The Dance Eternal

In the eternal dance that is the perpetual motion of the universe, dark things stir in far corners, hidden consciousnesses infinite in their reach, confident of their purpose. One such entity casts itself outward, seeking areas where its influence may take hold, there to sew the threads of entropy, for will of good or evil; these entities care not for either – a means to an end. Occasionally, when sheer influence is not enough, the consciousness can coalesce, creating physical forms with which to realize its intent; beings not of benevolence or malice, but with entropy as its lifeblood, discord its nourishment, and oblivion its end result. 1 “Continue heading, Ensign, full-pulse. Science, report.” The V.S. Dau’thresh, pride of the Vreth Scientific research fleet, was doing the dangerous, the heroic; she was piercing the Horizon, delving into deep space, that ever-expanding unknown. Her mission, championed by Admiral Extrion di’Vat of the Vreth Solar Navy, was to explore a small portion of deep space, where astrological researchers had detected an unusual energy. The Vreth, a people often considered by others as “always living on the edge”, immediately set out to investigate. A two-day warp later, and they crossed the “Horizon”, an area marked by an eerie darkening, and noticeable lessening of stars. Several clusters of stars in the forward view, tiny twinkling oases suspended in the empty, had been marked and catalogued by the Science officer for future research, as well as the oddly swirling nebula to the right side. That nebula had appeared in several previous scans and photos of this area; of notice was the fact that it wasn’t in all the photos. Was it a temporary anomaly, or had something obstructed the view? “Admiral, Science report; orbiting probes are at three-thousand meters, scanning normally.” “Admiral, Navi; thirty-six hours past Horizon, detecting a slight stellar current from starboard, wave pattern.” The Admiral, his gaze following the sources of the reports, tilted his head at the last, the thick, scaly ridge of his brow drawing down slowly. The Vreth were a race of space-faring reptilians; their home world, unpronounceable by human standards, was an expansive desert, under which were catacombs of cave networks full of water and other resources that the Vreth protect fiercely. “Science, confirm Navi.” “Admiral, Science; starboard probes three through five reports receiving now. Decoding data – confirm. Energy wave, type-6 radial shockwave pattern. Analysis; trace plasma energy levels, heavily interlaced wi… with…” The officer’s voice trailed away. “Science, continue please.” “With… with… with…” Di’Vat turned toward the science post at his left at the sound of a heavy clacking, accompanied by several gasps, to see the officer leaned forward toward his screens, hands planted on the console before him, and slamming his head, full-force, into the main screen. The third impact shattered the screen; broken glass and helmeted-head caused massive damage to the terminal, and thoroughly electrocuted the officer. The smell of burnt flesh filled the bridge, as the corpse twitched with the continued current. A klaxon suddenly sprung to life, causing half of the crew to clear their seats. The Admiral, now standing, took a quick scan of the bridge, checking his crew and assessing the situation, and within seconds was regaining order, his raspy voice an echoing bellow on the ship’s bridge. “Sound general alert – all-readiness. Ensign; contact Infirmary for retrieval. Comms; please patch Science and report.” The lights on the bridge dimmed, and the Arms Officers on port and starboard vanished down the tunnels down to their posts. Screens flickered with scans, messages, and other data, and the bridge became filled with the low din of chatter as officers gave and received reports, either into headsets or to the Admiral. “Admiral, Ensign; Infirmary is en route.” “… all posts; damage report.” “Admiral, Navi; detecting a second wave, slightly stronger and faster. Monitoring.” “… security breaches reported on several decks; awaiting further reports.” “Admiral, Comms; … I … I think you should see… and hear this.” Di’Vat stood, fully seven-feet tall, the collection of medals and commendations on the breast of his dark green uniform glittering in the light of the surrounding consoles. He strode to the console with a confident purpose, a glint of light catching the waxed shine of the smooth scales of his head, the metal-tip on his tail clacking against the floor panels as his tail swayed. He took the proffered headset and seated them over his ear spots, his attention on the screen. A small wave of sound twitched onscreen, then a second, larger, but he heard nothing. With the third jump of the graph, the headset erupted with a hideous shriek that sounded like the grating of rusted metal. He jerked the headset from his head, glaring at it as the little speakers squelched with distortion