Astra Epsilon 1 Ascension 1st Edition

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ASTRA EPSILON
BOOK 1: ASCENSION
BRAYDEN DODGE
ARCH STAR PUBLISHING
Copyright © 2021 by Brayden Dodge
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical
means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission
from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
 For my wonderful wife
without whose patience and support this would just be an idea
 CONTENTS

Prologue
1. The Algorithm
2. Syzygy - Fade
3. Arcana - An Unacceptable Beginning
4. Echo - The Forest of Needles
5. Galek - Making an Entrance
6. Orion - The Stradivarius
7. Syzygy - Respawn
8. Galek - Introductions
9. Echo - Lima Syndrome
10. Arcana - Midnight Interruption
11. Orion - A Very Long Flight
12. Syzygy - The Captive Belonging Evaluation Center
13. Arcana - Realms of Magic
14. Echo - The Story of the Soulforged
15. Galek - Gnoll Entertainment
16. Orion - Echelon Web
17. Syzygy - Smoke Shift
18. Galek - A Surprise Visitor
19. Orion - Totem Guardian
20. Arcana - A Promise
21. Echo - Leaving the Forest
22. Syzygy - Time is Short
23. Arcana - Glimpse
24. Echo - Who Needs a Plan?
25. Galek - Avenger of the Fallen
26. Orion - Reunion

About the Author

PROLOGUE

On March 17 th, 2059, we’re all going to die.

It’s definitely not ideal, but there’s not a lot we can do about it.
Our Solar System is going to be totally engulfed in a cloud of space
dust. That might not sound bad, but the “dust” is actually composed
of moon-sized asteroids. Technically that still fits the definition of
space dust. I’m not sure how. But I guess the semantics of the
problem aren’t really the main issue at the moment.
The death of every creature in the Solar System is “highly likely,”
which is as close as we’re going to get to scientists saying,
“everything is definitely going to die.” There are five separate
meteors heading toward Earth, and scientists believe that the impact
from just one of those can wipe out every living thing on the planet.
And that’s just Earth. The same thing is set to hit our other bases
across the Solar System. Mars. Our moon. Saturn and Jupiter’s
moons. Even the mining station on Pluto will be wiped out.
As depressing as this news is, it has a very faint silver lining.
Humanity has had a two-year warning to prep for their imminent
destruction. The scientists who identified the dust actually published
their study for everyone to read, instead of just telling the
government. With the information out in the open, the Solar
Federation was forced to admit that the entire Solar System would
be destroyed. That was on March 27 th, 2057, almost two years ago.
As you can imagine, since then it’s been mass hysteria. Most
people just gave up immediately, determined to live the last 730-ish
days of their lives to the fullest. Some people spent their time
praying for salvation, while others tried to check off everything on
their bucket lists. Most focused on spending as much time with their
families as possible.
I tried not to think about that last one too much. I wish my
brother and I still had a family to spend time with, but it’s just the
two of us. We’ve had a blast, for sure. Exactly the kind of
debauchery you’d expect from two twenty-somethings after hearing
the world was ending. However, as much as I’ve loved our two-year
party streak, it’s not what I’d call “quality family time.” We don’t
have anyone else though, so here we are.
I haven’t been totally idle. After all, the only thing humans do
better than waste time is survive. For the last two years I’ve spent at
least an hour of every day skimming forums and news articles, trying
to find a way to sidestep that awkward thing called “death.”
That’s the other bad news though. According to the scientists—
the same ones from earlier—there’s no way to avoid this. No missile
we can fire to destroy some of the asteroids. No bunker we can build
to keep some humans alive. Not even the space stations can be
assured greater than a 3% chance of survival. There’s no way to
ensure humans can make it through this alive.
That’s where we finally get to the part that might be good news.
While there’s no way to make it through this alive, there might be a
way to make sure humanity isn’t completely destroyed. While the
scientists and engineers were trying to build super bunkers, or super
submarines, or super space stations, a quadrillionaire-eccentric-
genius by the name of Andreas Musk decided to throw all his money
into creating a fleet of massive spaceships to get as far away as
possible. I guess his dad also liked making spaceships back in the
2010s and 20s. That’s what the old timers were saying, at least.
They thought it was funny.
These spaceships are different from normal ones, though.
Unfortunately, the human race isn’t advanced enough to build a
spaceship that can transport people to another galaxy. These ships
can sustain themselves indefinitely, but can’t sustain actual humans.
They don’t have the normal things that could keep people alive, like
living spaces or greenhouses or heat. Instead, these spaceships
were made to transport supercomputers and server banks even
bigger than the one that runs the Solar Federation—the mundane
stuff at least—we’re not owned by an AI, don’t worry. His plan isn’t
for us to escape, but to “Ascend.”
In addition to building the Ascension Fleet—an awesome name
for an armada, in my opinion—Andreas Musk invested heavily in VR
cerebral uplink tech. It’s the same stuff used by heavy gamers like
my brother and me. It allows the user to engross themselves
completely in the virtual world. Everything looks, sounds, feels, and
even smells as real as it does in the real world. The difference is
instead of uplinking, like with normal VR, we’ll be uploading. By
uploading everyone’s minds and memories into this massive server
farm, we don’t have to die. Not having a body won’t be great, but
we won’t be dead! And remember, the alternative is complete and
total annihilation.
Most people were really skeptical when the news of the
Ascension Project was released, but I was ecstatic. I spent half my
days in VR anyway. Even before our impending doom was
announced, my brother and I were online all the time. We’d tear up
other players in First Person Shooters, or scorch hordes of goblins in
MMORPGs. Forums are also great in VR. They’re actual places people
go to chat and share ideas, and they usually manifest as coffee
shops or street fairs. It’s way better than regular reality, so the
thought of not coming back honestly wasn’t too bad.
Unfortunately, the Ascension Fleet can’t just upload the current
internet for us all to live in. There’s too big of a coding gap between
hosting temporary VR uplinks and permanently downloading people’s
minds. As you can imagine, bridging that gap wasn’t a priority in the
two-year span humanity had before its total destruction. Making sure
the brain-uploading parts were working was a little more important.
Ascension One will still be loaded up with the most important
information concerning humanity’s history and culture, just so we
don’t lose it all. But we won’t be able to access it. At least not for a
very long time.
 In addition to Ascension One, there are four other Ascension
ships. Ascension Two, Three, and Four all serve the same purpose.
They house the Tanks. These are essentially giant think tanks where
the brightest minds will try to design some sort of bodies for us to
download into in the distant future—once the ships have reached
somewhere we can call home. Each ship will be separate, increasing
the chance that humanity can someday rebuild.
The majority of people opting for the Ascension Project over the
total annihilation option have elected to be downloaded into the
Tanks. Some sort of algorithm will keep certain minds “active”—
those with the best chance of building us new bodies—but the rest
of the people will just be in stasis. They’ll be passively offering
additional brainpower, but they won’t have to endure the dozens-if-
not-hundreds of years before we might be able to fix our shitty
situation. People will download their consciousness, immediately be
asleep, and hopefully wake up some day. If not… well at least they
tried.
That’s definitely not what I wanted to do. And I wasn’t alone.
Andreas Musk also had a project designed for people like my brother
and me: people who love to game. Ascension Five houses another
server bank for uploading minds, but this one is entirely dedicated to
the running of a brand-new video game on a scale to rival every
other video game ever made combined: Astra Epsilon.
Astra Epsilon has been advertised as a totally immersive
MMORPG in space. I say “advertised” because I don’t actually know
what’s in it. No one does—aside from a few pictures and snippets of
lore. The game designers were uploaded permanently as soon as
the Ascension tech was available, so at the moment they’re actually
dead. Well, their minds are alive and developing the universe of
Astra Epsilon indefinitely, but their human bodies have been in the
ground for over a year. Obviously, this has been extremely effective
at preventing any leaks regarding lore, mechanics, or other aspects
of the game.
What we have been told is that the Astra Epsilon universe is
currently one hundred times the size of the Milky Way, and growing
every day. We also know that Andreas Musk made the game
completely free—the Tanks are free too, but that’s neither here nor
there. The best part: there’s no way to buy yourself into a better
starting position. Everyone will start in a random location throughout
the Astra Epsilon Universe at level 1, on an equal playing field. Even
being one of the first to Ascend won’t be an advantage, since
everyone will be held in temporary stasis until the Ascension process
is complete.
Despite the overall lack of information, my brother and I have
been excited about Astra Epsilon since it was first announced. We
were some of the first to sign up.
However, an hour ago things got way more real. We finally got
our Ascension numbers called—for tomorrow morning. And not a
moment too soon, either. Tomorrow is March 1 st, 2059. Sixteen days
before the destruction of the Solar System.
Less than twenty-four hours until we leave Earth behind forever.
I’m definitely not having second thoughts, but the immensity of
what’s about to happen is still a lot to deal with. I’m going to die
tomorrow. And this is the last message I will ever write. Most of the
people we know have already Ascended, so this isn’t for anyone in
particular. I guess I’m just planning to beam it out into the universe
and give whoever comes along some insight into what happened to
humanity. I doubt anyone will actually read this, just like I doubt my
body will be anything more than ash in a few weeks, but I had to try
to send out something, in case something does go wrong with
Ascension Five. If anyone is still listening: good luck. You’re our only
hope. If not, and if everyone’s dead… at least we tried.
1 / THE ALGORITHM

