Beneath the curtains of space time—in the bowels of the saucer—shined a myriad of faint, deep blue lights. No living soul walked the alleyways between the coffins where robotic arms, fixed to rollers on the high ceiling, waited for the computer to engage the cryogenic waking protocol.
Considered the distance it had to travel, that Prankster saucer hadn’t even started on its way when the prototype Zig craft caught up with it.
Finding its way through the firewall, Virus Grey disabled secondary controls and had almost completely removed the Elder from his own virtual realm. Overall, Savi was pretty stoked the Zigs proven to be superior to an enemy race that previously eluded them—the Prankster’s mistake all went down to messing with Zig affairs when they had better steered clear of them.
The months during which Savi slowly but constantly gathered ground on the enemy vessel, close enough to intrude in its data archives, were thrilling. Initially worried, she knew that not only the show was saved, but that with the wealth of info she forwarded to main command the retrieval of the subjects was no longer of vital importance. Despite it, that wasn’t going to stop her from humiliating the Pranksters before a whole watching galaxy. Savi was required to make one attempt at communicating with the enemy, ask for the willing return of their intergalactic slaves. While she waited to be upon them and do so, she got high and had her skin re-lubricated watching the virus turn order into chaos in the Earth replica cinema room.
* * * *
A bit of forest, then the bare rock faces and steep inclines of the ridges and peaks above the roads and buildings, there where over two hundred thousand digital souls led their existence—only to enhance that of the fewer real souls settled in that Prankster-made universe.
Everything would have been fine if not for a problem—it was no longer protected, it was permeated by a virus whose physical manifestation was dead on the ornate stone boulevard with its wooden benches, cast iron rails, and lampposts all along the curving shore.
Marco stared at the toneless screen, pushed the red button before flipping it closed. The police in riot armor—but armed with assault rifles—had them surrounded. He and Kalexis had to contend with a very stern, human-looking officer. Neither Kalexis nor the officer could hear what was spoken over the line, so they were all waiting for him to speak it out. “The Elder said you must let us continue with our journey.” Quite pale and trying to keep a grip over himself despite the shock, he said so slowly.
A so far stone-faced Kalexis was unpleasantly puzzled to hear such conclusion. The officer turned his shaved chin down at the body of Agent Grey and only Marco—being eye-to-eye with him—noticed how his gaze became suddenly empty—as if the very core of his persona was ripped out, his physical shell all that remained. The few acceptable seconds of silent pause ticked away, and Kalexis turned her neck to the police helicopter crashing into the lake. A single policeman shouted, a voice both terrified and broken. “Get out of here!” Then he started to shoot. He took down frozen cops with point blank rounds through their faces, killing without getting any kind of reaction.
Kalexis reared to turn and charge through the enclosing wall of dolls, running the defenseless armored bodies down in opening the way for Marco.
But he couldn’t stop watching as he stepped backward, with that human picking up ammo from the dead to keep shooting his virtual motionless colleagues. It was the work of the virus advancing to its next stage—only that made him turn his eyes away. He got on Kalexis and she found the first alley up to get back to their motor-home.
She galloped, careless of the standing bodies of civilians blocking her way. Traffic on the street simply stopped, drivers and passengers still in their vehicles after going into that strange sleep.
It was discouraging for both Marco and Kalexis to discover that their motor-home was either removed by the virus or towed to the nearest impound while they were out for a walk. Not able to hit the speedway in retreat, it wasn’t going to be easy to leave that dangerous city behind.
Holding his Uzi imitation while on Kalexis’s gilded shoulders, Marco was glad that she realized it wasn’t the time to argue. Every person in view—the pedestrians standing on the sidewalk, the seated passengers of the bus parked where they left their motor-home, and the drivers of the cabs and cars that pulled over—they all began to shake convulsively, their faces distorted like ghoulish masks. Their eyes rolled back and they drooled foam, car doors slammed opened and the sidewalks emptied. Those monstrosities converged on them flailing their arms, Marco aimed and squeezed the trigger—but he was empty.
The numberless windows of the flats along both sides of the four-lane street were like staring eyes. He was once again surrounded, but not by friendly cops rather by what could undoubtedly be described as fresh zombies!
It was so uncalled for that Kalexis froze, and Marco had to spur her to ram her through, getting to the side of the swarm on the chase. She navigated through the maze of stalled vehicles, trampled the occasional isolated one. She turned right and up a steep alleyway. Some of the drivers had not been successful at stopping their vehicles, which slammed into those parked along sidewalks too narrow for Kalexis to sprint on. More zombies came out of house doors and flaming cars, and she could only dodge them while contending the incline with the whole of downtown on the follow.