and began to smoke, and dropped them to the floor. “Also, Admiral, the energy readings are immense… frightening.” “How so?” “Dark energy, sir, in levels we’ve never seen.” Di’Vat rubbed his chin, his fingers rasping against his face, “Did you say- “ “Admiral, Navi; sir, all starboard probes just went offline. Port probes are experiencing interference, readings are unreliable.” The Comms officer leaned back from the screen, “Umm, Admiral…”, and pointed out toward the bow of the ship. As di’Vat turned, a massive light erupted ahead of the vessel, a muted crimson in hue, it’s cloudlike energy swirling in a vortex that spiraled toward it’s center. “The nebula, Admiral,” the Science officer said, voice on the verge of breaking, “the nebula from- “ A heavy, deep vibration thrummed throughout the bridge. Several of the crew members held their chests, as reports erupted from all posts. “Admiral, Arms; all defense systems unresponsive”, “Admiral, Comms-Science; overwhelming energy levels…”, “… no reports from engineering…”, “… unknown energy detected within the ship, lower levels…”. Di’Vat watched, frozen, as something began to emerge from the vortex, the chaos around him fading into the background. His eyes had gone wide; the vertical slits of his pupils overpowered his green irises, almost rounded in dilation. “you should not be here”, filled his mind, a hissed whisper so loud in his head that it also filled with excruciating pain. “you should not be here.” The crew were going insane around him; several had followed the Science officer’s example, and were slamming their heads into anything solid, while others were trying their best to tear each other apart – the Ensign lay in several pieces around his post, and one of the gunners was using his arm to club-to-death the Navigation officer. The whole bridge had become a scene from a nightmare. Still, di’Vat stood at his seat, his eyes glazed and fixed on the scene before his ship. A trickle of dark red goo had begun to run from the corners of his eyes and mouth. “YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE!” A ripple erupted from the vortex, carrying the same sickly-crimson color, and rushed toward the V.S. Dau’thresh, with enough force to shear the vessel in half horizontally; the lower half imploded with the sudden pressure difference, while the upper half, better compartmentalized, began to list to port. Power systems failed; klaxons screamed, drowning out the screams of the crew. Tiny, dark shapes floated from the wreckage, some twisting for a moment before they became still. Di’Vat watched still, his face drawn as if aged and covered in runnels of goop, as the vortex seemed to expand and advance. Suddenly, he planted his hands on his temples and let out a bellow of agony that even made the alarms sound quiet, then he went silent and collapsed. His body lay still as the last of the life support gave out, gravity and pressure systems went offline, and the rest of the Dau’thresh collapsed in a twist of metal and polymer just as it was swallowed by the vortex. Moments after the last trace of the science vessel was absorbed by the energy mass, something shot from its center; a small bundle, dark and entropic, sped away and toward the Horizon, and ‘civilized’ space. 2 Johnathan knew that Saturday nights in Flagstaff weren’t the most exciting, but since the curfew went into effect, it’d been downright dead. Some ‘questionable aircraft’ had been seen by military radar in California, and though the curfew was not particularly mandatory, the police would be likely to stop anything they deemed to be ‘unnecessary’ or ‘suspicious’. He shifted his feet as he leaned on the counter, his best friend Tommy on the other side, a 32-ounce cup in hand as he munched on a microwave burrito. The wrapper sat on the counter, holding a small puddle of salsa he’d squeezed from a couple of sauce packets salvaged from his last trip to Taco Bell. “How can you eat that, Tommy? It’s like a hundred degrees in here.” Tommy shrugged with a grin, wiped at the sweat beaded on his forehead (not all from the store’s warmth) below a ragged mop of brown hair, and took another bite. “Dude, what are we doing this weekend,” Tommy asked around a mouthful, “Got any plans with Lacy?” “Well, there was the camping trip, but I had to come here. We could go up to the Park tomorrow, get out of town.” The ‘Park’ was reference to the nearby national park, where they would often go. “What about the curfew? I heard them say on the radio that Chinese troops have been spotted in the desert to the south. There’s been unconfirmed- “ Johnathan held up his hand, “I will believe it when I see it. It’s been a bunch of sword-rattling and small skirmishes for years. Nobody wants to go full-scale; that’s when the nukes drop.” They stood silent for a time, Tommy idly chewing away at the burrito, then tossing the wrapper in the trash when he was done. Johnathan moved toward the computer that constituted a