The Acolytes of Crane (Theodore Crane, #1)(50)

Odion gave one final scream that night. ‘Travis, go get the research!’

Then Odion’s image de-pixelated before us. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, the devilish Omnian in charge of the Dacturons was nowhere to be seen.

I woke up, drenched in sweat. The industrial warehouse room had vanished and I was back under the covers of my bed. Jumping to my feet, I ran to my bedroom window quickly and looked out. I saw Travis walking away from my house. He was heading north, toward Seventh Street. He looked back with a sneer, flipped me the bird, and in a burst of evanescence—he was gone. Only a pool of molten blacktop was left behind by his teleport.

A large thud on the side of my house grabbed my attention. I had to see what it was, so I walked along the side of the house past the garden of perennials. Standing there, proud and majestic, was the Bromel—Migalt.

‘Thank you so much, sir,’ I said.

‘You are very lucky. Any longer in Odion’s grasp and you would have been killed in your subconscious, boy,’ Migalt said. He took a knee, and the ground trembled. He whispered to me, ‘It has been your newly presented weakness of mind that let Odion in, and by allowing that, you have opened a pathway in your brain for him to re-enter as he wishes. Travis most certainly used a device to project him into your mind from the window. You need to finish your objective here, by getting that team of four to follow you. Then you must all leave. The longer you stay, the sooner your death will be. We need representatives from Earth.’

Migalt carried on about the sovereignty of Zane and his record of accomplishment for providing the multiverse with freedom, liberating them from misdirection. My angst fled slightly and was overwhelmed by a feeling of guilt.

‘This is the only way I know, Migalt. I have been fighting my whole life. And that makes me think twice before I trust anything good or unexplainable,’ I said.

Migalt leaned forward, hugging me with his arms and wings, and said, ‘Theodore. I know that you have been dealt misfortune; you were brought into a difficult position. Don’t waste your time trying to figure out the intricacies of the multiverse. Accept that there will be things out there you cannot explain. I have been monitoring your inquiries with Nezatron and I know of your doubts. You need to take up the sword, and fight as you did against your parents. Believe me, Theodore, when I say, Odion rules in a way not far from how your father ruled his house.’

Migalt stroked an emblem on the shoulder strap of his armor, and he instantly was tailored in a majestic metallic suit. He slowly squatted toward the ground and with a magnificent leap through the air, he launched into the star-lit sky, and I lost him in the handle of the Little Dipper.

“I had a task to complete, and there was no time to whimper and sulk. If I had learned anything from Migalt, Nezatron, and Trazuline, it was that Zane had done so much for me, and I had not done enough. I needed to complete my goal once and for all.”





11 THEODORE: SEPHERA





I hear the view box open, and I stretch from a nap.

“Prisoner, move your ass and get into position—now! Prisoner eight-six-seven-five. Open request—guns are at the ready—over.”

I move quickly, because the angry guard, Shifty, is impatient and rushing along. I scurry and snap into position.

“Squad—weapons hot!” Shifty yells.

The mechanics of the vault are pulling and rolling; grinding and unwinding. The vault is a masterful work of security that no one can ever escape. A squad posts at the entrance; it is usually an indication they are going to move me.

“Cover me! Don’t even think about moving, prisoner,” the guard says. I hear footsteps that seem to slow from caution.

My disk. It’s on the ground, hidden under a millimeter of dirt. I dare not have it on my possession; for sure it would be detected during a pat-down.

“You forgot to turn his room over Shifty?” the veteran guard asks. “I am taking over this squad. Move along.”

“You cannot do that. The council’s chancellor specifically delegated the order to me,” Shifty says.

“Ridiculous. The Chancellor? You’ve been letting your pitiful ego take over. Report to command or I will be reprimanding you instead of writing you up . . . you idiot,” the veteran guard says scornfully. “Alright boys. We’re on the clock! Let’s move.”

“What about the cell search?” Shifty yells.

The veteran guard retorts, “No time. Thanks to your gross incompetence! Move it!”

I breathe a sigh of relief, yet slowly release the expulsion of air, so that no one would suspect my anxiety. The disk is safe, for now.

I start to shake, puzzeling and feeling somewhat faint. The temporalysis is upon my head. This time, the temporalysis program is set to disable my vision. I feel a numbing sensation as the temporalysis paralyzes me, then everything goes black.

My heels drag along the floor. Then, I experience severe discomfort as someone throws me over his shoulder, my head and arms dangling over his back. With every step, he drives his solid mass into my soft belly. The blood rushes to my head.

The Multiversal Council—my warden’s puppeteers. What do they need this time? The Chancellor, the supreme of them all. I knew he would be dying to clear up this mess.

As I am lowered, as limp as seaweed, into a sitting position, braced against the wall, the pressure transfers from my gut to my ass. The guard says, “File around the room. Form along the wall there. Let’s go! He will be here any minute. Get those damn restraints on the prisoner! Have you guards been reading your digi-manuals?”