Василиса Чмелева – Parasomnia (страница 9)

"Yes."

"Did you inform the Kallinkorian about melt-off's… effects?"

"Yes." The bartender's answer was clipped, his frost-rimed eyes unreadable.

"Do you believe," Sharius' voice dropped to a subzero growl, "this Kallinkorian would drink melt-off in distress, relying on your words?"

Gelsion paused, the ice crystals in his beard catching the light. "At the Ice Cradle…" He measured each word. "He refused my cocktail. His disgust was… visceral." The bartender's glacial eyes flicked to me. "To imagine him willingly drinking melt-off—especially living melt-off—strains belief."

Then his finger, sharp as an icicle, pointed at the five. "But them? Two nights running, they guzzled anything I poured. Like scavengers at a thaw."

Sharius' frost-rimed gaze sharpened. "Then you concede their intent to harvest Coldborn?"

"Certainty eludes me, Your Honor." Gelsion bowed slightly. "But their thirst… was noteworthy."

Sharius dismissed the bartender, his piercing gaze sweeping over each crew member before settling on me. The others hurled curses in their native tongues, their voices thick with venom.

"The laws of Blokays grant me the authority to dispense justice and safeguard my people," Sharius declared at last. "But when the truth remains obscured—when I cannot discern with certainty whether you lie, Kallinkorian—I may seek counsel from those who can peer into the very heart of motive."

"You’ve really done it now," Tevin whimpered under his breath.

"The Astral Sisters shall judge us!" With that, Sharius stomped his foot—

The massive ceiling slab trembled, dislodging clumps of snow that rained down on us. A staircase composed of ice cubes descended into the center of the tribunal. Above it, an opening formed to the surface, instantly filling the chamber with the piercing shriek of wind.

The Coldborn marched us outside, where enormous snow machines stood waiting—reminiscent of Kallinkorian snowspeeders, but encased in protective domes.

"Each of you rides with a Coldborn," Sharius decreed, settling into a snow machine whose capsule hissed open, revealing twin seats. "Ethan Kendes—you're with me."

"An honor, Your Honor," I smirked, clumsily hauling myself into the "sleigh." The shackles made it awkward, but I clung to what dignity remained.

We surged forward, and I was stunned by the machine's velocity—this iron beast tore through the frozen air without leaving so much as a tread mark in the snow.

"Where’d you get this tech?" I shouted over the wind. "Thought Blokays was all snow and icicles!"

"A gift from neighboring planets," the Coldborn replied tersely, expertly weaving between snow dunes.

The sky erupted in shimmering light—as if the universe itself had ignited lanterns across the endless dark fabric of space.

Emerald, amethyst, and silver ribbons twisted and danced overhead, like invisible fingers painting the atmosphere. The light refracted into mysterious, nearly ephemeral waves that trailed our convoy in an undulating chromatic ballet. Their intensity pulsed—fading to whispers before flaring with such violence I caught myself holding breath.

It mirrored stellar explosions illuminating the void, so alive it seemed the Galaxy itself was breathing. Every motion birthed cascading sparks that dissolved into the dark, so like the Kallinkorian bengali lights of my youth.

"Northern lights," I breathed in awe, eyes locked on the undulating celestial ribbons.

"My people call it the Luminous Threshold," Sharius said, clearly savoring my wonder.

"When I first came to Blokays, I never saw this."

"The Threshold reveals itself only to Blokais-tuned minds." The Coldborn's voice swelled with pride. "It points the way to Those Who Are Everywhere and Nowhere."

"The Astral Sisters," I nodded, catching his meaning. "So they choose when to be found?"

"Finding them is impossible—but we can summon the power of their minds to preserve our planet's balance." Sharius' voice turned glacial. "Then they find us. Through the Milky Way… or the Luminous Threshold."

"How do I speak to them?" My question came with an unbidden tremor.

Now, as we neared my goal, doubt crept in—was my mind even ready to behold the Sisters?

