“Of course, sir. We’re playing in the Majors, and they’re still in middle school.”

  Michael liked to hear Rikhi parrot the Minister’s best analogies.

  “Good. Take it back to your quarters and polish this turd.”

  “On it.”

  Michael disliked writing, but he hated editing. The vast intellect he gained after crossing into this universe twelve years ago did nothing to enhance his love for either craft. Rikhi, on the other hand, enjoyed wordplay more than foreplay.

  Rikhi stopped at the door.

  “Do you wish to see the revision before the next session?”

  “Yes … uh, no. Go get yourself some lunch and do what you can. I’ll come back to it tonight.”

  “Very good, Minister.”

  Rikhi turned into the open doorway and collided with a tall visitor.

  “Oh!”

  “May I? Is Minister Cooper free?”

  Michael saw something he loathed more than writing.

  “No, he’s not,” Michael yelled from his desk. “He’s having lunch.”

  “I don’t see food,” Amayas replied.

  “You’re not allowed in,” Rikhi said. “I’ll be happy to schedule a meeting when the Minister is …”

  Amayas pushed past the obstruction.

  “We need to talk, Michael, and it must be now.”

  “Valentin, you motherfuc …”

  “Now, Michael.”

  It wasn’t enough he had to sit across from this man in committee every day, but the asshole needed to intrude on his private time?

  “I must insist, Mr. Knight,” Rikhi said. “Leave.”

  “No, Rikhi.” Michael waved him on. “Fuck it. Go eat lunch. I can handle Valentin.”

  Rikhi narrowed his eyes into angry slits.

  “Understood, Minister.”

  The door slipped shut. Amayas looked around for a moment and studied the trappings.

  “Now this is quite the suite. Only the best for Aeterna’s Minister.”

  “I didn’t make special requests, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “Not at all, Michael. You earned this. You’re one of the most famous men in the human race. Your story has no equal.”

  Michael blew smoke toward his guest.

  “You didn’t come to butter my ass up. What’s your business?”

  “You’re still threatened by me.”

  Michael laughed. “Is that a joke?”

  “No. Just an unfortunate nugget of truth with no basis in reality.”

  “You think?”

  “I know.” Amayas sat on the edge of the bed. “Michael, I wish I’d done a better job of reaching out to you these past few months. But you were so angry, and I was so busy.”

  “What would be the point, Valentin?”

  “Amayas. Please. We’ve been down this road.”

  “Yeah, fine. Did you pick today to make up for lost time?”

  Amayas found something funny in the question.

  “Time,” he muttered with a grin. “Here’s what I find interesting. One man nearly destroyed us both. That same man shaped us into what we are today. As much as we’ve tried, we’ll never escape him. He’s part of us. My brother. Your best friend.”

  Holy shit, he’s going down memory lane. I don’t need this.

  “I’m not going to talk about James. He doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Sure he does. We’re both going insane like he did.”

  “Nope. That’s it. You’re gone.” He pointed to the door. “Pronto.”

  Amayas did not move.

  “Oh, our madness doesn’t take the same form. We’re not incoherent psychopaths. But we do stand on the brink of losing everything we’ve built, and it terrifies us. When men of great power like us are terrified, they become dangerous.”

  “Your ass is gonna fly through that door if you don’t …”

  “Shut the fuck up. Yes. I know your spiel, Michael. I lived with it for a year.”

  “Then disappeared in the middle of the night.”

  Amayas sighed. “And found secrets not meant for humans. Just like my brother, I reached too high. I tell myself I had the best of intentions, but that’s not true. I wanted to claim my own place among the gods. Just like James. But I opened the wrong doors.”

  “The fuck are you talking about?”

  “Icarus.”

  Michael stared at someone he did not know. He sounded like neither Valentin Bouchet nor Amayas Knight.

  “Wait. Icarus. Like, in the Greek myth?”

  “The one and only.”

  “I never realized this universe had that story, too.”