“Welcome to Astra Epsilon!” Andreas Musk’s pre-recorded voice

announced as we rounded the street corner. Ahead, a crowd of
people had already gathered, lined up to leave Earth behind forever.
“Come on, Evan,” my younger brother Quinn insisted. Despite
being twenty-seven, he was acting like a kid at Christmas. I couldn’t
help but laugh.
“The Solar System won’t be destroyed for two more weeks,” I
reminded him. “Don’t be in such a hurry to die.”
“Are you having second thoughts?” he teased. We had discussed
this decision multiple times. Each of us was the only family the other
had left, so we weren’t about to make our choice alone. It helped
that this option was a little better than certain death.
“Of course not,” I said. “I’m just trying to enjoy my last few
breaths of real air.”
“Breathing’s overrated. Like eating or shitting. They’re just
distractions that keep us from gaming!” Quinn declared, smiling and
shaking my shoulders in excitement. He was a bit bigger than me,
and though he kept himself in decent shape he really did live to
game. Now he could do it for the rest of time—and I could too.
We joined the crowd and filed through a broad hallway packed
with people, entering the Ascension “Port.” It was housed in a
converted train station—which I thought was kinda fitting. Much
more than some of the other Ports that had popped up around the
Solar System, which were frequently just in warehouses or stadiums.
 As we emerged into the main terminal, I looked around,
expecting to see the same train station we’d visited several times as
kids. Instead, the scene before us was more like the entrance to
Comic Con. Everywhere we looked we saw tables and lines,
arranged alphabetically by last name.
There were no actual ships—those had left a few weeks ago. The
Ascension Fleet had taken a lot longer to complete than the VR tech.
Even though the game developers had been working on Astra
Epsilon for over a year, the final ship hadn’t been finished until last
month. From what I had read in the news—or at least on Reddit,
since most news sites had shut down over the last two years—the
process of Ascending had been pretty chaotic. We were getting
down to the wire, and people were in a rush to escape before the
whole Solar System was destroyed.
Luckily everyone at this Port seemed content to wait patiently in
their allotted lines, which was a relief. We went to stand in our line.
Half an hour later we were greeted by a smiling attendant wearing a
bright blue jumpsuit. It looked like it might’ve started out as a
vibrantly colored janitor’s uniform, but a lot of work had been done
to give it more of a flight-suit look, and the words Astra Epsilon had
even been stitched across the back. I was shocked that someone
had taken the time to make custom outfits for this, but if people
were just waiting around to die anyway I guess they had time to kill.
The attendant gave us a ton of release forms to fill out,
acknowledging that we would die, which made me a little
uncomfortable. Afterwards, the attendant pulled up our profiles on a
tablet, skimming through our information and our “Gamer
Questionnaires.”
We had each filled out the Questionnaires four days prior,
describing our play style in any previous video games we’d played
and the general build we hoped to create. It was incredibly hard for
me to fill out without knowing much about the game. Quinn had it
easy, since he already knew he wanted to be a rogue-style build—as
usual. I had a harder time putting my goals into words. Kind of a
support class, but not a healer, that hopefully had some kind of
magic or other way to buff my allies. If I was going to play this
character for the rest of my life, I wanted to make sure it was as
true to myself as possible; I wasn’t really a person that liked the
spotlight.
The attendant reviewed our Questionnaires, nodding. The
answers seemed to mean something to him, but we had no idea
what they were for. We’d just gotten an email a few days prior
telling us we needed to fill them out, and that it was critical to our
enjoyment of Astra Epsilon. Apparently our answers were
satisfactory, because the attendant entered a few last details into a
tablet before pointing us toward our next destination.
After that, we were ushered through a set of gates and off to
another line. This one wound slowly through a series of switchbacks
beneath a giant screen. Above, a video explained the universe of
Astra Epsilon to us for the first time:
“Imagine a world where traditional fantasy races aren’t trapped
in the Feudal Age, but instead have advanced enough to take to the
stars,” Andreas Musk was explaining to the camera. The image of
him was replaced by pictures of elves in bulky space suits and
dwarves on the moon. “You’ll explore a brand-new universe teeming
with danger, aliens, monsters, and magic. It has something for
absolutely everyone.”
“That’s pretty cool,” Quinn said, nudging me. “You were worried
there’d be no magic. Should work okay with your build, too.”
“And yours,” I answered with a nod.
“I don’t need magic,” he proclaimed boldly, puffing out his chest.
“But you won’t turn down an advantage,” I jabbed. He smiled but
said nothing. Truth be told, I was ecstatic. That seemed like a really
cool theme, and left a ton to explore.
“Groups to the left, singles to the right,” another cheery
attendant was yelling as we approached the front. We went left as
directed, and found ourselves in a surprisingly well-decorated
hallway. Where had people found the time to do all this? It reminded
me of the line for Space Mountain, right down to the screens every
few feet. It looked like those screens were just restarting their loop,
so I watched attentively as we walked.
 “Greetings, future citizens of Astra Epsilon. Today, you will
Ascend,” came the triumphant voice of Andreas Musk once more. “In
just a few moments, you will enter one of our Ascension Chambers,
equip our Fleet Goggles, and begin the game!”
The crowd around us clapped quietly. I looked around, seeing a
lot of people shifting their feet, or whispering to loved ones, or
wearing smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. No one seemed at ease.
Not even Quinn. But we had all made the same decision. It was the
only way to avoid dying, and it was go time.
“As you know, Astra Epsilon is free to play, and in a few weeks
money won’t matter, so no one has been permitted to buy any
improvements to their position, or any advantages at all, before
Ascension. You must make your own way, on your own merit.
Everyone begins at level 1, at a random point in the universe.”
Again there was quiet applause, though this time with a bit more
enthusiasm. In a world where pay-to-win was a very frequent and
very frustrating reality, that news had been really well received. The
main problem I saw seemed to be the random-position thing.
Obviously being able Ascend with a large group of people would also
give an unfair advantage, so that wouldn’t fly, but Musk had said he
would accommodate families and friends that wanted to remain
close. How were they going to allow groups while still keeping things
fair?
“Each Ascension Chamber has five sets of Fleet Goggles. All our
players beginning their Astra Epsilon journeys today will be placed
into a team of five, and those five will be launched together. Your
first quest will be to find your fellow team members, who will all
arrive in the same system in different locations. After that, however,
you need not stay with your teams. The first quest is designed to
facilitate a better understanding of the workings of Astra Epsilon.
Think of it as a tutorial if you wish, though I wouldn’t.” Andreas
Musk gave the camera a wink.
“Before I finish, a word of warning: Astra Epsilon is wonderous,
vibrant, and ever-expanding, but it is also dangerous. You will dance
with death many times, and you won’t always live to tell the tale.
Dying in Astra Epsilon is never permanent, but neither is it pleasant.
Endeavor to stay alive at all costs, lest you suffer losses of items,
progress, or worse.
“I wish you all the best of luck. Perhaps I will meet you in-game
someday. Until then, Viva La Astra.” That last was echoed by a
chorus of voices off camera before the screen dimmed. It lit up to
start once more.
“Nice,” Quinn nodded in approval. “Except for the death part, of
course. But at least perma-death isn’t a thing.”
“It’s definitely good to know,” I agreed. “And it seems like they
thought of everything. The five-person launch will be great for
families.”
“Not families of six or more,” he pointed out.
“True, but then they can split into three-man teams and reunite
later,” I countered. “We might have the rest of forever in this game.”
He just nodded again.
Andreas Musk’s announcement played again, and a detail caught
my attention. “We’ll spawn in the same system, on the same team,”
I repeated. “But there’ll be three other people with us. And we’ll
probably look different—”
“Oh I hadn’t thought of that,” Quinn blurted out. “Maybe we
need a code phrase or something?”
“Any ideas?” I asked. Coming up with cool stuff like that was
Quinn’s department.
“How about ‘Mars is bright tonight’?” he asked.
I stared at him blankly.
“You know, from Harry Potter?” he asked. I said coming up with
cool stuff was his department. I never say he was any good at it.
“I know what it’s from, but what do I say in response?” I asked.
“Oh… okay, how about ‘who ya’ gonna call’?” Quinn attempted.
I shook my head. “Too obvious. Someone might respond just on
reflex.”
“Damn, you’re right,” he muttered. “Any ideas?”
“You’re the one who’s supposed to be good at improvising this
stuff,” I replied.
“Improvising… That’s it!” Quinn said. “What’s the most famous
improvised line in the history of sci-fi?!”
 “Um… Han Solo in Empire Strikes Back?” I asked, not sure how
that was possibly a good idea.
Quinn nodded like a bobble head, a giant grin on his face.
“You want me to say ‘I love you’ to a bunch of random
strangers?”
“Why not?”
“It just seems kinda… weird.”
“It’s not weird. We’re brothers. You love me and I love you.”
“I know, but—”
“Ah ha!” Quinn exclaimed, loudly enough that some people
nearby turned our way. I smiled, realizing that I’d walked right into
that one.
“Fine. Han Solo it is,” I conceded.
“Yes!” Quinn said, pumping his fist in the air.
I shook my head, bemused.
We meandered forward for several more minutes. While we
walked, I got a good look at the people near us. Most people were
trying to look happy, or brave, or anything other than terrified. The
groups with kids were the worst. Parents were trying to get them
excited, smiling wide and talking about adventure, but the kids were
clearly scared. There had been a lot of controversy about allowing
children to Ascend. In the end, though, no one was left to enforce
anything. Too many people had just given up. So the few people
who were still trying to govern the dying Solar System decided to
wash their hands of the whole thing. Parents could bring their kids
into the game. Or not. It was up to them.
As we continued shuffling forward slowly, it wasn’t just the kids
who were outwardly scared. Smiles started to slip. Conversations
grew softer. Joking became less frequent. People held their loved
ones, speaking quietly. Maybe they were planning their start to the
game. Maybe, but probably not. Quinn must’ve noticed the same
thing, because after a couple minutes he turned back toward me.
“Obviously everything is going to be fine and we’ll meet up again
in-game and spend the rest of eternity having a blast and killing
aliens,” Quinn began in a low voice. “But I just want you to know
that I really do love you, bro. Just in case…”
 “I know,” I replied. “I love you too. And everything is going to be
fine.”
We wrapped each other in one last quick, manly hug, not
needing to say anything more after that.
Finally, we were standing at the front of the line. Before us, a
shining steel door, split diagonally, slid to the sides to reveal a
circular room with several other doors. The smiling attendant asked
for our names, then entered them quickly onto a tablet.
“Just the two of you?” he asked.
“Yep,” I replied.
“Any groups of three?” he asked loudly. A trio fifteen feet back
raised their hands, and the attendant waved them up, hustling us all
through the door after collecting their info.
“Hi,” Quinn said brightly. “My name—”
“Won’t matter in about five minutes,” said one of the two women
in the trio. She wore a glare that could’ve frozen mercury.
“Don’t mind her. She doesn’t really get along with… well anyone,”
the other woman in their group commented, making the lone guy
smirk.
The first woman just turned her glare on them. Before anyone
could say anything else, the door slid shut behind us, blocking off all
the light and sound from the previous hallway. Everyone froze, or it
sounded like they did. I couldn’t see anyone, but I didn’t hear
anyone moving, just my heart thudding in my chest.
The door to our left opened a moment later. No attendant
awaited us in this hallway, but we started down it together.
“So how do you guys know each other?’ Quinn asked,
maintaining his upbeat tone.
“We’re roommates,” the second woman replied, matching Quinn’s
cheerfulness. She looked like she was a bit younger than us, but it
was hard to tell in the dim light of the hallway. Definitely in her
twenties. “Or at least we were roommates. We’re not going back,
though, so I don’t know if we’re still ‘roommates.’ How about you
two?”
“Brothers,” Quinn answered, throwing his arm around my
shoulder proudly. “We’re also heavy gamers, so you three really
lucked out. We’ll help you through the first quest no problem.”
“We’re pretty well practiced ourselves. Gaming was what brought
us together in the first place,” the guy in their group replied.
“We’ll do our best to carry you two across the finish line,” the
first woman informed Quinn and me in a flat tone.
“Charming,” I mumbled. The woman cast me another glare.
Obviously I hadn’t been as quiet as I’d thought. I faked a cough and
tried to cover the awkward moment, but the other two roommates
giggled at my discomfort. My cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Thankfully we walked the last twenty yards in silence, arriving at
a door marked Ascension Chamber Five. It slid open to admit us.
Inside was another circular room. This one contained what I
could only liken to cryo-sleep beds. They looked like they’d been
pulled directly from the set of any sci-fi movie ever. Resting at a
forty-five-degree angle, the bases pointed toward the center of the
room, while the tops leaned against the walls. Again I was shocked
by the effort someone must’ve put into building this when the world
was so close to ending. The structures were surprisingly detailed,
and even had various lights blinking along the sides.
“Come on in,” another attendant beckoned. This one wore the
same bright blue jumpsuit, but with an added utility belt. Clearly she
was meant to be a “mechanic.” Her belt had several pockets with
various tools and even a chrome-plated drill. Like the others, she
wore a cheery smile. Had they recruited these people from
Disneyland?
We each found our way to one of the cryo-sleep beds. On the
surface I would be lying on, I saw the slightest gap running down
the middle from top to bottom, and hinges were visible at the side. I
tried not to think about what would happen to my body after it was
no longer… needed.
“Please step into your pods,” the attendant requested. We all did
so awkwardly. The panel I was lying on definitely flexed inward as I
settled my weight onto it, emitting a slight groan. My heart thudded
faster in my chest. Was this thing going to break before I could even
Ascend? Maybe things in this room weren’t as well made as I had
thought? My brother flashed me a thumbs-up sign, and suddenly a
pane of glass slid down over the entire pod, sealing me in.
The attendant began to explain again that our team would start
together in a random system, and that our first quest would be to
find each other. I tried to smile at the other three group members,
but I probably didn’t manage anything more than showing my teeth.
The first woman just maintained her same frosty glare. She was
almost too calm, which was even more disconcerting. Luckily the
other two looked like they were just as nervous as I was. It was nice
not to be the only one freaking out.
I tried to focus on breathing and listening to the explanation.
Before I knew it, we were instructed to reach up and grab the
headset anchored above us. I gave my brother one last look, and he
returned it with a wink. We nodded in unison and donned our Fleet
Goggles.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to Ascend sooner, sir?” Andreas
Musk’s assistant asked, wringing his hands. “I’m sure no one would
fault you. Almost everyone else that worked on the project is already
in Astra Epsilon.”
“Only after everyone else has Ascended, Patrick,” Musk replied. “I
won’t leave anyone behind.”
“But sir—” his assistant began for the thousandth time.
“I’ve made my decision, Patrick. You are welcome to Ascend
whenever you wish, but know that I will be part of the very last
group,” Musk replied firmly.
Patrick opened his mouth again, likely to argue the point once
more, but thankfully one of the technicians interrupted.
“Another group flagged,” the tech said, bringing up the video
feed on his computer.
“Where?” Andreas Musk asked, turning away from Patrick and
the feeds showing the various Ascension Ports across the world.
 “San Francisco, California. Ascension Chamber Five,” the tech
reported.
“Fitting,” Musk chuckled. He stared at the screen before him. Five
people were stepping into their pods. They were young. Musk
estimated all of them were in their twenties or early thirties. As their
attendant began explaining the rules once more, one of the men
flashed another a thumbs up.
“Which package did they win?” Musk asked.
“The Stradivarius, sir,” the tech replied.
“Interesting,” Musk mused. “Can they handle it?”
“Looks like it,” the tech replied, pulling up the questionnaires for
each of the five. Andreas skimmed them as the tech continued
speaking.
“Solid team mix. Some good build ideas,” the tech said. “Good
gaming background on all of them too.”
“Excellent,” Musk nodded. “Set it up.”
“Are we sure the algorithm is correct, sir?” the tech asked.
Andreas Musk fixed him with a stare. He had designed this particular
algorithm himself. The tech wilted.
“I just mean that this will be the third package we’ve given, and
we’re only halfway through our expected Ascension numbers. The
odds are one in several trillion that a team would win just one of
these packages. That we’re already seeing a third winner seems
almost statistically impossible.”
“The algorithm is correct,” Musk replied. “Clearly fate is intent on
having one last say before we escape her clutches forever.”
“Yes, sir,” the tech said, nodding hesitantly. He turned back to his
keyboard, setting up the package as instructed.
Andreas Musk watched the five team members don their Fleet
Goggles. He felt Patrick step up beside him and begin wringing his
hands once more. Luckily his assistant said nothing, content to
watch the group Ascend.
On screen, small lights danced across the fronts of the Fleet
Goggles. After a few moments each of the bodies went limp. The
Goggles were retracted, and the backs of the pods opened, dropping
the now-useless bodies into the pits below.
“Good luck, Astras,” Musk whispered.
2 / SYZYGY - FADE

