. The monk’s voice was in the back of his mind, as though someone giving a speech underwater.

  The fog grew in size but never out of sight. The fuzz began to focus into points and then into the arms of a spiral. Billions of various colored stars with a hyper-bright ball for a core. It was a galaxy, one that Jeb had seen before, Drakudai.

  “You can also put these standing waves directly in the path of the perception points of a being, much like putting a vidscreen in front of the eyes of a Sac or Doll,” Bleek whispered in the background. “Doing so can allow another person to see your recordings or composed and created illusion.”

  The galaxy began to turn and zoom in until he was positioned above one of the arms of the galaxy. Closer still, he zoomed into a cluster of stars.

  It wasn’t a vision he saw, nothing of detail like as in a vid. It was an impression, an understanding or awareness. Communications, presences, life, control, conquering. Ships jumping from star to star. Masses of people communicating, both telepathically as well as with electronics, with one another, across the stars.

  The civilization seemed to expand, not visually, but an idea that life was expanding from a smaller point into a larger zone. Occasionally, upsets and conflicts would arise, but the general purpose of the life of this civilization, individually aligned purposes to conquer and survive, overrode the small, short-sighted goals. The overall flow of energy was to thrive by creating order and expanding. It was a creation energy, energy from the source emanating across the stars. Jeb couldn’t help but feel exhilaration and exultation from the overwhelming power.

  Time went on, the galaxy was being conquered when another life force entered. It created, through covert and insidious means, small pockets of dissonance within this thriving energy. It planted seeds, twisting the ideas of life and purpose.

  Confusion, doubt, and mystery were its means. Its goal was dissonance, death, and confusion. The obfuscation of life and the twisting of the purpose of life. The future slowed, and the present sensation was emphasized.

  The civilization started to question itself. The goals and intentions for the future were reduced; the momentum slowed. More disputes, more pain, more upset spread.

  Then, the darkness revealed itself with open arms. You seem to be having troubles. We’ve seen these troubles from whence we came. We’ve conquered these troubles. Your goals are laudable. Your dreams are attainable. But we understand these problems you have, these doubts and disputes. They trouble you. We can help, if we are not too late. Would you like us to help you?

  The agreement was easy to gain. And so the true struggle began. The galaxy began to gain spots of blackness, of no communication, impenetrable by perception, the mass too thick. These spots spread. Communication faded, people distrusted each other, and the worlds began to resent each other. War broke out. And then, stillness.

  The galaxy seemed to absorb a word, both in language and intention. The content of that whisper was one word: Sleep.

  Jeb was staring at the monk. His mind raced with the struggle of comprehending what he had just experienced. The thoughts and emotions were so simple while he was in it. To be able to conceptualize the entire galaxy as a single entity of life and the alignment of purpose. And even though it was one idea, one purpose he’d felt, he was also distinctly cognizant that they were aligned purposes coming from individuals. The purpose of conquest over the physical universe by implementing order through the aesthetic of life.

  The sensation was fading. The walls, which he’d realized had felt thin and frail while in this vision, became more solid and real.

  Jeb shook his head. “That… That was something else.” He rubbed his eyes to clear the blur.

  Bleek was sitting next to him. “Life is here to conquer the physical universe. Conquer through imposing order, ideally as aesthetically as possible.” He shook his head. “Somewhere along the line, someone got the idea that the goal was to conquer life. Professing how bad it was to impose force on a universe made of force. Bizarrely ironic.”

  “Who?” Jeb asked. “Who would want to do that? Who would come up with this idea?”

  Bleek looked at him for a long moment. “I don’t know.” He sat back, still looking at Jeb. “What I do know is that the most powerful—the spirits, the gods, whatever you want to call them—lost a major war. At least in this sector.”

  “Sector? What sector?” Jeb asked, blinking out the last vestiges of the illusion he’d been shown.

  “The universe is arbitrarily divided into 3,600 sectors. Last I was informed, which was many millennia ago, they had added a new one, rounding up to 3,600. New ones get added from time to time as the universe expands.” Bleek looked at Jeb for a moment. “The universe is far bigger than what your Systems has considered.”