  “I suspect all have a variation. Humans need cautionary tales.”

  “Icarus was a chump in search of a better design. What’s your damn point?”

  “Precisely that, Michael. You and I keep searching for a better design because the one we have isn’t sufficient. We know it’s going to fail. It’s a terrifying thought. In the end, James was a pile of ash.”

  Michael felt a tightness in his chest and started for the door.

  “I see it now, asshole. You’re drunk. Time for you to …”

  “You’re dying, Michael.”

  The words paralyzed him for an instant. Michael glanced over his shoulder. The Inventor stared back with plaintive eyes.

  Did he say …?

  “Come again?”

  “Deep down, you know it, Michael. You’ve tried to make excuses. The headaches are more frequent, but you claim it’s temporary.”

  “What … how do you …?”

  “You hoped the Jewels of Eternity were not being literal when you visited at the bottom of Lake Profundus.”

  Reality froze. How could he …?

  “They said, ‘Time dies. You are time.’ They went on to say you will die when there is no more time.”

  Michael fell to his knees. As he stared up at Amayas, he remembered the rest of what the Jewels told him when he visited the lake six days before Tranteum:

  “He found you. He sees your fate. He sees through time.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Predecessor.”

  Amayas rose from the bed.

  “I think you need a glass of water, Michael.”

  “It’s you. I thought … maybe … but …”

  Amayas placed a glass into the dispensary.

  “All those secrets not meant for humans. I know all of yours, Michael. I wish I didn’t, especially this one.”

  “I don’t care how you did it, asshole. And I don’t care what the Jewels say. I’m not dying. I’ll never die.”

  Michael gathered his senses and pushed off. He was dizzy and grabbed hold of the dresser. Amayas set the glass before him.

  “Drink, Michael. You’re in shock.”

  “I want you outta here now.”

  “Michael, there are nine universes. This is the primary. The original. You were born in another. You and Samantha crossed here with James. Yet in a sense, it wasn’t you, was it?”

  Michael grabbed the glass. No, he’s not gonna go there.

  “Shut the fuck up, Amayas. You don’t know squat.”

  “You died. You were obliterated. But time reversed. A second, perhaps. You told me the story yourself. You said you were literally unstuck in time. What did the Jewel call you? The impossible future? Time doesn’t reverse, Michael. Not for anyone.”

  “Why are you telling me what I already know?”

  “Because you remain unstuck only as long as the reality that created you exists. The universe where you were born.”

  “So what?”

  “If that reality disappears, so will you.”

  In his mind, Michael returned to Lake Profundus. The blue orbs spoke, and he replied:

  “Time dies. You are time.”

  “Am I dying?”

  “When there is no more time.”

  He drank the water and made his way to the bed.

  “What are you telling me, Amayas?”

  “The other eight universes are dying. They will cease to exist in a few years at most. You and Samantha will die with them.”

  “You’re right about one thing. You’re going insane. Hell, you’re already there.”

  “Michael, the Splinters bind life and time. They were meant to bind one universe. They can no longer support nine. I’m not going to explain how I know all this, but the Jewels do. They discovered the truth long ago. The next time you visit Lake Profundus, I suggest you ask them to teach you.”

  “Why? So they can predict when I’ll die?”

  “Among other things.”

  Sam. Danny. Harry. Grace.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because important changes are coming, and I see a better road for you, Michael. Your legacy will be sealed by what you do in the time you have left. You’ve started down a dark path. Find your way back while you can enjoy your family and your people.”

  The glass trembled in his hand. Was that a tear? Fuck no.

  “I don’t accept this shit.”

  “You will.” Amayas started for the door. “Remember how your story began after you crossed the divide? How you were a boy in love with a girl?”

  Michael rarely thought about those times. He was weak, untrained, unfocused. An idiot who bumbled his way through a hostile world.

  Michael did not rise as Amayas opened the door.

  “Find that boy, Michael. He will tell you how to finish your life.”

  “Wait. What are you …?”