At first, all he saw was darkness. He floated in it, surrounded by it,

outside of time. He couldn’t say how long he remained there. It may
have been seconds, it may have been days, but it didn’t matter. He
just hovered and waited.
Eventually the first star appeared, distant and twinkling. Then
another joined it, and another, and another. They began coming in
twos and threes, and then tens, and then hundreds, and then
thousands, until he was surrounded by an entire universe of brightly
glowing lights.
“Welcome to Astra Epsilon,” came a voice he thought he
recognized. It had belonged to someone… Musky? Or maybe the
man’s name had been Musk? That was an odd name. The voice
spoke again, from everywhere and nowhere.
“This is the universe of Astra Epsilon. It is vast and ever
changing. There is much to explore, and I wish you luck, Syzygy.”
Syzygy, he repeated in his head. That’s right, that was his name.
But had it always been? Wasn’t his name Quinten? Or Quinn? Or Q?
He couldn’t remember. It had been something else once. He was
sure of that… right?
“I see you have already discovered the power of the Gift,” said
the disembodied voice.
“The Gift?” Syzygy asked aloud.
“Yes, the Gift is for all who have fled Earth to enter this new
universe,” the voice explained. “It is twofold. The first part is a
modification to your memory, allowing for better integration into this
new universe for the rest of time. Your old identity will be forgotten.
You are Syzygy now. While you will still remember your experiences,
and the love and friendship you had for others, you will forget
names and faces, for those no longer matter.”
Syzygy nodded his understanding, or thought he did. He wasn’t
sure if he had a body yet. “You said the Gift was twofold?”
“Yes,” the voice replied. “The second part of the Gift is an
alteration to your perception. This is your universe now, and you will
feel and act as such. While NPCs are constructs of the game, you
will live, work, laugh, cry, and bleed alongside them. You will
perceive them as the real, vibrant, living persons that they are,
rather than constructs of a game engine, because they are a part of
your life now, likely forever.”
Syzygy nodded again. That seemed fair. They might have the rest
of eternity in this game. He didn’t want to turn into a homicidal
maniac, much less watch the rest of the player base become evil.
“Can you tell me anything else about my new self?” Syzygy
asked.
The voice didn’t answer. Instead, a screen filled his view.
 That prompted a lot more questions than answers, but the
disembodied voice began to speak again: “Go forth now, Syzygy.
Your team awaits you.”
A falling sensation began to overcome him, as if he had been
standing on a surface that was slowly being tipped forward. He
began to plummet, faster and faster, stars rushing past, until one
was speeding into his vision, filling it with light. So much light. All
visibility was consumed in the shimmering radiance of that one sun.