"The Sisters will speak through you," Sharius said coldly. "They see past, future, and the ever-shifting present. No emotion can be hidden from them. They gaze through us, not at us." His ice-crusted fingers tightened on the controls. "Seek their gaze directly, and you may lose yourself in the void. Permanently. Keep the exchange brief—each of their words is a temporal thread. Tangled perception can unravel alternate realities."

"Suddenly I doubt their… objectivity," I muttered. But the judge braked sharply, the capsule hissing open as he gestured me out.

"We’ve arrived."

I climbed out—and froze. We stood before a waterfall, its icy curtain concealing the tunnel entrance I’d spotted earlier.

"You’re joking." My breath fogged in the air. "We circled the entire damned ice field just to return where I started?"

"The Luminous Threshold is ever-changing," the judge replied, as if stating the obvious. "Its endpoint can never be predicted."

The rest of the crew disembarked from their capsules, and Tevin let out a loud sneeze.

"Silence!" a Coldborn barked at him. "The Sisters must be roused with care—or their voice could shatter Blokais into a million fragments."

"Sorry," Tevin sniffled, covering the burns on his cheek with his palm.

Sharius approached the frozen waterfall and placed his massive hand on the crystalline surface. He uttered words unfamiliar to my Linguatron, and suddenly, the ice above came alive, a revived stream cascading down.

"Everyone back!" the judge shouted, and we obediently retreated as two dark figures emerged from the partially thawed waterfall.

They were neither separate entities nor a single form—their silhouettes shifted so constantly that I couldn’t tell if it was the play of light on the water and ice, or the lingering effects of the melt-off still warping my perception.

The abstract figures exuded an eerie individuality despite their blurred edges, as if each was a ripple of consciousness refusing to solidify.

Sharius nudged me forward—gentler than I’d expected, his touch almost hesitant.

"Go," the judge murmured, uncharacteristically quiet. "The Galactic Ledger of judgment lies open before you."

…I lost count of time drifting through the void since fleeing Kallinkor. The mechanic had claimed Skyla needed "custom training," yet left no manuals aboard.

I told the hologram about my childhood, my reckless youth, my half-formed theories—all while she archived them under "Observation Logs" in that detached, clinical tone.

With each confession, I felt less like a pilot and more like some lab rat, trapped in a sterile metal cage hurtling through the cosmos.

Skyla drafted a rigid schedule for me. She drilled me in mathematics, astronomy, and—cruelest of all—physics. When I'd dreamed of conquering distant worlds, I never imagined conquest would require so much homework.

"Ethan, we cannot land until I'm certain you've mastered the fundamentals," Skyla droned, her form dissolving into a constellation of floating equations.

Geometric shapes—vivid triangles and spiraling quadrants—hovered accusingly, their conclusions as inscrutable as star charts written in dead languages.

"I'm not landing to teach a damn physics seminar," I argued, slamming my palm against the bulkhead. "Three months adrift. I'm tired. The food's nearly gone."

"My scans indicate sufficient nutrient pellets remain—provided you cease stress-consuming them." Her projection flickered with what might've been disapproval. "They're calibrated for metabolic efficiency, not emotional indulgence."

"But I want something edible, something that will feel pleasant in my mouth before it reaches my stomach."

"First, the food bolus enters the esophagus."

"Don’t care!" I shrieked and began cutting chaotic circles through the ship, compartment to compartment.

There was nowhere to run, but I tried.

Skyla silently followed me from module to module, monotonously waiting for me to tire and calm down. When I finally stopped darting around the ship, she spoke again:

"Planets are numberless, Ethan. Some are cataloged in encyclopedias; others remain undiscovered. Should you perish on the first world—whether from ingesting unknown flora or drinking unanalyzed water—my mission fails. I’d have to scuttle the ship and self-destruct to prevent our capture by whatever—or whoever—might claim us."

"Why would you care who owns you?" I clicked my tongue in irritation.

"I’m programmed to be your friend," she said, the ship’s lights dimming as if in emphasis. "As is this vessel. Without you, we have no purpose left to compute."

I looked at Skyla, now glowing a warm violet—my favorite color—and smiled. My anger evaporated instantly.

"Fine. Show me the formulas," I said, voice steady. "But first—diary entry."

"Recording initiated."

"The ship’s name is Eliot."