This far from the centre of the galaxy, the darkness was overwhelming. The light of the nearest stars had only just reached this quadrant, less than pinholes in the fabric of space. Neither telescopes nor probes had penetrated this far, and they had no reason to. This place was a void, overlooked by the natural flow of materials throughout the galaxy that would have led to the formation of celestial bodies. If anything at all were to exist here, much less stars, it would be a miracle.
As a Deus, Sorin was quite proficient at making miracles. For this particular batch of stars, he’d picked this dark corner of space, where mortal technology would not be able to observe for a long time, if ever. Over the last century, he’d gathered the appropriate materials to this area, forming an adequate nebula for the stars to be born in. It had been a long process, and it was bound to take even longer if he followed the proper, natural procedure, but Sorin was young, only half a billion years by mortal measurements, and with youth came impatience. Stars are not supposed to be born in one day, but in this secluded place free of prying eyes, he saw no reason not to bend the rules a little. After only a week of observing the new nebula from beneath the transparent dome of his Chariot’s cockpit, he leapt from his seat and strode to the airlock.
The void held no terror for a Deus. The Chariot was simply a convenient vehicle, allowing him to travel through the Aether and cross vast distances in manageable amounts of time. Sorin stepped into space wearing only the red cloak he’d had wrapped around his shoulders. Without it, his charcoal-black skin would have made him nearly invisible in the void, save for his yellow eyes and the veins that periodically blazed orange as they coursed with fire.
He freed a hand from his cloak and held it out behind him, summoning his inner power to propel him forward as crimson fire danced in his palm, pushing him further into the nebula. He gathered a cloud of the gases between his hands, and then focused the perpetual flow of energy that sprang from his very soul. As he pressed his palms together, the gases condensed and became the beginning of a star, a small glowing spark hanging weightlessly before him. It would quickly burn through its base materials, and then begin drawing on the nebula to feed itself.
He smiled at a job well done, allowing himself a moment of pride, then pushed away from the little star. It would grow over millions of years, until it was big enough for even mortals to see, far away as they were. As it grew, debris would gather in its orbit, crushed together by gravity to form planets. Should one of those planets happen to have the right materials, or if someone did some discreet fiddling, there could be water, and with water might come life. Thus, Sorin played his role as a Deus.
He watched the newborn star for a time, hugging his robe to his body. Space was cold, and even the heat he generated within his body could not keep the chill off his skin. He bore the inconvenience until he was sure the light could sustain itself, then turned and propelled himself in a lazy circle back to the Chariot.
Shrouded in the darkness of deep space, the Chariot was practically invisible, and Sorin only found it by the blue guide-lights he’d left blazing around the cockpit. He landed on the gold-shaded hull, which shone slightly by the light of his inner fire, and ducked in through the hatch on top of the oval-shaped vessel.
Most Deus found a home for themselves, a lifeless planet or piece of space debris they could bed down in and claim for their own. Sorin preferred to wander. Chariot interiors were only designed for temporary dwelling on long voyages, but Sorin had converted his sleeping quarters into a rec room, where he kept records of the music, fiction, and art of hundreds of mortal civilizations. He preferred to sleep in the cockpit, where he could sit in his chair and look out at the stars, planning his next destination before slumber took him. During his forays into civilized space, he enjoyed parking the Chariot where it couldn’t be seen and watching mortals go about their lives.
The dashboard monitor came to life as he took his seat, informing him he’d received a message. It had been at least a century since he’d received any sort of communication, but Sorin could guess who had sent this one. He tapped the screen to call up the message, and was unsurprised to find a single sentence: See me. No greeting, no signature, not that Sorin needed either. There were only so many Deus out there, and only one who would want to contact him these days.
He sighed. It sounded urgent. It always sounded urgent. What could be so important as to break a two century-long silence? Sorin had never enjoyed solitude, but he’d grown used to living on his own, and this sudden summons didn’t sit well with him. It wasn’t the first time that had happened, either.
He shrugged it off. Centrus was light years away, and it would take him at least a week to get there. That time could be used to think, to guess, to prepare, but he knew he wouldn’t have any answers until he got there.