And then he awoke, for real this time. He could feel that he had a
body, and feel the dirt beneath him. His hands were pressed against
the soft soil. He inhaled.
And immediately gagged.
The soil smelled awful, as if someone or something with horrid
breath had chewed it up, swallowed it, shit it out, chewed it again,
and finally vomited it onto the ground. He sat up, fighting the urge
to empty whatever was in his stomach, holding a hand over his nose
and hoping to block out the smell. It didn’t work. He took in his
surroundings, trying to distract his brain from the signals emanating
from his nose. That did work. His hand slowly lowered as his jaw
dropped.
The surroundings weren’t what he’d expected, but they were
definitely alien. He stood in a clearing, hemmed in on all sides by
underbrush with teal-blue leaves. From the brush extended thin
trees, no wider than a telephone pole. The trunks looked like they
were made of smaller, intertwined branches or vines, and seemed to
glow with a soft, purplish-white light. They stretched high above,
leading into a thin canopy of leaves the same color of the
underbrush. Through the canopy he could occasionally catch sight of
the rays from a sickly white sun. Only a few branches protruded
from each tree, and all of them struggled to support the weight of
vibrant purple fruits the size and texture of a durian.
 Syzygy stood, still staring in wonder. But something was wrong.
He couldn’t quite place it. The underbrush loomed over him. From a
seated position he wouldn’t have guessed it was so tall. It was
almost like his vantage hadn’t risen as high as it should have when
he’d stood.
Syzygy looked down out of instinct… and realized how short he
was.
“What the fuck is this about?” he demanded, patting himself up
and down to make sure what he was seeing was real. He was short!
Like, super short! He looked at the surrounding underbrush, then
down at himself again. This was bullshit. He probably only stood a
little over a meter tall. Not even Tom Cruise had it this bad!
Just then he remembered his Character Screen. Thinking about it
was apparently enough to summon it, because the screen filled his
vision once more.
“Eclipse gnome,” Syzygy read, cocking his head to one side. He
felt something tickle the end of his ear and reached up to swat it
away absently. “What the hell?” he exclaimed when his hand
bumped against his ear. It was massive, at least ten centimeters
long, protruding from his head and ending in a sharp point. Nothing
had brushed his ear—it had touched his own shoulder. He was short
and had big, pointy ears.
“Great,” Syzygy mumbled. “Definitely a gnome. Fuck this.” The
screen vanished, only to be replaced by three others as he tried to
assess what he was wearing.
 “This is garbage,” Syzygy said, inspecting the equipment more
closely. The shoes pretty clearly weighed his feet down, but at least
they were warm—until they leaked. The jumpsuit wasn’t much
better. He wouldn’t have needed the description to know it was
flimsy. It felt super cheap. It was also a really bright shade of blue,
with a silver “A” stitched into the fabric right over his heart.
“At least it’s not scarlet,” he muttered, moving on to the blaster.
It felt kinda warm to the touch already, and looked even cheaper
than the jumpsuit. He held it at arm’s length, as if it would explode
at any moment, trying to inspect it from as far away as possible.
“Liability” was a good descriptor. He holstered the weapon gingerly.
After latching it in place, he allowed himself a sigh of relief, and then
frowned. Now what?
 Despite the millions of follow-up questions swirling in his head,
Syzygy knew the answer to that one immediately. His brother. He
had to find his brother before he got too deep into this new
universe. Thinking about it, he remembered he also needed to find
the rest of the team they’d Ascended with. The second he thought
that, another screen popped into his view.

“So. Many. Screens,” Syzygy breathed. After he read the quest,

he thought about swiping the screen out of his view like he might
have with a smartphone. The window flicked to the side,
disappearing.
So, he needed to find all four teammates, including the…
delightful collection of roommates he and his brother had Ascended
with. Actually, two of them really had seemed nice. The first woman,
though—
A howl rang through the forest, interrupting his thoughts.
Another howl answered, followed by a series of what could only be
described as barks of laughter. Feet thundered his direction. Syzygy
felt his ears perk up like a rabbit’s—super weird—but he didn’t really
have time to focus on the new sensation. His new body’s fight-or-
flight response definitely worked, because it kicked in hard. He had
no intention of finding out what was making those howls.
So Syzygy ran.
 He ducked between trees and crashed through bushes, leaving a
trail of broken branches in his wake. He was sure his path would be
easy to track, but he needed to be anywhere else at the moment.
He looked back over his shoulder at the sounds of more barks
and yips. They seemed to be getting closer, and Syzygy thought he’d
heard some off to the left and right. Great. That’s exactly what he
needed: to get flanked. This game was getting shittier and shittier.
Turning back around, he almost slammed headlong into a metal
wall. Why the hell was there a wall in a forest?! And where had it
been a few seconds ago? He hadn’t been running for that long!
Syzygy had caught himself before running into the obstacle.
Barely. The wall stretched into the canopy, and out of sight in both
directions. It looked ridiculously out of place, but he didn’t have time
to think about it. To his right, another howl sounded, sending him
fleeing for his life once more.
“I wanted to go left anyway,” Syzygy muttered as he continued to
sprint. Along the bottom of his vision, a dark green square
containing the number 5 switched to 4. He guessed it was some kind
of energy or stamina, but didn’t exactly have time to investigate.
Whatever it was, he still had 4 more units—whatever the units were
—so he ignored it. He just needed to get away from those stupid
howls.
After another ten seconds of sprinting along the wall the maybe-
stamina box switched to 3.
“Shit,” Syzygy muttered. Behind him he could still hear the howls,
but they seemed a little farther away. Maybe? Or maybe they just
hadn’t gotten closer? Or maybe he was just being too optimistic. His
mind flickered back to the moments before his Ascension. If he died
it wouldn’t be permanent, but there would also be penalties of some
kind. He had no idea what those were, and he didn’t want to find
out in the first five minutes.
He sprinted a few more seconds and hurled himself through a
bush that had grown up against the wall. Tumbling to a stop, he
looked around at another small clearing. In this one, set in the wall
like a miracle from God, was a door. Syzygy’s heart was pounding.
He heard another howl in the distance, and several answered this
time, a few of them from the opposite side of the clearing.
The door had no handle, but there was a darkened panel to the
side of it. Syzygy ran up, and the panel illuminated. It was set in the
wall over a meter off the ground. He leapt, hitting whatever he
could. Whatever he did worked. The door slid aside, and he sprinted
through, the green square in his vision clicking to 2. Behind him the
door slid shut, and he found himself in a dimly lit hallway. The floor,
walls, and ceiling all seemed to be made of steel—or some similar
metal—and the walls were completely bare. The only thing that
might’ve qualified as decoration was the pipes running across the
ceiling. The hall stretched left and right as far as he could see, with
only the occasional offshoot to break up the monotony. He assumed
it was some kind of forest compound. This not-having-time-to-
figure-out-where-he-was thing was really getting annoying.
Syzygy shook himself, looking back and forth frantically. He could
figure out all this stuff later. For now he just needed to focus on
staying alive.
Left had been working so far, so he kept running that way. He
turned down the first hallway he found—and not a moment too
soon. Behind him he heard the door slide open, and barks and yips
filled the hall. Syzygy continued to run, taking turn after turn at the
first opportunity. He ran until he was good and truly lost. His stamina
clicked to 1.
“Fuck,” he wheezed, struggling for breath. Still the barking
sounds and footfalls trailed him. He was running out of options. As
he rounded a final corner, he found himself looking at a dead-end
hallway filled with piles of random crap.
Syzygy let out a quiet, nervous laugh. Of course. Less than five
minutes in his new universe and he was about to die. Fuck this
game. Even though he knew death was imminent, his instincts
refused to let him quit. He sprinted into the mess, diving between a
barrel and a stack of dirty boxes. As he crouched in the shadows,
trying desperately to remain silent while sucking in ragged gasps of
air, a pop-up window filled his vision.
 He managed a sigh. Where had this been three minutes ago?!
A sketched image appeared at the center of Syzygy’s vision. It
looked like the outline of an eye. Presumably it showed if he was
being detected, and at the moment it was closed. That was good.
Maybe if he could maintain his Stealth—
Suddenly a growl sounded from the entrance to his dead-end
hall, and Syzygy froze. Footfalls plodded slowly toward his hiding
place. A sound like a sniffing dog filled the air. He was finally able to
start processing those sounds. Did the people who owned this place
keep dogs for hunting down intruders? That seemed kinda old
fashioned, especially for a space-based RPG.
His question was answered when a humanoid creature stepped
into his vision. It was about two meters tall, and looked like a gangly
canine standing on its hind legs. Rather than the regular, elongated
muzzle of a dog, though, this creature had a stubby snout, and two
fangs curving from its upper lip. A patchy mane of hair ran down the
back of its neck and along its spine. Mangy, grey-brown fur dotted
with black spots covered the rest of its body. Slung across its back
was a large rifle of some kind, and in its hand it carried a stunted,
rusty club.
Syzygy held his breath instinctively. Even if his mind had wanted
him to move, his body would’ve refused. The creature was sniffing
the air, but hadn’t looked in his direction yet. Syzygy almost dared to
hope that he might not be noticed. Then another of the creatures
entered his field of view, and another, each with weapons, and each
sniffing at the air. One started overturning boxes and barrels in an
attempt to find its quarry. Another joined it, rifling through the trash,
tossing it haphazardly about the hall. They would find him soon.
Syzygy knew it was only a matter of time.
The first creature, which was the largest and certainly the ugliest,
looked his way. Sniffing the air, the monster got down on its hands
and knees, moving toward his hiding spot between the barrel and
box stack. The creature continued to move forward. Syzygy was
frozen in place, waiting for the inevitable. The creature looked right
at him. Their eyes locked. Syzygy’s heart stopped.
The eye indicating detection remained closed.
A harsh bark sounded from the mouth of the hallway, and the
creature stood as if it hadn’t seen Syzygy at all. The three creatures
moved back toward the barking sound and Syzygy was left stunned
but alive. He didn’t dare move. How was he not dead? Another pop-
up window filled his vision, and suddenly he had his answer:

Syzygy read the prompt, grateful for his luck. This would be very
helpful. He redoubled his efforts to do absolutely nothing. Losing
Fade by trying to peek around his barrel would definitely get him
killed. He could still hear the creatures at the entrance to the hall,
talking in clipped barks and growls. A howl sounded in the distance,
and he heard them shuffling away.
 Right as Syzygy was about to let out a relieved sigh, a series of
beeps sounded from the front of the hallway, and then a scraping
noise. An ominous thud shook the floor, and then it became eerily
quiet. Syzygy hadn’t realized there had been ambient sounds until
they were gone. No vents blew air. No distant machines whirred.
Nothing. It was just silent.
He finally chanced a look around the barrel, keeping Stealth but
noticing a subtle ripple of light across his form that probably
indicated Fade was gone. What he saw made him forget the loss
instantly. A large, metal slab had replaced the entrance to the
hallway he’d hidden in.
Still staying crouched, Syzygy crept forward. The transparent
indication eye remained closed. That probably meant he was still
hidden, but that wasn’t much of an accomplishment when there was
a giant metal door between him and any potential enemies. He
reached the door, looking around for some escape or some way to
move it. There were no gaps around the edges, and he didn’t see
any panels to enter commands. He tried to analyze the situation
logically, checking everything he could think of, but after a minute of
fruitless searching he pushed against it with all his might, grunting in
frustration.
Unsurprisingly, the giant metal door didn’t yield to his 10 points
of Strength.
“Fuck you!” Syzygy shouted at the door. “Let me out!”
The door didn’t respond.
Syzygy turned back toward the pile of garbage taking up the rest
of the hall, trying to see anything that might be immediately useful.
“Well,” he said. “I’m going to have to science the shit out of th—”
A rumble shook the ground, cutting him off.
“What the—” Syzygy started to say. A seam down the center of
the room hissed, and suddenly the two halves of the floor began to
swing downward, dropping the contents of the room and him along
with it.
“Shiiiiiiiiiiit!”
He landed with a painful crunch. He could see the light above,
only about five meters up the wall. Despite how much farther the fall
could’ve been, it had still hurt like hell.
Along the bottom of his vision, next to the green maybe-stamina
square, was a red heart. It had shown 10 a few seconds previously,
but now showed only 8. Syzygy winced as he sat up, starting at the
number. How had he lost two whole hitpoints?
In answer, a prompt popped into his vision:

Syzygy has suffered 2 Hearts of impact damage

from a 4.2 meter fall.