register as he saw a red sedan jerk to a stop at one of the pumps. The driver flung the door open and got out, and John let out a small groan. The driver stood for a moment, pompously brushing his suit and straightening his designer sunglasses, then closed the door of his car and disappeared behind the pump. “What was that noise for,” Tommy asked with a chuckle. “This guy,” John replied, motioning toward the window, “is an ass.” “He kinda looks it, Mr. Shades at Night.” They both laughed and broke into a verse from the old Corey Hart song; “I wear – my sunglasses at night, so I can, so I can…” John glanced out the window, then quickly shushed Tommy’s continued singing just as the bell over the door violently clattered. The suit paused and looked around as if plotting how to travel through a dump, before strutting to the counter, all the while noisily twirling his copiously-loaded keyring ‘like a boss’. Tommy, at the end of the counter, tried his best to keep from laughing outright. “Can I hel-“ Johnathan started to ask, but the suit cut him off mid-sentence. “Look, man. Your cheating gas pump didn’t give me the full amount I paid for.” Johnathan stood behind the counter, feeling like the man talking had him on trial. He wiped his forehead of sweat – when is the owner going to fix that blasted AC – and tried his best to keep his composure, despite that he had dealt with this man before, and the guy was a total jerk every time. “I am sorry sir, I cannot do anything without the manager here, and he is thirty minutes away. I can take your name and info, and he will contact you when he gets it squared. That is all I can do, sir.” The suit tipped his shades, his contempt plain, “You are a moron. Do you like working here, jackass?” John smirked, “Well, it’s not bad, except for the f*****g customers.” Tommy did bust out into open laughter at this point, spraying a gout of soda in a cone that would have impressed any dragon. The man in the suit stood for a moment, dripping with soda and looking completely flummoxed, when a sudden bright flash filled the windows, and a shockwave rattled the little gas station. The lights flickered, glass shattered, merchandise fell from the shelves, and everyone fell to the floor. Moments later, Johnathan brushed away a multitude of cigarette packs and nudie magazines, and slowly raised his head just high enough to see over the counter. “s**t, it’s a bombing raid,” the guy in the suit scrambled to his feet, a few snack cakes tumbling from him, and ran from the store. In a moment, he sped away, the pump handle snapping away from the hose. John stood, not hearing the typical follow-up to an attack – more explosions, gunfire, etcetera – and headed for the door. Outside, he could hear firetrucks, see the lights, a few blocks over. The little gas station was in an outlying area outside of Flagstaff, Arizona, an area he’d chosen six years ago to get as far from the growing conflict as he could. His former home, Albany, was a warzone, as was several of the country’s major cities. Tommy appeared at his side, “What the hell was that? Are we getting attacked? s**t, I need to check on my brother.” He stepped to the side, pulling his cell from his pocket. Something caught John’s eye to the left, and he turned to get a better look. He could see the lights of the firetrucks and other emergency vehicles, realizing that he knew the area where they gathered; the property was owned by the family of his friend, Lacy. Cattle ranchers for generations, they owned several hundred acres. Through the pollution caused by the rotating lights of the collection of emergency vehicles, John saw something that didn’t fit the scene; from some point past the gathering, an eerie reddish glow formed an odd corona that itself seemed to seethe with some unknown enmity. “Hey, I gotta go check on my brother. He isn’t answering the phone,” Tommy said, his voice heavy with concern. “Be safe, man. Call me when you get home.” Tommy nodded and they bumped fists, then Tommy headed for his truck around the side of the store. He unconsciously rubbed at the goosebumps that rose on his arms and went back inside as his friend pulled away. He searched the back counter for his cell phone. Remembering the violent shaking, he moved his search to the floor, and found it under a bagged copy of Penthouse, some blonde vixen peering conspiratorially from over the black portion of the plastic as if knowingly hiding the phone. He snickered a bit, thinking of Lacy’s blonde locks, and sent her a text, “You okay? I can see the trucks.” Waiting for a reply, he began the task of cleaning the mess. His phone chimed, and he grabbed it with a free hand, the other balancing a stack of magazines – he caught blondie’s smile again and set the stack down, looking at the message. It didn’t make sense, “Yeja. Somehhakk flue oannn aiee” He called her number, and she answered right away. “Lacy, what’s going on? That text was jumbled, like you just