He set the Chariot’s coordinates back towards occupied space, stoking the engines with the push of a button. The vessel’s dormant systems hummed to life, the Aether drive growling like a hungry beast, and Sorin grabbed the steering yoke; some preferred to let the Chariot fly itself, but he liked to feel in control as he blazed across the galaxy.
He hit the throttle and breathed in as the Chariot’s engines roared to full power. The vessel zipped through the nebula at high speed, covering miles in seconds. He’d been called reckless many times before, but he enjoyed the thrill of shooting across space. It was exhilarating, the feeling of boundless freedom.
The howl of the Aether drive filled his ears as he approached light speed, overwhelming even the hammering beat of his heart. His hands hovered over the control pad, waiting for the exact moment the drive would reach full power. The starscape in front of him became an abstraction as he counted down the seconds.
The indicator blinked green for go, and Sorin slammed on the control pad. The drive let out a piercing wail, and then Sorin and his Chariot were gone, diving through the Aether.
* * *
Centrus popped into view on his third breaching. Second planet from the star Centra; Sorin’s two century absence had failed to dull his navigational senses, especially his memory of the stars in the sky. He flew the Chariot into Centrus’ orbit, and ran a scan of the blue sphere out of idle curiosity.
Life had begun on this planet some thousand million years ago, as Sorin recalled. The images that graced his monitor were about the same as he’d seen on his last visit: primitive aquatic life, one step above bacteria. It would take many, many millions of years for them to form complex organs, and far longer than that for any sort of civilization to rise. They should get there, though, if their overseer was kind to them.
The planet’s moon peeked around the curve of its parent as Sorin rounded the sphere. Like most moons, it was a desolate grey, pock-marked with craters and the deep grooves of canyons. At a glance, a mortal would have the impression of a lifeless, inhospitable piece of rock, and Sorin had to hand it to his brother for his craftsmanship; even the Chariot’s sensors detected nothing but dead debris.
He called up a map of the surface. A holographic sphere hovered above the dash, a near perfect replica of the moon, although in a fit of boredom many centuries ago Sorin had marked out the patterns and shapes he saw within the craters in bright red light. A red X glowed over the moon’s north pole, east of the frowning face and just above the winged aquatic creature.
He brought the Chariot low, skimming across the rock surface. The crater he sought was indistinguishable from all the rest, save for one detail: it was a perfect circle. It would take some very careful measurements for the uninitiated to discover that, a disguise to throw off potential mortal explorers, but it was a red flag to a Deus, a marker of intelligent intent. The crater came into view on the horizon and Sorin switched the thrusters around to bring the Chariot down to a gentle landing within the depression. Moon dust scattered beneath the ship’s exhaust, and there was a slight bump as it came to rest.
Sorin switched on his communication systems. “I’m here.” He waited, but after a few minutes it became clear he was going to get no reply. He sighed, not at all surprised, and searched through his sound files. There was a special tone that when broadcast would open the way automatically. He’d been given a recording as a sort of emergency key centuries ago, after an incident where he’d been left waiting on the moon’s surface for three days straight. Now he just had to find the thing.
For reasons he could no longer recall, he’d buried it near the end of his list of audio logs. Had it really been that long? Trying to remember exactly when he’d been given the recording made him feel old, a strange sensation for him, and he quickly pushed the thought from his mind. He cued up the recording to transmit, and leaned back in his seat as the tinny chord played, pursued by a bubbly howl. It was almost certainly one of Auraphon’s compositions, written before they’d all parted ways. An odd choice and not really to Sorin’s taste, but unique and difficult to replicate.
As the recording finished, the Chariot shuddered, prompting Sorin to stand and peer outside. A split had opened along the crater’s circumference, dividing the grey rocky bed from the rest of the surface. The Chariot shuddered again, nearly knocking him off his feet as the ground beneath began to descend into the moon’s depths. Sorin returned to his seat, hands fidgeting impatiently as the slow journey commenced.