How painfully exact. He felt a throbbing pain at the back of his

head. After reaching up to feel the spot his fingers came away red
with blood.
Syzygy heaved himself up to his feet. He was completely
surrounded by trash. Above, the floor began to swing back upward.
He tried to scramble toward it, but the pile of garbage he attempted
to climb offered no stable footing. He struggled fruitlessly as the
floor panels rose back into place, cutting off the light from above.
Syzygy was left in total darkness.
Clambering over to a wall, and swearing the whole time, he was
able to work his way around the small room until his fingers found
the seam of a doorway. He ran his hand around the entire surface,
but found no handles, buttons, or switches. Unwilling to surrender,
he pulled out his Liability Blaster. If the door wouldn’t open, he’d
shoot his way out.
“Say hello to my little friend!” Syzygy shouted, his finger finding
the trigger. He held up his weapon and fired, feeling like a total
badass—at least until the shot ricocheted off the door and back at
him. It happened so fast he could only watch. The shot bounced
back into his knee, sending pain coursing up his entire leg. To add
insult to injury, the Poorly Designed property of his gun triggered,
searing his hand. He dropped the weapon as he fell forward,
shouting out in agony. The heart in his vision flickered from 8 down
to 4.
 “How?!” Syzygy demanded of the red heart. This time two
prompts popped into his vision.

Syzygy has suffered 3 Hearts of heat damage

from Liability Blaster shot (1 Heart of heat
damage times 3 for critical shot to kneecap).

Syzygy takes 1 Heart of heat damage from

Liability Blaster overheating.

Syzygy dismissed them as he lay there, clutching his knee with

his unburnt hand and moaning. His health looked like it was
recovering, but very slowly. All he could do was look at the 4
remaining hitpoints—which were apparently called Hearts—in
consternation. He couldn’t be sure how much time he spent sulking,
but it felt like a long while, and only half of a Heart returned. As
much as he wanted to continue his pity party, he needed to see
what all this pain had bought him. He shuffled toward the door.
Moving his knee still caused spasms of pain, but he was able to
shimmy around in place. He ended with his head where his feet had
been, and reached out toward the door. He felt only smooth metal.
Everywhere. His shot had done absolutely nothing.
“I hate all doors,” Syzygy spat at the unyielding metal. “I don’t
care if it’s stereotyping. You’re all awful and I hope you die.”
The door, predictably, didn’t respond.
Syzygy struggled to find his weapon, casting about in the
darkness and cursing the entire time, but froze when a low rumble
rudely interrupted a particularly impressive string of expletives. He
tried to open his eyes wide enough to see something. Anything. His
efforts failed, but he did hear something. Trash around him was
starting to shift.
“Um… what?” Syzygy asked. Above him, a red light blinked dimly
to life. Syzygy finally saw the entire room before him. It was long
and narrow, piled high with trash on both sides. The light
disappeared, and he willed it to come back. It did, and that was
when he realized that the walls had moved closer together.
“Oh shit,” Syzygy whispered, scrambling to his feet and ignoring
the pain in his knee.
The trash was still shifting, but now a crunching sound filled the
room as the walls continued to move closer together. Syzygy jumped
up, trying to stay above the rising tide of refuse. It moved and
writhed beneath him, and he had to continuously reposition his feet
to avoid getting trapped. While some of the trash continued to
crunch beneath him, the rest was pushed up. Already the bottom of
the door was obscured from view.
“Somebody shut down all the garbage mashers on the detention
level!” Syzygy shouted at the top of his lungs. Where’s C3PO when I
need him?! Syzygy pounded on the door with both fists. He cast a
glance over his shoulder as another red flash lit the room. The walls
were only a couple meters apart now. He could feel the trash
continue to shift under his feet. He danced upward from piece to
piece, pounding on the door harder.
“Shut down all the garbage mashers on the detention level!” he
screamed. Another red flash. One and a half meters now. He
struggled upward, trying to keep his feet from being ensnared. Only
half the door remained visible in the rising tide.
“SHUT DOWN ALL THE GARBAGE MASHERS—” he roared, but
was cut off as his foot slipped. He felt his entire leg sink into the
trash. He tried to pull it out, but suddenly a metallic crate pressed
against the side of his thigh, locking him in place. He shouted
wordlessly, desperately pushing against the crate and trying to free
himself. Behind him, a rolling wave of trash pressed against his back,
and in front more garbage advanced from the other side of the
room. It fell onto the crate holding him in place, threatening to bury
him before he could finish being crushed. He abandoned his futile
task, banging on the door again as the trash began to squeeze him
on both sides.
“Somebody shut down… all the garbage mashers… on the…
detention…” he wheezed, feeling himself being compressed beyond
what he thought he could withstand. The crate continued to press
against his leg. He felt the pressure building. He couldn’t move.
Couldn’t even scramble upward toward the last bit of free air. His leg
snapped, and he screamed with all the air he had left.
Behind him, something pressed against his right shoulder. It
pierced his back, slicing through his body and emerging through his
chest. He had no more breath to release. No more sound to give. He
just watched the bloody, rusty piece of metal continue to push
through his torso as tears began to stream down his cheeks.
Below, the pressure against his leg intensified once more, but
this time he felt the appendage tear away, followed by the other
one. He was squeezed harder from all sides, feeling his ribs crack as
his chest cavity threatened to collapse. The last thing he
remembered was a swift pressure forcing itself against his head, and
then a pop.

Syzygy has died from compaction. His body and

belongings have been ejected into space with
the rest of the trash.
3 / ARCANA - AN UNACCEPTABLE BEGINNING

First, there was darkness. Then there were stars. She hovered in the
void as the lights appeared. The view was probably meant to
impress, but she only felt impatience. She was ready to begin.
“Welcome to Astra Epsilon,” came a disembodied voice. It had a
familiar ring to it, but she ignored the sensation. Puzzling out who it
had belonged to would take more effort than it was worth.
“This is the universe of Astra Epsilon. It is vast, and ever
changing. There is much to explore, and I wish you luck, Arcana
Ky’el.”
“Arcana Ky’el?” she challenged. As soon as she heard it she knew
it was her name, though she didn’t remember selecting that for
herself. “I don’t get to choose my own name?”
“In your old life, did you choose your name at birth?” the
disembodied voice asked.
“Obviously not,” Arcana replied.
“Yet you grew to identify with it more strongly than any other
facet of your identity, correct?” the voice asked.
“I wanted to pick my name,” Arcana informed the disembodied
voice, straightening her back with an instinctive, imperious air. At
least she thought she’d straightened. Without a body she had no
idea if she’d been successful.
“What name would you select for yourself?” the voice asked
Arcana thought back, trying to recall what name she had
meticulously crafted, but she couldn’t remember. To that end, she
couldn’t remember her Earth name, either.
 “I… I don’t know,” she admitted, panicking slightly. Her mind had
always been her greatest asset, and now it was failing her. She
struggled to remember any piece of her old identity. It was slipping
away from her like a long-forgotten dream.
“You need not panic, Arcana,” the disembodied voice soothed.
“Nothing is wrong with your mind. It is only the Gift. The first part is
a slight modification to your memory. You will forget your old
identity, and the identities of everyone you knew. You will still
remember people, though not by name or face. After all, those
details no longer matter.”
The disembodied voice seemed to place special emphasis on the
last sentence. Arcana remembered snapping at some boy for that
exact same fact only five minutes prior. Or maybe it had been five
years? Time felt weird in this strange stasis.
“The second part of the Gift is an alteration to your perception,”
the voice continued. “This is your universe now, and you will feel
and act as such. While NPCs are constructs of the game, you will
live, work, laugh, cry, and bleed alongside them. You will perceive
them as the real, vibrant, living persons that they are, rather than
constructs of a game engine, because they are a part of your life
now, likely forever.”
Identities didn’t matter anymore, and she’d have to acknowledge
NPCs as people. Both acceptable terms. She could make that work.
She could make the name Arcana work, too. The disembodied voice
lecturing her, on the other hand, was starting to wear on her nerves.
“Can I begin yet?” Arcana asked, instilling the question with all of
her impatience.
In answer, a screen filled her view:
 “Worthless Scrub?” Arcana demanded, but the disembodied voice
ignored the complaint.
“Go forth now, Arcana. Your team awaits you,” the voice said.
Suddenly she was plummeting downward, as if a chair had been
ripped from under her and gravity had quadrupled. Faster and faster
she fell, points of light shooting by in a dizzying blur. One star was
rushing toward her, growing brighter and brighter, until suddenly all
that remained was the light of that star.