They struck luck with the street not running into a dead end—it brought to a panoramic terrace, with a fountain in the center and coin operated binoculars to better admire the lake and surrounding mountains. The problem was that to get there Kalexis ran uphill for over fifteen minutes with Marco on her back, and the square was crowded with zombies. To make things worse, those on her tail were unaffected by fatigue. No other way for her to go but straight to the other side of the terrace, to keep on climbing—up the path to the ridge.
It was relatively easy and wide at first, and in looking behind, Marco was surprised to see how the possessed citizens no longer pursued, with a group of just fifty or so still on the chase two hundred yards away.
After commanding her to stop, Marco dismounted. Out of breath, she turned around to check on the zombies while he admired the view from up there. It was a nice sunny day, both the windows below and the lake shimmering in the afternoon sun. Even from far away, he could hear the gunshots—he imagined they came from the few real humans in the city fighting off the virus-controlled horde of zombies.
Kalexis was still recovering and, although she wanted to, couldn’t stop him from answering zombies’ charge.
Unarmed, Marco sprinted back down the loose gravel, jumped in the air and flexed his leg out to extend it through the chest of the nearest one. He landed on his feet with the zombie still flying before it rolled down the path. But zombies were now so close to him he couldn’t get away—he was clenched across the chest from behind! It was a middle age woman to hold him while he was pounded and scratched by the others. He would never evade that tremendous grip with his strength alone, so he recurred to his training—he lifted the zombie over his back and went to the ground with it. Marco couldn’t see Kalexis devastating those piled upon him, couldn’t even hear her desperately calling his name. Under over a thousand pounds of bodies, he levered the grip with his elbows and broke free. But to stop the lady from grabbing him again, he dislocated his middle finger in punching her in the face. He could feel the weight lessening, and he was getting up when the zombie got a hold of his forearm and swung him back down again. He rotated his whole body to free his arm from the clenching hands—just before Kalexis squashed its head by slamming it with her football-sized fist.
Many more came from the terrace when Kalexis and Marco turned their heads up to the thumping sound of helicopter blades—but the flying machines had yet to appear from behind the mountain.
“Get on! Let’s move!” ordered Kalexis, and Marco obeyed.
She ran as best as she could to keep terrain between her and the relentless abominations. In that instance, Marco was a burden, he hated not being able to help. He got injured attacking the zombies, his nose was broken, but the strongest pain came from his bruised ego. Standing to what the Elder said they were now only two hours away from the ending of that virtual world—after which his destiny, as that of all the real people there, was entirely unknown.
* * * *
“Now, that’s entertainment!” exclaimed Savi, extending her excessively thin and long arm to point her bulbous index finger at the cinema screen. In doing so, she interrupted the three nude male replicants that were layering her in rejuvenating gel.
“Be quiet!” shouted a clone from the dark, seated behind Savi on one of the regular seats of the theater.
“Screw you!” replied Savi in getting up. One of the male slaves was quick to reach for and put her elegant black coat on. On the screen, the military helicopters firing rockets and machine guns on the zombies, riddling the hillside with explosions. Further up and at a safe distance, Marco and Kalexis watched one of the choppers land nearby, but Savi had to dismiss the show as she had more important business to attend to. She made her way out and to the levitating throne—off she went through the hallways, with the glass walls giving out on the channeling of space.
An elevator took her back to the bridge from where she could supervise the action of the virus. In the passing weeks, she had time to learn about the technology behind deep rest dreaming, mostly to hack into it. That’s how she got to know that through the course of thousands of years the Pranksters became pretty much anything they wanted within those universes of their creation. That was only trivial though, as what mattered was that with the data acquired at Site Three Savi’s prototype craft—and soon the rest of the Zig fleet—could use the Pranksters’ intra-dimensional pathways and so reduce space-traveling times tenfold. But the truth was that right then—when it came to intergalactic capabilities—only Savi’s flying fortress could keep up with the state-of-the-art Prankster saucers.
She was about to establish a communication. After adjusting the neckline of her leather coat, she was ready to face whoever would answer her call. After but a few seconds, there were images and Savi was horrified beyond her own belief. She certainly knew how the Pranksters were capable of assuming any form they wished within their realities, but she wondered if what she was looking at truly was their secret physical semblance.
The Prankster was black with atrophied limbs and flaking skin like that of a mummy. Its eyes were vitreous and round and however looking extremely weak the depth of its gaze froze her as it proclaimed its first sentence. “You have denied our warnings by acting against our intergalactic regulation.”