  “Ok. It’s big. But what about this war? What war? You say there was a war between some gods… and what?”

  Bleek sighed. “That war was long ago. It was a nasty bit. I, unfortunately, got caught up in an enemy’s containment field. Before that containment field, my memory is foggy. When I woke, I was in deep space. Floating. I was out of it for quite some time, trying to figure out what had happened.”

  “You were floating in space? Did you have a distress beacon? Were you rescued? What happened?”

  Bleek laughed. “No, nothing like that. We had no need of distress beacons back then.” Bleek took a breath. “It doesn’t much matter what the war was. What does matter is that the spirits, the gods, lost. They were hunted down and exterminated somehow.”

  Jeb thought for a while. “Are there any left?”

  “No, not those ones. Those were beings of such immense power they could glance at a mountain and burn it to ash. They could flick a thought and the atmosphere on a world could be ripped apart.”

  Jeb winced. “Flick a thought… You’re talking about magic.” Jeb didn’t believe in magic.

  “Oh no. Not magic. Magic is something else entirely.” Bleek looked over at the girl, who seemed to be playing with a cup. “Magic was the next era.”

  Jeb rubbed his temples, feeling overwhelmed. All this talk from Bleek had his head running in circles. None of it made sense, and it seemed to jump around. Beings this, thoughts that, eras and wars so ancient they might as well not even be mentioned.

  “Okay, so why are you telling me all this?” Jeb asked.

  Bleek pointed at the window. “Look out the window and tell me what you see.”

  Jeb rolled his eyes but acquiesced. Setting his hands on the edges of the window, he peered out. Being in the back of the inn, there wasn’t much to see. A few people were hanging clothes from their balconies. A man threw out some dirty dishwater in the alley below, the mud sucking it up as though thirsty. A few people chatted from balcony to balcony.

  “Well, I see some people doing some things, laundry, walking, and talking.” Jeb looked over his shoulder at Bleek.

  “Yes,” Bleek intoned to himself as well as Jeb. His eyes met Jeb's gaze, becoming intense. Jeb could feel something in those eyes—an intense emotion powered by energy and force. By menace. But it was brief, yet he could see it, feel it.

  Quietly, as though to make Jeb reach out to hear him, understand him, Bleek spoke again. “And each one of them used to be a god.”

  Jeb flinched. The idea was lightning in his mind. The concept seemed to strike him. After a moment, he realized he had sat down on the chair near the window. He was panting.

  “Wha-What was that?” he said after a moment of catching his breath. Bleek didn’t answer. He looked up, and Bleek was gone.

  Jeb looked around the room. Raul was there, asleep. The girl was there, still playing with her cup. He cautiously stood up, the hairs on his neck and arms standing vertical. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

  Jeb, where did he go? Jeebz asked.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered in reply. “How long was I at the window?” he asked Jeebz.

  Four minutes.

  “And how long did I sit in the chair?” he questioned further.

  Thirteen minutes and seven seconds, Jeebz answered.

  Jeb grunted. “Okay,” he said with sarcasm. He shook his head as though it would clear his mind of the confusion. It didn’t. “Fine, but we still have to get the maps.”

  Jeb tapped the girl on the shoulder. “Sarla, you should change your clothes. Try to wear silk or something like it. You don’t want to make noise tonight.”

  Sarla looked down at her clothes and back up at him. “I have no clothes now. And I have no coin.”

  He reached into his pouch and pulled out some silver. There wasn’t much left. “This should get you what you need. And get some dark cloaks, some black thin cloth, and some shears.”

  She blinked at him. “Why?”

  “Because where we’re going, we need to be darker than those guards. Get some black dye too.” He looked back at the chair where Bleek had been sitting. He looked around quickly, scanning the room. The monk’s pack was gone as well.

  Sarla stood up and pocketed the coins. “Okay.” With a quick sigh, she left.

  You have no record of him leaving the room? Jeb asked Jeebz.

  There was an odd pause before a reply. I don’t know what to say. At first, it was just a few moments before I asked, but when I scanned my data, it was like I’d simply just stopped for some time.

  Fine. The monk likes to be mysterious. So be it. But we still need the maps.

  Indeed, we do, Jeebz replied.