Arcana jerked up into a sitting position as soon as she awoke. She

looked around, expecting to be in a spaceship or maybe on some
strange, alien planet. She was on some kind of planet, all right, but
instead of extraterrestrial flora or fauna all she could see in every
direction was... trash. Piles and piles of literal garbage. And she sat
atop the largest, squishiest pile of all.
 “Why?” Arcana asked aloud, struggling to keep the frustration
from her voice. “Just… why?”
She knew she had no real cause to be frustrated. What were the
odds that she would land somewhere that fit her preconceived
expectations of her new universe? But still… a field of trash? This
was hardly a promising start. After finally getting through the entry
cutscene, she’d been dumped atop a pile of refuse?
Arcana struggled to stand. The trash beneath her was unsteady,
and one of her feet slid out from under her. She managed to recover,
but not before a large piece of rusty metal sliced a gash along her
calf. It hurt. Too much for a normal video game. Usually these VR
RPGs would have some kind of pain dampening, but the game
designers seemed to have omitted that necessity. She let slip a growl
of frustration.
As she mentally reprimanded herself for allowing her anger to
flare up once more, a flicker of motion at the bottom of her vision
caught her eye.
Six shapes were lined up along the bottom of her view,
superimposed over what she was seeing, like a heads-up-display.
The four right-most shapes were greyed-out squares, while the
second to left shape was a deep green square. The number five was
visible inside the green box. Presumably that represented her
stamina. The left-most shape was a red heart, and that was
presumably her hitpoints. Even though she recalled from her
Character Screen that she had begun with 10, the cut to her calf
seemed to have reduced her health to 9.
Interesting, she thought. The mechanics of this game seemed to
favor smaller, more manageable numbers, rather than the multiple
orders of magnitude usually associated with space-based games. It
was just as well. What good was ten billion health at level 1 when
anyone could deal nine billion damage with a single punch? She had
never understood the reasoning behind those massive numbers.
Looking again at her hitpoint icon, she saw that a brighter sliver
of red had appeared within the shape. It originated in the center of
the heart, behind the 9, and pointed upward toward the crux. The
sliver was barely thicker than a line, and she wasn’t sure what it was
intended to represent, at least not immediately. As she watched, it
grew ever so slightly, like an arm working its way around a clock.
The movement was almost imperceptible. It was like watching a
minute hand ticking slowly from one minute to two minutes.
She watched it for a while longer, and the bright portion
continued to grow radially, progressing around the icon, the center
remaining behind the 9. This was probably a visual representation of
her health regeneration, and it was atrociously slow. Arcana guessed
that it would take an hour to recover a single hitpoint. She hoped
that was an affliction of all level 1 players, not just her, though she
had no way to know.
Either way, she would need to find some way to rectify her
abysmal regen rate. She didn’t intend to take damage often, but she
also intended to invest most of her resources into making herself a
stronger caster, only investing in health if it didn’t take away from
magic. She didn’t know enough about this world to know if the two
were mutually exclusive, but they often were. To that end,
increasing her regen rate might take away from those same
resources. She’d probably just have to try harder to avoid taking
damage in the first place.
Looking for other icons of note in her vision revealed little. She
was surprised to find no blue shape indicating her mana. Her eyes
fell upon the four greyed-out squares again. None had any numbers,
not even a zero, but they were the only other place mana could
make sense. That meant she needed to find a way to get some
mana, and soon. She was sure she’d need it at some point.
In the upper-left corner was a humanoid silhouette. As soon as
she focused on that, her Character Screen came back up. She
perused it again, still annoyed by the Worthless Scrub Class, but
didn’t linger. As soon as she was done the screen seemed to sense
her intent, and it disappeared.
In the upper-right corner was a backpack icon. Focusing on it
brought up a 3D rendering of a body, dressed much like she was.
The body was thin and tall, with dark hair and pointed ears, but no
facial features. Upon seeing the image, she felt at her ears, finding
that they were indeed pointed. It of course made sense, since her
race had been listed as “elf.” Arcana wasn’t entirely certain what the
implications of being a “sylvan” were, but it was likely her subrace.
Perhaps it’s this universe’s version of a high elf? she pondered.
Or is it more akin to D&D’s eladrin?
Again, there was no way to find out while standing in a field of
garbage, so she set the question aside for the moment.
She refocused. Atop the window before her, the words
Equipment Screen scrolled along in slow, light-blue letters.
Apparently she only had three items to her name, and none seemed
even remotely useful:
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
häitä aljetun leikin lopuksi. Hän pelkäsi sulhastaan, pelkäsi miestään,
lopuksi täytyi hänen peljätä poikaansa.

Mutta käskijäksi syntyneelle Feodor Feodorowitsille löytyi

lopultakin voittaja siinä surman tulessa, jota vihollisen patteri syyti
hänen ja hänen joukkojensa silmille.

Ensin repäsi kuula häneltä käsivarren. Sitte hevonen suistui hänen

altaan. Sitte jokin kaasi hänet kumoon. Mitä senjälkeen tapahtui, siitä
ei hänellä ollut tietoa. Hänen oli mahdoton jälestäkään päin päästä
selville siitä. Hän tiesi vain sen, että hän heräsi jossain pilkkosen
pimeässä.

Kun hän vähän aikaa oli ponnistanut ajatuksiaan, muistui hänen

mieleensä hetki, jolloin granaatti oli räjähtänyt hänen
läheisyydessään. Hän muisti, että hevonen suistui hänen altaan ja
että hän kaatui.

Missähän hän oikeastaan nyt mahtoi olla? Ehkä jonkun

juoksuhaudan piilopaikassa niin syvälle haudattuna, ettei päiväkään
päässyt sinne pilkistämään.

Olisikohan hänen denstjikkinsä kätkenyt hänet jonnekin siten

pelastaakseen hänet? Voihkina, jota hän silloin tällöin kuuli jostain
näkymättömästä etäisyydestä, viittasi sinne päin.

Hän rupesi tunnustelemaan ympäristöään. Silloin hän huomasi

syyn vasemmassa olkapäässä tuntuvaan kipuun. Hän oli kädetön.

Hän nielasi kirouksen, etsi taas haparoiden muistojensa joukosta

ja pääsi viimein siihen hetkeen, jolloin käsivarsi kiskaistiin irti.
 Mitenkähän mahtoi olla hänen oikean säärensä? Sitäkin poltti
nilkan yläpuolelta, ihan kuin helvetin tuli olisi sitä kärvennellyt.
Saksalainen oli kai vienyt senkin.

Kuului siltä kuin ovi olisi avautunut ja sulkeutunut jossain. Sitte hän
erotti ääniä ja askelia, — jossain etäällä.

Kirottu paikka tämä tällainen, jonne ei laskettu ainoatakaan päivän

sädettä!

Äänet olivat nyt niin lähellä, että hän kuuli sanoja. Silloin hänelle
selveni, että lähestyvät puhuivat saksaa. Hän oli siis vanki,
sotavanki. Ja tämä pimeys oli saksalaisten pirullisia vehkeitä!

— Aijotteko tappaa minut tässä pimeydessä? — Hän kohoutui

hiukan kyynärpäälleen ja huusi niin kovaa kuin jaksoi.

— Hiljaa, sanoi ääni aivan hänen läheisyydessään. — Älkää

häiritkö toisia sairaita.

— Laskekaa valoa tänne, — heti paikalla! Kuuletteko!

— Täällä on valoa. Vika on silmissänne.

Feodor odotti henkeään pidättäen. Hän ei tietänyt, ilkkuiko ääni vai

—

— Te olette sokea.

Sokea, sokea! Hän kiljasi kuin haavoittunut peto ja hervahti sitte

takaisin vuoteelleen. Hän oli menettänyt tajuntansa. Suuri
verenmenetys taistelutantereella oli häntä heikontanut.
 Herätessään tainnoksista Feodor taas heräsi ihmettelemään
ympärillään vallitsevaa pimeyttä. Sitte hän muisti ja raivostui.

Laupeudensisar, joka kulki vuoteelta toiselle, ei ymmärtänyt

sanoja, joita Feodor syyti suustaan, mutta hänen sisintään karmi.
Hän laski kätensä sairaan olkapäälle. — Muistakaa, ettette ole yksin.
Täällä on paljon heikkoja sairaita.

— Tuokaa lääkäri tänne! Ja valoa! Minä tahdon saada näköni

takaisin. Vai oletteko sellaisia petoja, ettette anna viholliselle edes
lääkärinhoitoa?

Hän vaipui voihkien takaisin vuoteelle. Tuska, jota hän tunsi, oli
liian raju hänen vielä heikoille voimilleen.

Hetken kuluttua hän tunsi "sisaren" asettuvan hänen

läheisyyteensä. Hän aavisti sen siitä, että jokin hipaisi hänen
vuodettaan ja ääni kuului hyvin läheiseltä. Lääkäri oli muka hoitanut
häntä siitä asti kun hänet tänne tuotiin. Sääri ja olkapää olivat
parhaassa mahdollisessa kunnossa. Mutta silmille ei lääkärien taito
mahtanut mitään.

Tällaisellako hulluuteen asti raivostunutta miestä lohdutettiin?

Hän kiristi hampaitaan. Hän ei jaksanut enää riehua. Eikä hän

tahtonut saada uudistettua muistutusta noilta — Hän sihautti sanan
hampaittensa lomitse. Sitte hän puhkesi sisimmässään
vaikertamaan: sokea, sokea, tuomittu elinkautiseen pimeyteen! — Ja
lisäksi vailla jalkaa, vailla kättä. Hän, joka oli käskijäksi syntynyt, joka
oli määrännyt sekä oman kohtalonsa että toisten, hän on nyt tuomittu
ei ainoastaan elinkautiseen pimeyteen, vaan myöskin elinkautiseen
riippuvaisuuteen muista ja siitä mitä he suvaitsevat tai eivät suvaitse
tehdä.

Hän voihkaisee taas niin ääneensä, että kyyneleet nousevat

muutamien sairaiden silmiin. Toiset pudistavat moittivasti päätään.
Eräältä vuoteelta viskaa parrakas mies hänelle vihaisen: syntyisipä
tästä konsertti, jos kaikki pitäisivät tuollaista ääntä!

Feodorin ainoa käsi puristautuu nyrkkiin, ja hän kihnuttaa

hampaitaan vastatusten. Raivo ja tuska kuluttavat häntä kuin tuli.
Viimein vaivuttaa väsymys hänet horrostilaan. Se helpoittaa
hetkeksi. Mutta kun Feodor siitä selviytyy, uudistuu sama julma
leikki, joka häntä raatelee kuin peto saalistaan. Hän herää
ihmettelemään ympärillä vallitsevaa pimeyttä, — muistaa sitte ja —
rääkkäytyy kuin kidutuspihdeissä.