  “Goodbye, Michael.”

  The Minister of Aeterna laid back on his bed.

  The sobs followed soon after.

  PART THREE

  CHOICES

  “The God of All Universes is a legacy of the war. This much cannot be disputed. What will forever be in dispute are the fantastical claims of other gods interfering in the destiny of humans. For all the great leaps we have made since the war, one constant remains: The human mind is fragile and subject to delusion.

  “Henceforth, I will debunk every ludicrous account, for these sorts of stories tend to take on a life of their own. Let us silence the voices of lunatics and focus instead on reason and logic. I shall begin with this foolish tale of a so-called Final Verdict.”

  - Hortencia Colon

  From her treatise: Mythology and the War of the Nine

  27

  Bessios

  R OYAL AND MOON OWNED THE CITY in spirit, if not yet by conquest. Citizens greeted them along the wide avenues, twisting side streets, and narrow alleys with handshakes, winks, whistles, hugs, and sales pitches.

  They offered the Riders everything from weapons upgrades to home-crafted liquors to silken bedsheets to their own bodies for a single night of joy. They asked the future liberators to try their street food using recipes thousands of unrecorded years old and pose for portraits styled after the classic artists of their ancient home worlds. Paintings of the duo hung across Bessios like tributes to celebrities or gods. Both options seemed in play every cycle.

  The duo found new surprises and friends beneath the carnival tents, inside the clubs and music halls, or at the chess tables, bocci lanes, or roller rink. Sometimes they indulged the ageless students of literature, philosophy, and religion in the quiet halls of reflection.

  They listened alongside amused crowds to the barkers who stood on balconies playing with puppets, singing the tales of imaginary heroes and villains, or decrying the debauchery of the Blue District. They rode horses, milked cows, raced everything from rikshaws to rifters, and climbed to pick apples.

  They never tired of the rich contradictions of Bessios, where high tech and no tech blended, where hover craft dodged horse-drawn carriages, where animal carcasses rotated on open spits next to ‘dream shops’ offering drug-induced virtual adventures.

  Banners, flags, and cultural symbols from across the universes flew as they had through the eons, even if they no longer carried meaning. An unmanned airship launched fifty lifetimes ago crisscrossed above the city propelled by an eternal engine. Flexmatter machines, from tabletop to industrial size with ejection cylinders, decorated each street, business, and home, spilling forth everything from food to construction materials on demand.

  The sounds, smells, banter, and occasional vitriol beat to a steady rhythm day and night. The city thrived without currency or children. Hard work and craftmanship motivated most citizens to survive eternity while some played, others experimented, and a few indulged their infatuation with death and regeneration. No one starved, begged, rushed, or stole. No two cycles felt alike though the city’s chaotic song delivered the same tenor as it had for the unmarked millennia.

  Or, at the very least, since Royal and Moon learned not to count the cycles behind or ahead. Live now, they were told. Touch, smell and imbibe. Build, play, fight, and fuck. Do these things without hesitation or limitation, and you will taste the art of forever. Turn away, and you will lose your sanity.

  Fine words when taken to heart, but they were old messages and now beginning to fray. Royal and Moon sensed it each time they walked the city. The song played on the surface, but the eyes of these immortals betrayed a growing anticipation – or was it fear? – of the inevitable. How soon before these Riders made their bloody move to take control of an uncontrollable city? Few broached the topic directly, yet the Riders took inquiries every cycle.

  Shiang Zee, who once engineered a virus to kill his clan’s rivals but wiped out fifty percent of his world’s people, asked Moon for an update every time he added a new tattoo, most recently a blue rose above Moon’s spleen. During that visit, Moon replied:

  “One cycle, I’m gonna walk in here with a shaved head. I’ll tell you to do your worst. Then you’ll know.”

  “Ah. Do you have an animal in mind, like Royal?”

  “I’ll be the animal, Shiang. You be the artist.”

  Shiang rubbed his hands over Moon’s scalp.