Its mouth had no teeth.
“You have attacked one of our installations and killed our people only to steal our property,” replied Savi, impassive.
“More of us will be here soon. Let us go, respect our policies, and we will grant you safe use of our intergalactic conduits one day.”
“I am the one dictating the conditions, here!” exclaimed Savi, standing tall as she got up from her throne. “Considering the virus designed by my AI had no problem busting into your realm, I bet my fortress alone can easily defeat ten of your ships.”
“You are making a mistake.”
“Goodbye,” said Savi, and by pressing a button she cut the communication short.
The screen that showed such deformed, black, large-headed midget switched to a panoramic on channeled space from Savi’s commanding platform. The saucer-shaped craft with the precious cargo was within viewing distance. According to the readouts, the virus had readied the enemy vessel for boarding—that would be done by the fortress’s private army consisting of five thousand replicated commandos.
If more Prankster ships arrived on the scene, Savi knew she would have no time to break through their computerized defenses, but she counted on keeping the enemies in check with the fortress’s armament while operations to retrieve the cryoboxes were being completed.
But for some reason, the Prankster saucer’s primary weapons systems were operational and fired all they had. Savi sat down. The shock of the discharging shields reverberated through the frame of her flying fortress, but by sitting on her anti-gravity throne she felt none of it.
She shouted insults, then aimed at their main weapon systems and fired. Two white energy balls left main cannons, altering their trajectory to avoid the anti-charge strafe.
Savi couldn’t believe it—she wanted to verify how or why the saucer could still fight back—and was shocked to ascertain how the readings she got from Virus Grey were false! The saucer disabled the energy charges trying to hit it inside that inter-dimensional lane, and fired its main weapons again. This time, Savi’s fancy shield generators overcharged to avoid dissipating under the sequence of direct energy blasts. A worrying alarm sounded for a few seconds, and the bridge lights flashed yellow.
Savi’s computer reported damage to shield generators.
She was mad—those were no ordinary shield generators, they were one of a kind, hand-made with extremely rare metal alloys!
Proximity alerts rang with Savi alone at the command of her fortress—four of those irritating Prankster saucers were about to join the battle from an upcoming tributary pathway. They were in range—Savi deployed every single weapon of mass destruction at her disposal, horrible technologies inspired by Kronian achievements. She watched the explosion, the light of it shining over her glossy face and reflecting in her composite eyes. Just as predicted the Prankster ship in which the retrieval operations were taking place wasn’t destroyed by the subsequent shockwave, but those incoming foes were.
Chunks of the four disintegrated saucers bounced off Savi’s weakened shield.
She knew how only one Prankster lived in any of their ships—as most of them conducted their imaginary existence hidden in places difficult to find, such as in asteroid fields or on godforsaken moons. Those traveling the universe in ships did so alone while connected to their network.
At the battle of Site Three, thousands of Zigs lost their lives to protect honor and property—it was absolutely necessary for Savi to do more than just eliminate a few, aspiring to eradicating their whole fleet. Prey of delusional thoughts, she did not consider how with her lethal attack she completely drained the energy reserve. She had enough loaded in the shields to stand a few direct shots—before having her molecules mixed up with those of her dear residence.
She realized her mistake only when the saucer that was being boarded managed to fire a single shot, one and one only as it, too, was recovering from the blow. The lights in the bridge flashed red, and the computer was telling Savi all command was taken away from her as they recharged.
“Blast you mother-fuckers,” muttered Savi while checking the status of her boarding party. The Pranksters adopted some mean combat troopers, but the skilled commandos penetrated the inner chambers where they would plant one of the Prankster’s very own teleporting boosters. The device used on the Nova was scanned by the Zigs, and machines on Savi’s ship built it so to implement it in the recovery of the cryostatic pods... hoping for a low number of transfer errors, considering it was experimental technology.
It was taking a frighteningly long time for the damaged shield generators to recharge. No longer fired at, Savi was given a green light to fire and she did, right away. This time, the energy spheres broke through, not only disabling the Prankster’s defenses but also causing critical structural damage that compromised the drive system of the saucer. No longer traveling in the intra-dimensional channel, but rather drifting through it, Savi knew it was only a matter of time before the saucer would fall back into normal space—and when it did she would stay there until she got her possessions back.
* * * *
The pilot landing that helicopter on the rocky slope next to the path had to be skilled. Marco and Kalexis stepped back and to a side in case it went for a roll. It was one of those black military choppers with a powerful engine, no number or insignia.