pressed buttons.” For a moment it was silence, then her voice came over thin and weak-sounding. “John… are you safe? It isn’t safe here.” Her voice seemed to be distant, fighting against static on the line. He thought she sounded… scared. Terrified, even. “Lacy,” John said, worry thick in his voice, “what are you saying? There is some kind of red glow from your property. Are there more firetrucks at your house?” John strained his ears waiting for a reply, but only heard a quiet hiss, pointed with an occasional crackle that intensified when she spoke again. “John, leave. Get as far away as you can,” she seemed to be whispering, and was clearly terrified. “What are you saying? I am not going anywhere without you. We can get the others and go. Get out of there, Lacy. Get your brother and parents and go!” After an agonizing moment, “They’re… they’re dead, John. My brother… his eyes are staring at me.” She fell silent, and just when John was about to say something, she let out a wail which abruptly ended in a sickening rending sound that caused him to drop the phone. Outside, the red glow had intensified so that, even at the perpendicular facing of the windows, it filled the store, casting a blood-hue across everything. John froze in the act of picking up the phone, a horrid sensation of being covered in acidic slime taking him. His skin tingled and burned, and he felt mired and sluggish. Pushing through, he turned the phone over to see the screen; he grumbled a curse as he saw a large crack running the length of the smart phone’s screen. It still worked, amazingly, but he’d have to be careful of the shards from the screen. “Lacy, I hope you’re okay,” he thought, gathering his keys. He locked the front door, headed into the back room and shut off the lights, then went through the back door, locking it behind. He got to his car before noticing that the glow was gone, and had almost shut the door when another fact caught his attention; silence. No sirens. No traffic, even for nine on a Saturday night. John got in his 1993 Honda Accord, and with much-repeated movements, turned the key, pressing the buttons for the windows immediately, then the sunroof. He scoffed a little finding nothing but static on the radio, then plugged in his iPod. The shuffle kicked out a good one – Planet Caravan by Black Sabbath. He took the long way around to get to Lacy’s house to avoid much of the chaos on the roads. He did pass a pair of firetrucks and a police car near the access road that the family used for deliveries for the ranch. He slowed a little in passing, and turned down the radio as he saw two firemen standing near the fence, facing the farm house, their hands at their sides. He thought he saw something behind the police car, but he glanced at the road almost too late to make the turn onto the gravel access road. The little Honda fishtailed, but John let off the accelerator and turned into the slide, regaining control quickly enough to avoid – narrowly – a third fireman apparently from the group on the road. He stood several feet onto the road from the shoulder, facing the house and apparently oblivious to the car that almost hit him. John rolled by somewhat slowly, looking at the man and intending to try to talk to him. When he saw the fireman’s face, he punched the gas pedal, throwing gravel in a plume and rattling across the undercarriage. The man’s face was slack, as if his brain were stuck in a loop, but dark streaks ran from his eyes and mouth. John wasn’t sure, but he thought the guy’s eyes were white, like they’d rolled back. He shook off the thought as he rounded the bend that went around a little, dense copse of trees that surrounded a pond; last week, he and Lacy kissed for the first time near that pond’s edge, and had not been able to stop thinking about it since. He was planning to ask her out after work tonight, but was beginning to think he might not have the chance. “Stop it,” he grumbled to himself, “she’s fine.” When the house came full into view, he slammed the brake pedal to the floor. The place was enveloped in the eerie glow, like some creepy nightlight for a devil’s offspring. Something taller than the house showed up as a shadow in the crimson corona around the place, it’s shape making John think of a giant seed… with large spikes covering its surface. The outer walls of the farm house seemed to pulse; indeed, there were several places where the wood had been splintered as if pushed from inside. Most of the windows looked broken, and curtains could be seen waving in the night’s light breeze. Strange shapes moved around the outside of the large house, twisting in such a way to suggest incorporeality. One of the figures suddenly seemed closer to the car, and passed through the path of the headlights. In the beams, it had solid form – if ‘form’ could be an accurate description. It’s ‘mass’ was a jumble of flesh, bone, eyes and hideous mouths, with seemingly random appendages that ended