Jokainen tällainen herääminen on kuin uudistettu syvä, kipeä

leikkausveitsen piirto.

Kun hän vain pääsisi kotiin! Varmaan lääkärit siellä voisivat auttaa
häntä! Täällä häntä kaiken lisäksi, — ja vielä enemmän kuin mikään
muu — kiusaa se, että hän on kokonaan riippuvainen vihollisistaan.
Hän on nutistettu heidän käsiinsä niinkuin avuton, kokoon käpertynyt
koira, jonka selkään satelee raipaniskuja.

Monta sellaista hän, Feodor on nähnyt jalkojensa juuressa, mutta

että hän itse —

Ajatus koirasta toi hänen mieleensä omituisen pienen muiston.

Sillä oli oikeastaan juurensa etäällä. Se vei hänet takaisin siihen
aikaan poikavuosina, jolloin ei naista ollut olemassa hänen
maailmassaan, ei sisarien eikä muiden muodossa. Sisaret
tavaroineen jäivät silloin rauhaan häneltä, ei entistä suuremman
sovinnollisuuden tai lauhkeuden perustuksella, vaan siitä
yksinkertaisesta syystä, että koko naissuku oli liian halpa hänen
kiinnittääkseen huomiota siihen.

Mutta sitte sukelsi nainen jälleen yhtäkkiä hänen näköpiiriinsä, ei

yksilönä eikä ihmisenä, jolla oli paikkansa toisten rinnalla, vaan
naisena. Ja nainen pani hänen kuumat verensä kuohumaan.

Tuuhistuvien viiksien alla hehkuvat huulet veivät suuteloita

väkisten. Käsi ja sydän piteli naista lelunaan, omisti hetken ja viskasi
luotaan kun leikki alkoi tympäistä. Mutta leikki oli toista, toista
naimisiin meno. Feodor tiesi äidistään, minkälaiset naiset ovat
aviopuolisoina parhaimmat. Sentähden hän valitsi taiten, kun näki
hyväksi pysyväisesti kiinnittää naisen kotiinsa. Hän valitsi Dunjan. Ja
Dunjalla oli se pieni, silkkisenpehmeään turkkiin puettu villakoira,
joka nyt toi kaikki nämä ajatukset hänen mieleensä.

Kerran — hän ei enää muistanut ulkonaista syytä siihen — hän

silmittömästi suuttui koiraan. Kangistuneena pelosta odotti Dunja,
että hän löisi koiran kuoliaaksi. Tämä harmitti häntä. Hän pisti koiran
kylmäverisesti kainaloonsa, tarttui lakkiinsa ja poistui. Illalla hän
viskasi Dunjan silmille, että hän oli myynyt sen eräälle toverille
"tieteellisiin tarkoituksiin".

Feodor liikahti levottomasti. Hän näki koiran aivan kuin edessään.

Sen pieni ruusunpunainen turpa, jota Dunjalla oli tapana hyväillä,
vääntyi kidutuspihdeissä, ja pehmeän villatakin sisästä loistavat
älykkäät silmät kangistuivat kuin kuolintuskassa.

Niin, niin, mitäpä hän siitä silloin, mutta nyt hän tunsi omassa
ruumiissaan mitä merkitsi olla kidutuspenkillä. Maata, näin sokeana,
raajarikkona, — vihollisistaan riippuvana!

Hän koetti kääntyä. Vaikka hän ei tuntenut seinää, oli hänellä se

mielikuva, että hän makasi seinään päin. Kun hän kääntyisi, voisi
hän varmaan nähdä edes pienen valonkajastuksen — esimerkiksi
jostain ovenraosta.

Mutta kääntyminen tuotti hänelle ainoastaan kipua.

Valonkajastusta ei näkynyt, eivätkä ajatukset helpoittaneet.

Hänen täytyi taas ajatella Dunjaa. Jos Dunja eläisi, tuntuisi moni
asia toisenlaiselta. Mutta vaikka Feodor niin hyvin tunsi naiset, ja
vaikka hän niin tarkalleen oli osannut valita itselleen erinomaisen, oli
hän sittekin tehnyt laskuvirheen. Hän ei tietänyt, että tuollainen hyvä,
erinomainen vaimo voi murtua. Ja Dunja murtui.

Hän pani erehdyksen mieleensä vastaisen varaksi.

Dunja oli ollut hento, syväkatseinen olento. Hänessä oli kuutamon

surunvoittoista, kelmeätä kauneutta. Ottaessaan toisen otti Feodor
helakkavärisen, tummaihoisen ja tulisen: "Luuta minun luustani ja
lihaa minun lihastani."

Vera Konstantinovna oli ainoa nainen, joka joskus sai asetetuksi

sulkuja Feodorin tahdolle. Hän osasi sekä kiihoittaa Feodoria että
pysyttää häntä loitolla. Käskijäksi syntynyt ei voinut väistyä. Hänen
täytyi saada tahtonsa tapahtumaan. Sentähden hän Veran edessä
alentui pyytämään.

Heidän avioliittonsa oli taistelua. Feodor ei koskaan ollut varma

vaimostaan. Tämä saattoi milloin taliansa maksaa uskottomuuden
uskottomuudella. Sentähden Feodor milloin vihasi, milloin
intohimoisesti pyysi häntä.

Kun sota syttyi, olivat heidän välinsä kireät. Feodor astui vaimonsa
huoneeseen ilmoittaakseen hänelle aseisiinastumis-käskystä. Vera
seisoi silloin suuren seinäpeilin edessä koettelemassa uutta,
loppukesää varten ostettavaa hattua. Pitkin huonetta oli
muotiliikkeestä koeteltaviksi lähetettyjä hattuja. Vera otti niistä toisen
toisensa jälkeen, pani päähänsä ja koetteli.

— Vai sota! — Vera naurahti. — No, siihen sinä olet omiasi! —

Hän tutkisteli tarkoin, pukiko päässä oleva hattu häntä paremmin,
kun se oli suorassa tai kun se oli hieman vinossa. Hieman vinossa
sopi varmaan paraiten. — Sinä olet kuin luotu sota-aikoja varten,
huomautti hän ohimennen.

Feodoria raivostutti. Hän näki kaikesta, että hänen lähtönsä oli

Veralle mieleen. Ja hän kosti. Ennen kuin hän läksi rintamaan ajoi
hän
biilissä kotinsa ikkunoiden alatse nuoren, tumman kaunottaren
kanssa.
Vera seisoi ikkunassa, ja Feodor hiljensi biilin vauhtia.

Tämäkin muisto raivostutti häntä nyt. Vera oli voittanut. Hän oli
vapaa, vapaa tekemään mitä ikinä halutti. Hän tietysti maksoi
tuonkin illan. Ja sisimmässään hän ilkkui miestä, joka makasi
sokeana, raajarikkona sotavankina.

Feodor puri hammasta.

Pietarissa oli näihin aikoihin paljon kauniita, uljaita upseereja.

Heillä oli kaksin-, kertaiset palkat ja hyvä halu tuhlailla hyvyyttään
muillekin. Vera rakasti makeisia, kauniita vaatteita ja huvituksia.
Feodor ei tarvinnut paljon mielikuvitusta voidakseen seurata Veraa.
Hän näki kaikki — sokeudestaan huolimatta.

Ja täällä hän makasi!

Päivä päivältä kävi Feodorille yhä selvemmäksi, miten kokonaan

eristetty hän oli kaikista muista. Ainoa maailma, joka oli hänelle
avoin, oli ajatusten ja muistojen.

Hän rupesi kaipaamaan äitiä ja Dunjaa. Heiltä hän ainakin olisi

saanut hellyyttä. Ennen hän monesti oli ajatellut Dunjan
rakkaudesta, että se oli kuin koiran, joka nuolee häntä pieksevän
isännän kättä. Silloin se oli häntä kiusannut. Joskus kyllä oli ehkä
mielessä liikkunut jotain sentapaista, ettei hän osannut antaa arvoa
sille mitä sai, että hän ei ansainnut sitä. Mutta hän oli karistanut
kaikki sellaiset ajatukset luotaan. Ja se kävi helposti, kun oli
voimissaan, teki työtä ja antoi elämän kuohuvan virran kiskaista
muassaan. Mutta kun joutui tällaiseksi — — —

— Dunja, sanoi hän itsekseen, — minä olin kova ja minä petin

sinua usein.

Hm, niin! Ajatukset luistivat toiseen uomaan. Uskoton hän myöskin

oli ollut. Mutta kukapa sinä suhteessa oli toisenlainen? Se kuului
isän ja esi-isien laskuun.

Nyt hän kuitenkin katui sitä. Sokeana ja rampana maaten tuli

ihminen hentomieliseksi.

Oli sillä äidilläkin ollut yhtä ja toista kestettävänä. Hänen

ilmeensäkin oli pysyväisesti arka ja säikkyvä. Ainoastaan viime
vuosina oli se muuttunut. Feodorkaan ei silloin enää ollut kotona. Äiti
oli muuttanut vanhimman, naimisissa olevan tyttärensä luokse, ja
hänen oli siellä hyvä olla.

Feodorin valtasi äkkiä hänelle aivan sopimaton tunne. Hän ikävöi

äitiä. Hänestä tuntui siltä, kuin kipu hänen ruhjoutuneissa
jäsenissään ja noissa näkemättömissä silmissä asettuisi, jos äiti
laskisi kätensä hänen päälaelleen niinkuin silloin, kun hän vielä oli
hyvin, hyvin pieni.

Eikä hän olisi tahtonut ainoastaan saada ja vastaanottaa. Nyt

hänellä olisi ollut antaakin, sitä mitä äiti ehkä pitkin elämäänsä
turhaan oli kaivannut: hyviä, ystävällisiä sanoja.

Mutta äitikin oli poissa. Hän oli sairastellut pitkin kevättalvea, ja

pari kuukautta ennen sodan puhkeamista hän oli kuollut.

Se tapahtui juuri näihin aikoihin viime vuonna, kukaties vaikka juuri

tänä päivänä. Silloin oli kevät paraiksi puhjennut täyteen kukkaansa.
Nyt mahtoi olla samoin, päättäen niistä tuoksuvista tuulahduksista,
joita Feodor tässä maatessaan tunsi, arvatenkin jostain avatusta
ikkunasta.