  “Contours are smooth. I will make you beautiful.”

  “More beautiful, don’t you mean?”

  He didn’t state the question as a joke. Shiang bowed.

  So did many Bessians when Moon graced them with his presence. He had a flair for building camaraderie and extracting praise for his striking good looks. He offered kisses like raindrops. Royal preferred a more business-like approach. He wanted soldiers for the army he’d need to raise before Prelude, not mindless followers hoping for a quality lay. Still, he encouraged Moon’s narcissism. The personal touch was a sound marketing strategy.

  In their early cycles, Royal took lead. Only after Moon proved himself as an instinctive fighter on Royal’s level, did they walk abreast. Recently, Royal allowed Moon to take point. Good business.

  Today, they toured the Crucible, a cluster of vendors with industrial-size woks and vats who tossed in all manner of concoctions to produce the spiciest aromas in Bessios.

  Moon approached Lucy, a full-bodied woman forever in her sixties who had a touch of gray and a mean sense of humor.

  “What am I gonna choke down today?” Moon asked with a grin.

  The stew looked like a tomato puree, but Lucy always went heavy on the hottest peppers and the fattest pork. She stopped stirring.

  “Come over, baby heart, and I’ll whisper the secret ingredient.”

  She didn’t say another word. Moon planted a long, sloppy kiss and delivered ample tongue.

  “Whatever you’re cooking, Lucy, light my fire.”

  Royal rolled his eyes at the predictable exchange. Moon built a repertoire of catchphrases catered to different types of women. He thought Lucy was sexually repressed; she needed “a little extra spark.”

  Lucy ladled her steaming stew in a wooden bowl without taking her eyes off Moon, who pulled on his cigar.

  “Baby heart,” she said, “when are you Riders going to add my goodness to your house menu?”

  Moon laid his cigar aside and slurped from the bowl, customary for the first taste. His licked his lips and winked at Royal.

  “My partner’s got final say on the menu, but this right here is pure heaven.”

  Maybe he enjoyed it, maybe not. Royal couldn’t remember the last time Moon didn’t gush about a vendor’s product. Nothing was too hot or spicy. Countless cycles and tens of thousands of cigars blunted Moon’s palette.

  “So, what’s it going to be, Royal?” She asked, ladling him a bowl. “You been putting me off long as I can remember.”

  “Have I?” He took the bowl and slurped. Fuck me. That’s a firestorm. “Reckon I’ll take another look and see what we can do.”

  Everyone in these markets wanted their food in the Riders’ home. For many, it was a badge of honor to be added even for a night. The Riders drew guests who rarely ventured to this part of the city. Blue District types, mostly.

  Royal played nice and finished the stew. He’d regret it later. He also committed to nothing. Lucy was an Observant who never understood what she did to earn a place in Bessios. Royal didn’t think she’d amount to much on the battlefield of Prelude. Adding her hot-n-heavy soups to the menu served no practical value.

  They tasted four more stews and stir fries before reaching the market’s end. Moon sweet-talked cooks, and Royal hinted at a spot on the menu, but he didn’t plan to make changes. The food was great, better than ever in some respects, but the cooks were trying too hard. Were they proving their loyalty, or merely hoping to be remembered when the war came? Bessians like Lucy existed for the Crucible. They had nothing else. Did the concept of liberation uplift or terrify them?

  Royal poked Moon in the side.

  “First time I’ve seen you give the old woman tongue. You planning to add her to your stable?”

  Moon groaned. “You’re a sick cunt. I’m straight-up with Addis now. A man’s gotta have some standards.”

  “We might disagree on what amounts to standards.”

  “I gave Lucy a little extra spice. Good business, right?”

  “Depends on what she asks for next time. Observants know how to play the game, too, but they’re less obvious.”

  Up ahead, Corvaan Das emerged from a tent with a roasted turkey leg dripping in a brown sauce. The oxen man acknowledged them between bites and continued on his way.