16
Byrne nodded to the two goons holding Cole in place, and the men lifted him to his feet. They shoved him forward and presented him like a trophy. Cole and Byrne faced each other, one man with his arms strapped behind his back, the other lacking them altogether.
It made for an awkward moment.
Cole glared at the red band around Byrne’s forehead and cursed his stupidity. Joshua approached and whispered once more into Byrne’s ear; he jerked his head in Cole’s direction as he spoke. Cole tried to read his lips, but found himself again distracted by the dizzying speed with which the world flew past to either side. He glanced to the deck far below where the fur-clad people moved so fast, they left trails behind like human blurs. And the snow flying by to either side, drifting lazily a moment ago, now stretched out in a sheet of fuzzy white. Cole felt another wave of vertigo, and the men behind him had to support his weight as his knees buckled.
“Bring that chair closer,” Byrne said, nodding to one of the several pieces of furniture scattered around the mast.
As the goons went to work, Cole fought to regain his balance. He turned back to the scene around him, dizzy and confused. The circular platform was everywhere cluttered with tables and chairs and sprinkled with the debris that came from lounging men: empty cups, trays filled with ash and butts, plastic bags smeared with a film of purple. The normal seemed juxtaposed with the bizarre, as if regular people lived in this, the most irregular of places. For a moment, Cole wondered if he’d died in the Firehawk crash. Maybe the dreamlike inconsistency of the place was nothing more than the mad firings of his dying brain. Riggs’s legs; the snow; the slow and fast people; someone that should be dead, now alive, but missing his arms . . . all of it layered on a backdrop of people he knew from history books. People that shouldn’t be alive.
He watched, detached, as a chair constructed of metal strips was placed beside a seat ornate enough to qualify as a throne. Byrne sat in the latter, and Cole vaguely felt someone tugging at his arms, working the restraints loose. His hands came free. Cole rubbed the red mark around one of his wrists and went to adjust his goggles and get the clump of hair out of his eyes. Before he could, he found himself being pushed forward and forced down into the chair.
“Leave us,” Byrne said to the others.
Joshua flushed. “Sir, I—” he stammered.
“Have your men remain on deck, outside of the mast’s time-flow. Put them in shifts if need be. You may cut him down if he runs.” Byrne studied Cole. “But I don’t think he will. The prophecy has failed, and now there’s nothing left but time.”
“Any word from—?” Joshua tapped his forehead, his eyes darting over to Cole.
“Our friend will come through, don’t worry. And anyway, the invasion has already begun. It will succeed no matter what. Now go prepare your men. Don’t come back unless four days pass below. I’ll be returning to the command ship at that time.”
Joshua’s faced twitched at the news, his leathery complexion not quite weathered enough to hide his disappointment. Still, he bowed low to Byrne and forced a wan smile. “Very well,” he said. He stood upright, his eyes flickering over to Cole, then up to the men holding him in place.
Their hands came off his shoulders, and Cole finally had a chance to adjust his goggles. He closed his eyes, reseated the dark lenses, and brushed the wet clumps of hair off his forehead. Joshua and his men were halfway down the steps by the time he opened them again, their limbs twitching as they picked up speed. He turned to the armless man to his side.
“What in the galaxy is going on?” Cole asked. “What is this place? And my friend, is he—?”
“Do you know who I am?” the man interrupted.
“You were on Dakura,” Cole said. “You—you were kidnapping Molly. Byrne, right? What were you planning on doing with—?”
“With Mollie?” Byrne smiled. “I thought she was you.”
“What?”
Byrne settled back in his ornate chair and closed his eyes, smiling.
“Are you talking to someone right now? Is that my band?”
Byrne opened his eyes. “Was your band. And I think it was ordained that you bring it to me. I’ll have you know that I’m truly savoring this.”
Cole watched the men shuffle around at the base of the tall pedestal, out of earshot. Joshua’s blonde hair was no longer among them. The group moved to and fro somewhat faster than normal—twitching and jerking—but nothing like the distant crew, who continued to race around impossibly fast.
Cole turned to Byrne. “None of this is real, is it? I’m dreaming, right?”
“Oh, no,” Byrne said. “You are not dreaming. I am.”
Cole rubbed his hands through his hair and acted like he was drying them on his flightsuit. He felt his pockets for the utility knife or the band, but found nothing. He rubbed the edges of Mortimor’s name patch, the detail and consistency of some things causing him to doubt he was dead, dying, or dreaming.
“So, what, we’re just gonna sit here? You’re not gonna tell me where I am or how my friend’s doing?”
“Petty concerns, Chosen One.” Byrne laughed, shaking his head. “I dreamed of this day in a million different ways, but never like this. Sitting with you, in hyperspace, the invasion underway, this will be an enjoyable report to write.” He glanced down at his own shoulder, the sleeve of his thin, white shirt tied in a knot where his arm should be.
“Enjoyable to dictate, perhaps,” he said.
Cole leaned back and rubbed his face. “You’re talking in riddles, man. What invasion?”
Byrne turned to him. “Just how little do you know?”
“Less than zero. Seriously. I feel like I just woke up in someone else’s body. Why is everything moving so fast out there? And what’s this prophecy and chosen one nonsense? Who are you? Is my friend going to be okay?”
Byrne pursed his lips, his thin mouth set at an angle. Cole imagined a nonexistent hand reaching up to scratch his chin, completing the pose.
“How were you supposed to stop something you never understood?” Byrne wondered aloud.
“By accident?” Cole offered.
Byrne smiled. “I suppose. Strange that Mollie came so close to stopping the invasion. I should’ve known she was no Drenard.”
Cole swallowed. Loudly. “What does being a Drenard have to do with anything? Or are you just trying to frustrate me before you kill me?”
Byrne shook his head. “That’s the problem with you Humans, always thinking we want you dead for the pure thrill of it.” He paused, his thin eyebrows coming down. “Nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Humans?” Cole studied the man’s face closely, looking for some major difference. “What are you?”
“We’re known in this area as the Bern, but we go by many names. We are everywhere. This is our universe, and it has been for many passings. You . . . you are one of us. Well, almost.” Byrne gazed up at the black shapes barely visible through the whizzing streaks of snow.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. How much time does my friend have—?”
“Time.” Byrne laughed, his voice oddly full and thick for so thin a frame. “Time does strange things here, that’s for sure. Take the mast behind us. When time meets it, each quanta of moment—the very constituent particles that move events along—they split in two and then split again. All those particles pass through the slits, propelling this magnificent collection of metal and men forward. Ingenious. Almost Bern-like to have been crafted by Humans. And for one such as myself, who the eons have made impatient, that makes this such a wonderful spot to rest. To usher events along.” He looked over at Cole. “If you wanted to live forever, you would just need to spend a few hours a day up here, letting time split around you, undoing the decay. Or, if you wanted to meet your end faster, in mere moments even, try your luck on the other side.” Byrne smiled.
“I don’t understand,” Cole said.
“Why don’t I tell you a story?”
“Is it more riddles? Are you going to kill me afterward?”
“It’s a simple story. And, no.”
“Good. To both.” Cole leaned back in his chair. He made a show of crossing his arms, defiant and mocking at once. “I hope it’s not a long one, then.”
Bern laughed in his deep, throaty way.
“In many ways, it’s the longest story,” he said. “But don’t worry. We have plenty of time.”