The hangar was several kilometres below the surface, indicated by an opening in the side of the long elevator shaft. The elevator came to a stop after nearly an hour, and Sorin guided the Chariot through the opening and set it down beside a similar silver vehicle. The second ship’s brilliant sheen was obscured by a thick coating of moon dust, and Sorin hesitated to even guess what condition the engines must be in without regular maintenance. He put it from his mind, shut off all but the most necessary systems on his own Chariot, and disembarked.
The interior of the moon reminded Sorin of the exterior. The dull, grey rock was replaced by dull, grey metal, only now it lacked the occasional interesting crater to keep it from complete monotony. Bright domes of light clung to the ceiling and walls, all perfect and uniform and boring. The bareness upset Sorin a little bit; how could Lutus spend so much time down here and not make it his own? Where were the flourishes and decorations that should have covered the drab walls?
Sorin knew the answer, of course, but knowing and accepting are different things. He sought out the exit, a passageway at the far end of the hangar that led to another elevator. He stepped aboard and began the long descent into the labyrinth below, occupying himself by thinking on why his brother would break his reclusive habits. A prophecy, no doubt, but none of Lutus’s predictions over the last two hundred years had motivated him to request Sorin’s presence. His imagination ran wild with possibilities, but turned up nothing fruitful.
Somewhere in the middle of his train of thought, the elevator came to a stop, the door opening onto a short hallway. A larger door waited at the other end, emblazoned with a crescent moon; Lutus’s chamber. Sorin crossed the distance in seconds and pressed a hand to the emblem. No point in knocking if Lutus wasn’t answering his front door; the crescent filled with a pale shimmer at his touch and the chamber opened to him.
Despite the drab appearance of the rest of Lutus’s home base, his personal chamber always gave Sorin pause. The walls and ceiling curved into a dome with wide monitors spread across every inch, and no visible break from one screen to the next. A long, thick black cable snaked from the apex of the dome, reaching down towards Lutus on his throne.
The older Deus sat nearly immobile, sweat shining on his rough grey skin. The upper part of his face was concealed by a wide visor, which wrapped around to the back of his head and connected with the cable, allowing the concentrated information from the monitors to flicker directly before his eyes. His squarish jaw was clamped tight, mouth pressed into a thin line, and his hands, large and powerful things that Sorin quietly envied, gripped the arms of his throne as if he feared to be flung from it.
Sorin knew better than to interrupt Lutus when he was compiling a prophecy. He took a place beside the throne, gazing up at the multitude of images spread around him. The entire galaxy was displayed here, data intercepted from millions of broadcasts across countless planets, along with feeds from special recording devices Sorin had placed at Lutus’ behest over a period of many years. His eyes flitted from one screen to another, almost immediately forgetting whatever information he’d seen in between.
Gradually, the images began to change. Immense star ships replaced news reports, decimated cities took the place of mortal dramas, until every monitor showed only death and chaos. This was Lutus’s vision, then, in the process of compiling. Sorin winced at the sight of ships gutted by laser cannons, vast metropolises aflame, and mortals locked in bloody combat. Everything went by too fast for him; he could barely get a sense of an image before it was gone, replaced by another in a cascade of escalating violence.
Lutus let out a pained grunt, his lips pulling back to reveal his tightly clenched teeth. The images began to unify, the same visions spreading across each monitor: an entire military fleet, ships numbering in the hundreds, descending upon an inhabited world with weapons blazing. Then, all of a sudden, every screen went black; the vision was over. Sorin turned to his brother, expecting some kind of explanation, but Lutus remained seated. His thick arms tensed, as if struggling against an unseen pull, and the cords of his neck stretched nearly to breaking point.
A new sound brought Sorin back to the monitors. What began as a low whine grew and multiplied, each screen adding to the rising din. It swelled into a howl, distorted and metallic, assaulting Sorin’s senses like a powerful wind storm. The unrelieved black of the screens was accented by brief flashes of red, like the flicker of a rising flame, while the sound grew to unbearable volumes, forcing Sorin to cover his ears. Beside him, Lutus opened his mouth and added his own scream to the howls. He thrashed his shoulders about, his head suddenly shooting back as if he’d been punched. His chest, wrapped in a blue cloak, rose in frantic breaths.
