Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [75]
Vel kneels to examine one, but by the flare of his mandible, he can’t figure out how this technology works, either. I’ve never run into an unspoiled site before. Other species have usually pillaged anything the ancients left behind, long before humans came on the scene, but the Mareq don’t seem to have touched this place at all. It’s as pristine as a site so old can be.
“It is a sacred place,” Dace tells me, as if in answer to my unspoken thoughts. “Other star-walkers came before. We worship them.”
Or at least that’s what the chip thinks she’s saying. I’d say it’s a good guess, based on her rapt expression. I remember she thought we came from the god-place, so maybe that means Dace thinks we’re gods, too, akin to the ancients somehow because we travel like they did. With that correlation in mind, I suppose it makes sense she’d want to show us what they left behind if she believes there’s a connection.
Above the glowing half circle hangs an impossible inverted arch. I’ve no idea how they got it to balance like that, but it doesn’t seem as though the base has enough stability to support the structure. Yet it remains, a testament to the ones who came before and scattered their secrets to the far corner of the galaxy.
“Why did you want us to see this?” Vel asks in Mareq.
“The god-door will open for you, wayfarers from beyond the rains.”
That makes no sense at all. “This doesn’t look like any door I ever saw.”
She ignores my lack of faith. “You are destined. It is all written.”
Now, that’s interesting. The Fugitive scientists would pay a fortune for this information. Until now, nobody even knew the Mareq had a written language. I ponder if it’s cuneiform, or if they spell words with individual symbols instead. An image of these scrolls, whatever they are, would be worth a fortune.
“Where?” I glance around, looking for a massive stone table.
“In the prophecies of Oonan.”
This isn’t helping me understand why we’re here. I step onto the black tiles that form the flooring between the crystals for a better look at—whatever this is—and it hums to life. Energy crackles between the upraised arms of the arch, a stunning blue-violet, and the crystals wink off and on in hypnotic fashion, like if I watch them long enough, they’ll convey some message. It’s definitely a pattern, oddly akin to the lights of a nonhumanoid AI processing information. Could this thing be . . . reading me?
“Has this ever happened before?” I ask Dace over my shoulder.
Only to find she’s already in retreat, as fast her webbed feet will carry her. I can’t hear a reply over the rising hum; it’s oddly akin to the phase drive, but there are discordant notes as well. Vel steps in and wraps his claw around my arm to tow me to safety, but my feet are stuck fast. The pad upon which we stand is magnetized or something, preventing my escape, and now he’s stuck, too. The glow deepens into a true explosion, crackling outward to swallow us whole.
Pain licks along my nerve endings, and I try to scream. No sound. No throat. I’ve dissolved into inchoate particles that are somehow still Jax. Eons later, I reassemble, but we’re not underground anymore. It’s bright here, so bright I can’t open my eyes all the way right off, and I’m flat on my face. I lie here for endless moments, my pulse pounding inside my skull, and study the stonework because I can’t control my central nervous system.
Visceral terror licks through me. Anything could happen now. Anything. I could be eaten. Shot. Set on fire. And I don’t fragging know where I am; I’m just positive it isn’t where I was before. It takes me countless moments before I regain the power of speech.
“Vel?” I rasp.
“Here, Sirantha.”
With some effort, I manage to turn my head. He’s two meters away, near the edge of the platform. The trip hit him hard; he hunches over, expelling a trickle of yellow fluid. That can’t be good; I know I’ve never seen him do that before. To comfort him with the familiarity of his native tongue, I command my vocalizer, Switching