A fantasy-steampunk tale of loss, love, magic, and the light in all of us that refuses to die.
“Do we have a consensus?” The old man’s voice held an edge like a knife. A threat hidden within the question. The tone both accusative and demanding. His piercing blue eyes took turns focusing intently on each of the other three men present in the small windowless wood-paneled room.
One by one the men turned away from his fierce gaze and nodded their bald heads in agreement. “Excellent,” he said as a predatory smile broke through the hard lines of his face. He strode to the nearest chair and sat. Looking down at the hand-crafted oak table, his finger traced a few lines of wood grain. It pleased him that the craftsman had buffed the surface until it achieved glass-like smoothness.
The youngest of the men relaxed back into his chair. One of its mortise and tenon joints let out an audible “creak” as the bulk of his overweight body put pressure in the wrong spot. Despite a mild hearing loss preprogrammed to come with age, the noise caught the old man’s attention, and he whipped his head in the direction of the sound. The audible disruption gave him a focused target for the anger that surged within.
The white-haired, white-robed leader of the Mystic order decided at that moment who would draft the agreed-upon letter, put their name to it, and send it with the Hunters to planet Titan. “Mystic Montenegro,” the old man thrust an index finger in his direction, “I take your continued inability to lose weight as a sign that you need additional work. You will draft a set of orders and hand deliver them to the Hunters. Make certain they leave within twenty-four hours. I want Jove Metz in jail within forty-eight hours, and dead within seventy-two hours. Do you understand?” White smoke trailing up from burning incense on the table curled up around the old man’s extended finger.
The youngest and newest lieutenant of the White Order of Mystics stiffened at the assignment he just received. The murder of an innocent man was an anathema to all Mystic orders and punishable by death. He jumped up. His chair protested with several more “creak” sounds. Montenegro gave his answer by bowing in the direction of his master with both hands placed over his heart. As he turned to go, he pulled three black spheres from a pocket in his robe and tossed them into the air. They elevated and began a tight orbit around the crown of his head.
The remaining three men waited until Mystic Montenegro left the room. The old man spoke first. “Gentlemen, now that the weakest of our leadership has been put to good use, I have one further order of business to discuss. After consulting with the Library and researching all possible outcomes, there’s an 8% chance that our orders to the Hunters will be found and exposed. I believe this to be an acceptable risk, but it requires we have a contingency plan. We need absolute proof that Mystic Montenegro acted alone and without our support. Any suggestions?”
No one dared to stir or make a noise for a time. Mystic Alonso broke the long silence with his slow, deep, and deliberate voice. “Despite the inactivity of our Ioun Stones during this council, we cannot hide the truth from an Inquisition of Mystic Montenegro’s mind. We only have two choices. One, make sure that he does not return from his next trip to planet 63984. Or two, the next time that he Travels, reprogram the Nanomites to delete the neurons holding the memory of this meeting.”
“I concur,” said Mystic Francisco in his typically nervous high-pitch tone, “we could even attempt both. If he manages to survive an assassination attempt on planet 63984, then the Nanomites he receives after Traveling will guarantee our success. Mystic Montenegro drinks copious amounts of alcohol on his unsanctioned visits to 63984, and he will not notice a few gaps in his memory. There are some maladies that even the Nanomites can’t cure after Traveling. Memory loss induced by drinking is one of them.”
“Good, good,” said the old man as he pounded a fist on the table. “Once again, the two of you have renewed my faith in your abilities and commitment to our cause. Alonso, you take responsibility for the Nanomites. Francisco, you handle the assassination. I want Montenegro to feel a genuine fear of death.
“Our scriptures say, ‘To know life, one must feel the sting of death.’ You youthful Mystics do not appreciate the true burden of a hundred-year lifespan and how short it feels near the end. Those of us in our eighties genuinely appreciate the gift of life. If Montenegro can survive this trial, then my faith in him will also be renewed.”
With the purpose of their meeting fulfilled, both lieutenants stood and bowed with hands over their hearts. They knew their master wanted time for silence and meditation after a clandestine council meeting. They activated their Ioun Stones by tossing them into the air. Their long white robes swooshed as they turned and made a quick exit out of the room.
Once the solid wood door of the room clicked closed, the old man prepared himself to meditate by moving to a cushion on the floor. The fight against the forces of chaos, anarchy, and entropy requires significant discipline and effort. He wanted to ponder two futures necessary to maintain a perfect balance in the universe. First, a future where Jove Metz’s chaos-inducing threat of cold fusion is eliminated from all seventy-two known planets. And second, a future where he becomes the first Mystic to escape the one-hundred-year lifespan preprogrammed into the Nanomites coursing through his veins—and become immortal.