Sorin leapt behind the throne and grabbed hold of the cable, pulling it from its socket with a sharp tug. The howl fizzed into nothing, the screens now truly dark. Lutus curled forward, his head hanging near his knees.
Sorin knelt before him, clasping his shoulder. “Lutus? Speak to me!”
Lutus grunted, head turning in his direction. “Brother? Is that you?”
Sorin lifted the visor from Lutus’s face and set it aside, meeting his brother’s silver eyes. “Are you all right?”
Lutus blinked a few times, then slowly sat up. “I’m… yes, yes, I’m fine. The vision has grown stronger since I last experienced it. I was not prepared for its intensity.”
“It looked like it was going to kill you,” Sorin said, accusingly. “What would have happened if I hadn’t arrived when I did?”
“I would have fallen unconscious, then woken up in a few hours, as has happened the last five times.” Lutus rubbed at his eyes, turning a faint smile on Sorin. “The worst the visions can do is give me a slight shock, nothing more—you need not be concerned. It is good to see you again, brother.”
“I’m not so sure.” Sorin frowned. “It never seems to be good news when you call. You never ask me over to share a few drinks and reminisce. It’s always some urgent business.”
Lutus returned a sheepish grin. “Thank you for coming.”
Sorin sighed, let himself smile. “I always do, brother.”
Lutus stood and walked a circle around the chamber, stretching his arms. Sorin poked his nose into the neighbouring room and procured a few drinks from Lutus’s stock. Darem wine, aged almost a hundred years and fermented enough to kill all but the hardiest of mortals. Consumed in sufficient quantity, it could get even a Deus drunk. He brought an extra seat with him and the two sat and shared a bottle, discussing Sorin’s star fostering project. The vision could wait until the tension left Lutus’s already severe face.
“You’re doing good work,” Lutus said, sipping at his glass. “What better purpose for a Deus? Of course, we may run out of dark corners to hide in, once you’ve lit up the whole universe.”
“We might be forced to reveal ourselves,” Sorin suggested, only half joking.
Lutus frowned, setting his glass on the arm of his throne. “You know the law, Sorin—let’s not entertain thoughts of breaking it.”
Sorin sighed. “There may come a time when we have no choice.”
“I don’t foresee it,” Lutus replied, a stern edge creeping into his voice. “Our job is to work in the shadows. Minimal contact is best.”
Sorin sipped his drink, forcing a chuckle. “The Sun God, working in the shadows?”
“We’re not gods, little brother.” Lutus clenched his fist on his lap. “That’s how Tyrants think. We know better, don’t we?”
Sorin fell silent, Lutus’s silver eyes burning into him as nothing else could. Guilt welled up in him and he averted his gaze, then bowed his head in submission. The two drank in silence for a long while, neither looking directly at the other. Fortunately, the drinks had the effect of bolstering Sorin’s courage. “So, that prophecy—another war is coming. Who’s it between?”
“Everyone,” Lutus said, stroking his temple.
Sorin’s eyes widened. “How do you mean?”
“I mean that it will start with a typical conflict between two of the larger powers, likely the Bythos Empire and the Kinship, but in time, the entire Syr galaxy will be drawn into it.”
The entire Syr galaxy; all the civilized life he and his brother watched over. Sorin had witnessed mere solar systems at war with each other, and that had been more than enough bloodshed for him. But all of Syr? Sorin had travelled from one end of the galaxy to the other, but he had trouble conceiving of a war of such magnitude.
“How accurate have your prophecies been of late?” He only barely grasped the mechanics of how Lutus compiled his prophecies; it had something to do with gathering information, then running it through an algorithm that supported Lutus’ own natural foreseeing abilities.
“Almost inevitable,” Lutus answered. “The only things the system can’t predict are the actions of Deus and their impact, but we have never played a significant role in mortal events.”
