Beyond the Edge by M. Pax

Author:M. Pax [Pax, M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction & Fantasy, Adventure, Colonization, Exploration, Genetic Engineering, Space Opera, Space Exploration, Science Fiction
Amazon: B00FHD01T0
Publisher: M. Pax
Published: 2013-09-18T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 31

Lepsi

The days all merged together under a dome surrounded by a cloying atmosphere. The thick vapors hid the passage of day into night and vice versa. Gongs distinguished the hours, breaking up the monotony of endless orange. Lepsi grew to hate the swirls and the way the fog tried to lure him and tease him with faces that weren’t there. He hid that away from the voice in his shoulder. Thoughts that didn’t stick, that flickered and died before fully realized, didn’t get him in trouble.

His shoulder no longer spoke. His only companions were the other mindless Backworlders shambling back and forth, the vapor, and the bonging signals.

He sat like a rock on his rock bench until three chimes sounded, then he shuffled out from the cavern to the dome area. A lake, dark as night’s soul, bubbled on one side beyond the walls, its paltry surf lapping in a whisper against the dome. On the other side rose jagged behemoths. The mountains and smog blocked the view, so Lepsi couldn’t tell how high his new home stood or where in relation to the original landing.

Vats peppered the space inside the dome with different mixtures of mist, burping lake, and Backworlder. Lepsi tended one of them, a fat cylinder rising to just below the ceiling. The odd brew bubbled constantly in different hues — blue, yellow, orange, lime. Whenever it grew black and gloppy, the vat contents were dumped, and Lepsi would have to start the mixture over.

What he added to the sludge constantly changed. A voice from the vat — the same one that had once occupied his shoulder — told him exactly what to do and when. He didn’t dare disobey. He didn’t dare wonder what purpose the vats served. He didn’t dare think about the world and friends he’d left behind.

The routine didn’t vary. Lepsi stood at his vat, watching. Sometimes he’d turn a dial or a valve. In the surface of the vat, a darker mist than usual appeared, an almost shadow. It took on a lank form, matching Lepsi’s stature and posture.

Instead of the vat or his shoulder, the shadow spoke. I need you, favored son. My kind needs you.

Who? Shadows? Cloud ships? Lepsi brushed the questions aside as quickly as they formed.

A blade appeared on the ground at his feet, curved, sharpened, a dagger to slit a thousand throats. It shimmered like a mirage, gradually becoming solid. The weapon excited him until he realized it’d do him no good. He couldn’t stab shadows.

Pick it up.

That awful, painful hum started, as if the voice still occupied his shoulder. Without hesitation, Lepsi did as told, bouncing the knife in his palm, getting a feel for the heft, ready for whatever dastardly deed the voice demanded.

Go over to the intake bin. Open it. Set your wrist over it then drag the blade over your veins. Slice deep. You must. Let your essence spill into the bin. Let it mix into the vat.

Lepsi readied the equipment and held the knife to his wrist over the intake bin.

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