Space Angels: find the Gift (complete)

●•·Deep Space·•● Chapter eleven

●•·Deep Space·•●

11 – the catalogue of creatures (1283)

As Borak was sucked around the swirling vortex of the alternative reality between the two Grimlick Gates, turning and spinning in the buffeting roar of primordial energy as he went, he knew it would take much concentration to select the correct exit. Fifty-nine corridors spiralled the whirlpool, each arm embroidered with vibrant threads of twisted space-time: the Braided Bands. These sparkling conduits would light his way but only one would lead to the right place – and at the exact time. If he were not careful he'd be swept into a rotational time path that could spit him out of the gate he'd just entered – into the Zelli's waiting light-tentacles. Or, if he selected a much earlier pathway, into the killing zone of Stygien's attack ships before the moment he'd disabled them, he'd have to relive that battle all over again before his earlier self had even arrived...

Cylvah hung upside down in her safety shroud with her fellow passengers, feeling like a worried Kalaestian cave bat, while Borak deliberated.

The chronica globe now glowed red and words appeared on the display:

TILT! TILT! TILT! This globe has performed an illegal operation and will be reset. All unsaved information will be lost. Please wait...

A message from the Lǽrans appeared in Cylvah's head:

"Attention cadre members, please be patient while we check the chronica globe's status. Unfortunately, spoken words will not be heard in the pathway, for they will be lost in time. Use your abilities to communicate for now. It will not take long to travel the pathway. Please bear with us..."

After much shaking and buffeting Borak seemed to right himself and, relieved she was no longer upside down, Cylvah noticed a Scintilla fly from beneath Jango's safety shroud to float near her nose. Cylvah activated her Multi-Sight, sending out a tiny silver sparkle close to Jango, and the Cherubim read each other's thoughts.  

"Oh, scitan! That's all we need!" Jango's thought read. "That jolt from the Zelli fractal has caused the globe to replay its information from the beginning."

"Does this mean the information for our mission is lost, Jango?"

"It depends how much of it Borak assimilated – I hope not. It'll be difficult to find the Gift if we don't know where, or what it is."

 She noticed the Seraphs were watching them now, clearly communicating together telepathically.

 The chronica globe's red glow diminished, replaced by the familiar pale yellow, before turning slowly. Words appeared on the display:

"The chronica globe has been reset. We have left the pathway. Safety shrouds will be removed and you may now use the spoken word," proclaimed the Lǽrans.

"About time," Jango said, as his shroud slid away, disappearing into the floor with a slurp. "What's happening, narrators, are we there yet?"

"Not yet, Cherub Jango," a narrator answered curtly. "Borak is groggy from his ordeal, but he is not badly hurt. He needs to repair any damage he has sustained by visiting the Virtue guarding the Edon sector. But before he can do that, he needs to select a realm to enter."

"Oh," Jango said with a guilty face.

Cylvah sighed. He'd forgotten Borak's death-defying struggle while in the comfort of his safety shroud.

"What's a realm?" Sofiel asked.

"They are the hidden strata, Sofiel. The Edon sector is divided into many layers of time and space we call realms. The Thrones can slip between these different dimensions and enter Edon's galaxy at the exact place and time predicted by their mission parameters," a narrator explained.

"I don't understand," Sofiel said.

"Think of the Edon seashores you saw in your cloud, Sofiel, after the tide had receded. Did it not leave ripples in the sand afterwards?"

"Oh, yes, I remember. And the sea birds ate the creatures that remained."

"Yes. Life continues when the sea has left and it is very different. Borak is selecting the correct dimension, or ripple, in the sand."

 "Zooks! They're truly masters of space and time aren't they? Are you all right, Borak?" Sofiel called.

After a pause, the cadre were pleased to hear his voice.

"I have felt better, Sofiel – thank you for asking. It will be a while before we can enter Edon's atmosphere. In the meantime, you must all make your choices from the catalogue of creatures. You may select five Edons and fifteen of their creatures. Choose carefully. The Lǽrans will advise you on the most appropriate selections. I will make some repairs and restock on Virtue Malik's planet – and the Edon Sector has many atomic compounds I can use.  First, I need his permission to enter the Edon Sector. Malik watches over Edon and can communicate with Kaelestia even from this distant galaxy. He'll also inform the Bright One of our progress."               

The circular display receded and the cadre's four clouds reappeared above their heads. Each featured the different Edon creatures and races. They began selecting five creatures from the small, medium and large categories. Edon creatures existed in the planet's many different environments: some liked the hottest places, while others preferred the coldest; some were happiest in the air, while others liked the water or the land. Some functioned in all three environments. Some had their bones inside, some outside, and a few had no bones at all.

When it came to choosing Edon races, the Lǽrans were quite specific.

 "Most of the Edon beings featured in the catalogue are long dead. It's vital cadre members do not choose historical figures whose appearances are accurately recorded, so we have excluded them. The available choices lived long before the time zone Borak is planning to enter and no Edon will recognise these likenesses. You may select subjects that look like you or whose appearance is completely different. You must ensure their anthropological make-up matches the inhabitants of your mission area."

 "What does that mean?" Jango wanted to know.

 "This is a secret mission, Cherub Jango. The Edon race is tribal. When one tribe dominates, an outsider will stand out and could be a victim of persecution. It is imperative your choice fits the tribes in your area."

 Jango frowned but said nothing.

Fereshte selected a beautiful young female, whose image was not dissimilar to herself, a princess from a desert kingdom who'd died a thousand Edon years before the chosen time zone. Sofiel chose a female slave who came from the Far Eastern side of the planet.

Cylvah had trouble selecting a likeness for she only wanted to fly through Edon skies but knew she couldn't spend the whole mission as an eagle. "I'm stuck, Jango," she said. "I never use my Cherub face, and these Edons are too beautiful."

"Why don't you pick him," Jango said slyly, indicating an image in Cylvah's cloud: a thin Edon male with a hooked nose. "He looks like an eagle!"

"I don't want to be a male, Jango," Cylvah said.

Jango grunted.

"Wouldn't you rather be an eagle and fly with me? It would be fun," Cylvah said hopefully.

"No, I want to be him!" replied Jango, pointing to an image in his cloud. The young Edon male had bright red hair and a spotty face.

"He looks like you," Cylvah said, "but a bit more handsome..."

"Nevertheless I'm picking him because he was my age, in Edon years, when he became king of his lands. That'll do me." Jango said arrogantly.

"Can he do that, narrators? Isn't a king a historical figure?"

"The images of this boy king are crude and unrepresentative, Cylvah. He lived many Edon centuries before we arrive – his Quintessence is unrecognisable. Cherub Jango knows this."

Jango gave Cylvah a smug smile.

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