The troopers inside its passenger bay were all wearing black armor and reflective helmets, carrying automatic weapons. Three of them got out to approach Marco and Kalexis. The one in front pressed a button on his helmet to raise his visor, revealing a friendly but rather shocked human face. He said they had to get them to safety in the base nearby.
Marco had to speak aloud to be heard over the noise of the helicopter’s blades. “Kalexis can’t get in the damn chopper!”
The soldier pointed further up. “Go over the mountain. Tanks and a recovery truck are waiting on the highway.”
“How long to get there?”
“Two hours tops!”
“We’ll make it in less!” exclaimed Kalexis.
Marco didn’t have to be told to get back on her, and she darted away. A little under two hours remained before the end.
There were no zombies to speak of while Kalexis challenged herself, pushing more than she ever did to get up to the crest. From there they could see the highway below, cutting its way through an otherwise pristine forest. The incline was too steep for her to descend with Marco on her back, so he dismounted and they carefully zigzagged down the other side—it was in the shade, as the ridge behind them obstructed the sun from shining. From far up they could already see the tanks and the recovery truck on the highway. They could no longer see it when they had to slip and slide down the muddy forest, all the way to where the ground was less inclined and easy to run on. Marco got once again to ride Kalexis—the occasional zombie roamed the forest but evading it wasn’t a problem.
Kalexis could get up on the highway by stepping over the wide concrete ramp leading up to the guardrail. Here Marco found no humans but members of races he had never seen before, all humanoid and dressed up as soldiers, guarding the black tanks and truck.
Kalexis and Marco got in it. The truck slowly got them out of there. It didn’t gather any speed because all the lanes—including the emergency one—were riddled with stalled cars.
They were the only ones at the back. The truck was running over zombies that had not been taken care of.
“So I’m guessing this is the end,” said Marco, feeling a little tired. He sat against Kalexis—she curled up to the front of the deck that was sheltered by the elements by means of a simple canvas.
“It’s not the end,” replied she, with a sigh.
“Let’s hope not,” said Marco, and he couldn’t really say anymore as he let himself be cradled by the motion.
He was well rested when he became aware of it, his body on a soft mattress and under warm blankets. He dozed for a bit, not fully conscious of what happened. But something changed—all of a sudden he had long hair again.
Waking up, he experienced a greater degree of clarity, the sensations that came with his movements and the touch of the fabric enfolding him incredibly rich and full.
Then it hit him, like a thousand needles piercing his brain and getting him up with a gasp. There was no other explanation—he was finally released from virtual reality!
He was no longer fed memories, but was interpreting the true universe around him. He was terribly surprised when his eyes explored the room where the bed was. It was exactly how he remembered his cottage bedroom to be—but not that of his stay with the Elder, but that of Earth in every little detail.
He was wearing his grandfather’s watch, and laughed at the idea it could have been just a dream. He felt strange walking down the stairs to look outside the double window of a tidied living room. Through it—in the light of the day—he could see the side of the valley opposite to the cottage was not quite like that he remembered. There was no village and bell tower to speak of, and the trees were definitively not chestnuts and birches—but the shape of the field was similar, with a dirt road coming up to his house just like he remembered it.
Eerie to find the coffee hot and ready to pour from the maker. He smelled it, checked the replica wooden table reminding him of the agent he killed on the original one.
A female voice called out his name, and Marco melted within—it was Kalexis, from outside. He opened the kitchen door and ran onto the patio atop the blue bush, looking down from the rail to the gravel parking lot beneath the replica stone cottage.
Instead of a red Transit, Marco found the latest model Ferrari was parked there. Golden Kalexis stood right next to it, and he could tell she knew everything and was eager to tell him about it.
“The Pranksters made it,” she said once Marco made it to her. He was even more shocked that she could understand Italian when he asked her why.
“We learned each other’s languages in the virtual world. We have always been speaking our own, and that was possible because it was translated by the computer—but in time, we learned it.”
“That’s incredible,” said Marco, joyful. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“The ship carrying us was boarded by a prototype Zig craft. It used a virus that compromised the program we were living in, so to protect us the Elder placed us in dreamless stasis. He won, but that’s not all.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Pranksters took us to safety while the Zigs were updating their ships with newly found Prankster technology. The Pranksters didn’t tolerate it, and that was why they fought an all-out war that lasted almost a thousand of your years.”
“What were the conditions?”
“The Zigs won’t be allowed intergalactic dealings for a long while, that’s for sure.”
“Are we in a different galaxy?”