in clawed fingers that flexed as if looking for something to rend. The mouths worked, snapping maws of squared, gnashing teeth and ragged fangs. This heap moved on a pair of amorphous appendages that, for all purposes, had to be ‘legs’. The whole lumbering mass was nearly eight feet tall, John guessed. It made another step toward the car, its form twisting and jerking as if piloted by a drunken puppeteer, and John felt that oily sensation as if it had suddenly been dumped over him; his stomach pinched, his skin felt coated in sludge, and his head throbbed. He thought he felt, more than heard, something within croak “GO” in a long, hoarse hiss. John snapped from the trance created by the scene and he threw the car into reverse, punched the gas pedal and whipped the wheel around. As the front of the Honda swung an about-face, he slammed her into to drive, pounced on the gas. The car lurched forward as if fleeing the scene of its own accord. He began to slow as he got close to the highway, and the men were nowhere in sight. He did get a better look at the other side of the police car, and the pair of dead cops in a heap; what turned out to be a leg that he’d seen on the way in was not attached to a body. John wheeled the car to the right, heading north out of town, tires screeching in protest at hitting the asphalt at such a sharp angle and speed. “Shoulda been a wheelman,” he snickered to himself, as he deftly handled the slide. Several minutes of empty road, and he was climbing a hill north of the city, having chosen to travel the lesser roads rather than the highway. He glanced in the rear-view, and he brought the car to a hard stop; not skidding, but potentially painful to the face of an un-belted back seat passenger. Not even bothering with the pretense of the door, he put the car in park and twisted upward through the sunroof. Looking out over Flagstaff, what he saw made him feel faint. The city below, still aglow with the usual lights, flickered with bright flashes like giant fireflies. He leaned down, fumbling with his hand until he found the keys, and shut off the car. Without the engine noise and his music, he could hear the distant explosions, reaching him seconds after each flash, creating a muffled staccato. He could also see six other points around the edge of the city that glowed like Lacy’s home. He could hear a low drone, as well, and as he began to wonder at their source, he saw nearly a dozen shapes silhouetted on the clouds of smoke already beginning to hang above; large aircraft, like gunships or transports. He thought he saw something coming out of the planes; bombs, troops – he could only guess at this hour. His phone’s jingle and vibration startled him, and he dug it from his pocket. He held it up and glanced at the cracked screen, then carefully tapped over Tommy’s name to answer it, immediately hearing a cacophony of digital noise. “John? JOHN! Where are you man?” Tom’s voice barely broke above what sounded like all the noise from the bottom of a waterfall. “Hey Tommy,” John said weakly, then after a moment, “Lacy is gone, man.” The background noise quieted some, but it seemed forever before the other spoke. Sirens and shouting could be heard in the background, and threatened to drown out Tommy’s voice when he finally broke his silence. “Are you serious? John, man, I’m sorry.” Tommy fell silent for a moment, with an apparent lull in the background action seeming to create a moment of silence in the girl’s honor. Finally, Tommy piped up, “Look, it’s Hell here, and they’re keeping us moving. Are you at the store? I went by your place, but…” He was suddenly overpowered by a staccato of gunfire. “Tommy? TOM!” “I’m here, man. i***t Militia. Half can’t even seem to find which end of the f*****g guns they’re supposed to point at the enemy,” Tommy grumbled, and John smirked despite himself. Tom’s father was always talking about conspiracy theories - alien crash sites, government cover-ups. “Like father, like son,” John muttered, then, “No, I left town, after…” He just couldn’t bring himself to say it, even as he spotted the glow that marked her home; he wasn’t even sure he’d seen it himself, but that scream from Lacy left him with little doubt of her fate, and he felt callous for the thought. “Good, John. Stay out of town, find somewhere safe. Hey, go to my folks’ cabin. You remember where, right?” “Yeah, but I don’t have a key.” “Under the mossy rock; it’s a fake. There is a little slide on the bottom, key’s inside.” Someone in the background began frantically shouting orders, “… hold the line, they’re coming…”, followed by more staccato pops – gunfire for sure. “Tom, what’s happening? You okay?” “John, go. I will try to meet you, but get to safety. I sent Dillon with his girlfriend, and I think they may have found Aaron. They should be there by now. GO!” Tommy started to say something else, but the line went dead. “Tom,” he asked the phone, but knew there would be no response.