“Who wins?” Deus were not supposed to favour any side in mortal conflicts, but knowing the details might present a course of action.
Lutus shook his head. “I can’t know for certain—my prophecies merely take current events and use them to predict general outcomes. If I had to guess, the Empire. They have the numbers, the resources, and the callousness to trample any of their enemies. Many will die, regardless; more than any previous war in our lifetimes.” He let out a heavy sigh, gazing into his glass. “They were put too close together. Mother and the others should have spread their seeds further, but instead they chose to concentrate their efforts relatively close together. She wanted the mortals to meet each other, someday. Well, she got her wish, and I suppose there’s no point in agonizing over what’s been done.”
“Exactly.” Sorin stood, already resolved to take action. “We should be thinking about what we can do to stop this war.”
Lutus leaned back in his seat. “We will do nothing.”
Sorin furrowed his brow. “Come now, you can’t be thinking about the law at a time like this.”
“We’ve already discussed this,” Lutus said, coldly.
“That was before I knew what we were really talking about!” Sorin exclaimed. He knew his brother could be stubborn, but this was a new low for him.
“What we were talking about is interfering in mortal affairs, letting our biases influence the course of their lives.” Lutus narrowed his eyes. “We have no right to interfere, regardless of the consequences.”
“The death of billions is quite a heavy consequence,” Sorin snapped, folding his arms. “Can you live with that? I’m not sure I can.”
Lutus closed his eyes and tilted his face up towards the ceiling. “I’ve lived with worse.”
Sorin eyed his brother, trying to read him, before a flash of insight came to him. “Will Utopia be involved?”
Lutus winced, his face tightening with wrinkles. “The Rashani have always been a blind spot in my prophecies—you know this. Theoretically speaking, they’d be mad to sit by while the rest of the galaxy goes up in flames, neutral or no. It is not our concern.”
“Then why did you summon me here?” Sorin demanded. It was a cruel thing to warn him of approaching disaster only to tell him he could do nothing about it.
Lutus opened his eyes and lowered his head, meeting Sorin’s glare with a calm blankness. “You saw the end of my vision.”
“I heard it,” Sorin corrected. “What was that?”
Lutus leaned forward, pressing his hands together. “I don’t know. It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It was as if the computer was trying to visualize something outside its field of knowledge, but that’s impossible. That database encompasses all Deus knowledge—what is there in this galaxy that it wouldn’t recognize?”
A chill passed through his fiery veins as the answer came to him. “Something that isn’t from this galaxy.”
Lutus nodded grimly. “An alien element, maybe even the Tyrants themselves. Mother feared this day would come, but I can’t help but feel a little surprised. I cannot say what it is or how it pierced the Firmament, but the prophecy tells me it will play a part in this war—may even serve as the catalyst for it. This is where I want you to act. Find out what it is that doesn’t belong and remove it—discreetly, of course. Can you do this for me, brother?”
Hope sprang anew in Sorin’s heart, mixed with apprehension; the Firmament was supposed to be impenetrable. “For Mother’s memory, I will gladly do this. Will you come with me?”
Lutus drummed his fingers on his throne, refusing to meet Sorin’s eyes. “I believe you are capable enough to do this on your own. I have already made one mistake when it comes to mortals, and I do not wish to make another. Go, and I will remain here to try and better decipher the prophecy.”
Sorin was disappointed, but not surprised. He’d known somehow that even an intruder, something their parents had often cautioned them about, would not be enough to make Lutus leave his hiding place. He put his arms around his brother, drawing him into a hug. “Don’t overdo it. I expect you to answer the door when I return.”
Lutus smiled, gently pushing him away. “I will try to remember.” His eyes fell to his glass once more, and he downed what remained. “If it’s something from outside that you’re searching for, then your first course of action should be to check the Firmament and see how it might have gotten through.”
The double meaning in Lutus’s words was hard to miss. The Firmament was more than what its name suggested, of course—it had become a point of contention between the two of them since their mother’s death. What rested there was a source of much anguish and disagreement. He nodded, then bid his brother farewell.
It was time to visit Father.