“Yes,” replied Kalexis in her harsh sounding language.
“I’m loving the fresh air,” said him in Italian, feeling the kiss of the sun.
“Me, too,” added Kalexis with a smile.
“It was nice of the Pranksters to set up my house just as I remembered it.”
“Do you like it?”
“Sure. What are we doing here?”
“Taking it easy,” she said.
“It doesn’t suit you,” replied Marco, getting up from the Ferrari’s bonnet to scratch his nuts while walking back to the house. To his great surprise, he found Gianluca wearing his poncho and wielding a woodcutter’s axe.
“How about you put on some fucking trousers, man?”
Marco excused himself for being lost to thoughts, agreeing to go and do just that. “By any chance was it you to put the coffee on for me?” asked Marco, stopping by Gianluca over the patio.
“Not quite the brew I’m used to,” he replied.
Marco went back inside the house and up to the bedroom to wear some clothes. Gianluca poured the coffee in cups as the two sat in the kitchen for a talk. “Aren’t you sad about no longer being immortal?” he asked, looking for the sugar.
Gianluca shrugged. “It was fun until it lasted.”
“How long have you... ?”
“Been awake? A week. The important thing is that we’re safe.”
“Right, right,” Marco brought a hand to his temple and for a moment looked really pained and tired. “I can’t believe it—is it really over?”
Gianluca drank a sip of coffee. “You bet,” he said.
“Are you still with Letice?”
“Of course! We’re having kids,” he raised his brows a few times. “How about... coming down with me to the city? All your martial arts trainers are waiting to see you in person.”
Marco was amazed. It was then that Kalexis put her head in through the kitchen door. She smiled her big long dragon smile in looking at the humans, both much older than the age they showed.
“Is there any coffee left for me?”
Gianluca poured her what little was left in a large pan and handed it to her as they all enjoyed the sun outside. Marco told her what Gianluca proposed.
“You certainly should,” she replied. “I’m so very happy to see you, Marco.”
“I’m happy to see you too, Kalexis. But what are you going to do?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, quite surprised. “I’ll be with you, whatever you do, if that’s what you want.”
Marco couldn’t believe it. His hands were shaking when he finished his coffee. He stood over by the rail on top of the cloned hydrangea hill, her behind him. It was a nice summer day who knew how many years from when he left Earth. He remembered all of the incredible experiences they had on their way there, and they were finally free in a place so similar but so different and far away from their long lost homes.
Even though he was happy, he didn’t know how to feel about the Pranksters leaving him there. Even if he was given the same opportunities as the rest of the citizens of that galaxy, he was a bit unsure about what to do other than enjoying life in the company of Kalexis. He couldn’t ask for any better, yet it baffled him how she intended to stay.
“Tell me, Kalexis, exactly how long do you plan on living?”
Kalexis didn’t seem to be troubled by the question. “As long as possible, why?”
“And how long do you think I can live?”
“Depends,” said Gianluca, this time. “They can cure most diseases, make you live three to four times longer, easy. That’s it without them implants.”
“Or I can drive the Ferrari and we both die on our way to the city,” replied Marco, facing him. “I think I have to reconsider a few things. I’d like to keep on practicing martial arts, study alien biology maybe. I could explore the galaxy doing both things, what do you say, Kalexis?”
“Fighting at tournaments while you retrieve samples? It’s certainly original!” she exclaimed, following Gianluca and Marco down the stone steps and to the Ferrari.
“By the way, that’s mine,” said Gianluca, unlocking it. “If you want one, I’ll give you a phone number later, and you can choose from a list.”
“Are you coming down to the city, Kalexis?”
“Yes, I’m running there.”
“I can ride with you,” he told her.
“If you like,” she said, happily.
Gianluca opened the door of his supercar. “See you both at my place in a bit, then.” He put on a pair of sunglasses before getting in the Ferrari and shutting its door. The engine made a lovely sound, and Marco watched his friend reverse and take the dirt road down to where it connected to the strip of tarmac. He was alone with Kalexis. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Certainly,” said she.
“It’s not simple. Clearly, the Pranksters woke you up well before they woke me—this means you agreed with them about... this.”
“Yes,” she admitted, “it seemed like a nice way to bring you back.”
Marco sighed.
“When we were in the virtual world, the Pranksters proved to me they were on our side. They did it again when I woke up here, by showing me all the evidence—what I told you is true.” She lowered herself to let Marco ride her.
“Aren’t you planning on helping your species... repopulate?”
She laughed, starting down the dirt road. “I’m already pregnant.”