Jos hän olisi ollut kotona, olisi hän tiedustellut. Siellä olisi hän
voinut seurata päivien kulkua aivan toisella tavalla kuin täällä. Mutta
täällä hän ei tahtonut. Jokainen tiedonanto tuntui armopalalta, joka
viskattiin hänelle kuin koiralle. Niillä, jotka hoitivat häntä, oli aina
kiire. Koko sairassali tuntui olevan täynnä kiireen touhua. Hän
ymmärsi sen oven avauksista, askelista ja ihmisten tavasta puhua.
Hän ei tahtonut armopaloja näiltä ihmisiltä.
 Ikkunasta lehahtavat tuulet panivat Feodorin tästäpuoleen aina
ajattelemaan äitiä. Tuntui viihdyttävältä selailla kaikkien varhaisimpia
lapsuuden muistoja. Niissä oli kaikesta huolimatta jotain hyvää ja
kaunista, jota jaksoi ajatella näin sairaana maatessaankin.

Sen hyvän, mikä sieltä löytyi, ojensi hänelle aina naisen käsi.
Tavallisesti äiti, joskus Tatjanakin, vanha uskollinen "njanja", jota hän
oli potkinut ja lyönyt, mutta joka sittekin rakasti häntä.

Sisarista ei hänellä ollut paljon muistoja. He olivat enimmäkseen

karttaneet häntä. Hyvin ymmärrettävistä syistä. Mutta äidin kuoltua
olivat he koettaneet lähennellä, etenkin vanhempi, jolta puoli vuotta
myöhemmin oli kuollut lapsi, älykäs, kaunis poika, jota todella
kannatti surra.

Sisar oli senjälkeen hyvin muuttunut. Siihen kai vaikutti sisaren

anoppimuorikin, joka asui talossa. Hän oli hyvin uskonnollinen
eukko, kuului johonkin lahkoon. Hänen omituisuuksiaan oli —
etenkin kuolemantapauksissa, — mutta usein muutenkin, puhua
"suuresta todistajien joukosta", "Taas on yksi liittynyt todistajien
joukkoon", se oli hänen lempilauseitaan.

Sisarenkin ajatukset olivat nähtävästi kääntyneet samaan

suuntaan. Feodor muisti erityisesti erästä hetkeä, jolloin he rinnan
seisoivat äidin arkun ääressä. Ketään muuta ei ollut läheisyydessä.

"He näkevät meidät sellaisina kuin olemme, — kaikessa

alastomuudessamme, sanoi sisar. — Täällä rakkaus kaunistaa
meitä, lisäsi hän kuin itsekseen. — Minä olen kärsinyt siitä, etteivät
toiset tiedä mitä sitä sisimmässään on."
 Feodor muisti, että häntä nauratti. Häh kysäsi mitä sisarella
oikeastaan oli tunnollaan. Eikö hän aina ollut viettänyt sangen
siveätä ja kunniallista elämää.

— Feodor, sanoi sisar äkkiä aivankuin heräten muistamaan

kysymystä, — he ovat menneet perimään jotain niin hyvää, niin
ihanaa, ettei ajatuksemme pysty sitä aavistamaankaan. Mutta he
eivät ole menneet ainoastaan saadakseen jotain parempaa, vaan
myöskin tehdäkseen meidät paremmiksi.

Feodor ei vastannut. Hän oli mies eikä kaivannut tuollaista

naismaista lohdutusta. Mutta hän sattui huomaamaan, että sisaren
katse kuin siunaten hyväili kuollutta, ja hän kuuli hiljaisen
kuiskauksen: Se suuri todistajien joukko auttaa meitä.

Kumma kun tuo kaikki sittekin oli tarttunut mieleen, huolimatta

siitä, ettei hän ensinkään siitä välittänyt.

Hänen tuli äkkiä ikävä sisarta. Varmaan olisi sisar hellä ja

osaaottava näin kovia kokeneelle veljelle. Hänessä oli aina ollut
jotain, joka oli muistuttanut äitiä, vaikka se oikeastaan vasta lapsen
kuoltua oli päässyt esille.

Ihmeellistä oli, että tuollaiset pienet lapset vaikuttivat niin paljon

vanhempiinsa. Eräs hänen upseeritoverinsakin, joka uskollisesti oli
ottanut osaa kaikkiin hänen hurjasteluihinsa, oli aivan kuin muuttunut
sen jälkeen kun hänelle syntyi kauan toivottu poika. Ja kuinka isä
rakasti sitä poikaa, vaikka tämä oli sokea, tuomittu kuten Feodorkin
ainaiseen pimeyteen. Isä syytti itseään siitä. Se se ehkä niin vaikutti
häneen. Mutta toiseksi muuttui sekä mies että koti, ainoastaan sen
pienen, sokean pojan kautta.
 Olisikohan lapsi voinut vaikuttaa Feodoriinkin? Hän ei oikeastaan
koskaan ennen ollut ajatellut sitä. Mutta olihan hän toivonut poikaa
nimensä jatkajaksi. Vaikka parempihan sittekin oli näin. Nyt etenkin,
kun hän oli tullut katsoneeksi asioita toiselta kannalta kuin ennen, ei
hän olisi suonut että toinen olisi peri — —

Hän käännähti levottomasti.

Olihan niitä maailmalla jossain. Aivan jäljettömiin ei hänenkään

elämänsä hukkuisi, ei, vaikka hän kuinka soisi. Hän oli
varhaisemmassa nuoruudessaan pitemmän aikaa asunut maalla iso-
äitinsä tilalla, ja — —

Feodorilta pääsi ärähtävä tuskan huudahdus. Huomasiko hän nyt

vasta, miten hänen ruhjottua ruumistaan särki, vai oliko siihen syynä
nuo muistot?

Hoitajatar kiiruhti hänen luokseen kysyen, saattoiko hän ehkä

auttaa jollain tavoin? Nyt hänellä oli aikaa.

Feodor pyysi vettä juodakseen. Sitte tiedusteli hän kelloa. Hän

ihmetteli tätä tehdessään itse sitä, että hänen äänensä, joka tähän
asti oli ilmaissut selvää vastenmielisyyttä jokaista viholliskansaan
kuuluvaa kohtaan, nyt oli lauhtunut, melkeinpä kohtelias.

Mutta tästä päivästä asti keskittyivät Feodorin ajatukset yhteen

ainoaan asiaan; siihen, miten hän pääsisi elämän taakasta. Hän ei
jaksanut kantaa tuskiaan enempää kuin noita muistoja, jotka joka
puolelta irvistivät häntä vastaan. Hän tunsi siinä todistajien suuren
joukon, ja hän vihasi sitä. Se vain korkeuksistaan ilkkui häntä ja
hänen tuskiaan.
 Feodor tarkkasi tästä puoleen ympäristöään vakoilevasti kuin
saalistaan vaaniva peto. Hänen kuulonsa oli äärimmäisyyteen asti
jännitetty. Hän voitti vastenmielisyytensä kyselläkseen ja
tiedustellakseen. Hän teki välimatkoja ja ympäristöä koskevia
johtopäätöksiä.

Kerran hän kuuli hoitajattaren läheisyydessä käsittelevän jotain

kilahtelevaa, arvatenkin saksia. Hoitajatar laski ne kädestään
läheiselle pöydälle.

Feodor teki laskelmiaan. Hänen toisella puolellaan makasi toinen

sokea, toisella oli vuode aamulla jäänyt tyhjäksi. Jos hän äkkiä
nousisi pystyyn terveelle säärelleen, voisi hän ehkä siepata sakset
käteensä ja työntää ne suoraan sydämeen.

Hän makasi jännitettynä odottaen hoitajattaren poistumista. Toinen

sisar liikkui tosin etäämpänä, mutta hän kuuli äänestä, että sinne oli
matkaa.

Nyt poistui sisar. Feodor kokosi kaikki voimansa ja ryntäsi pystyyn.

Mutta hänen ainoa käyttöön ja kannattamiseen tottumaton jalkansa
petti.
Kiljahtaen hän suistui maahan, tunsi kipeitten silmiensä kohdalla
tulista kipua ja menetti tajuntansa.

Ainoastaan vähitellen hän palasi muistamaan mitä oli tapahtunut.

Hän ymmärsi silloin, että hän oli tahtonut paeta, mutta että hänet sen
johdosta vain oli entistä kovemmin kytketty kidutuspihteihin.

Sotilas hänessä nousi. Hän oli aikonut paeta! Hän, käskijäksi

syntynyt
Feodor Feodorovits!
 Hän ei aikonut uudistaa tekoaan.

Kaatuessaan hän oli pahasti loukannut sekä silmiään että otsan

alaosaa. Ruumiilliset tuskat olivat entistä suuremmat. Siteitä
muutettaessa hän usein puri hammasta. Mutta hän ei
äännähtänytkään.

Lääkärin ja hoitajan käsistä päästyään hän makasi hiljaa ja

liikahtamatta. Hän tiesi, että hänen täytyi voittaa alistumalla. Ja se
mitä hän kärsi, ei ollut vain häneen kohdistuva kova, katkera kohtalo.
Se oli jotain, joka muodossa tai toisessa tuli jokaisen osaksi. Häntä
kidutuspenkissä pitelevä pihti oli hänen oma entisyytensä, ja se
kiertyi kerran, varemmin tai myöhemmin, eteen joka-ainoalle.

Feodor ei enää vihannut suurta todistajien joukkoa. Hän uskoi

niinkuin sisarkin, että kaikki siihen kuuluvat tahtoivat auttaa häntä
paremmaksi. Hän unohti yhä enemmän kaiken näkyvän. Suuri
todistajien joukko oli hänen seuranaan.

Sentähden hän hätkähti, kun hoitajattaren käsi kerran kosketti

häntä tavallista kepeämmin, ja ääni, jonka pehmeys oli kieltämätön,
hänelle ilmoitti: — te pääsette pian pois täältä — kotiin.

Kotiin! Mitä se merkitsi? Sisar oli puhunut kuoleville kotiin

menosta.
Oliko Feodorkin kuolemaisillaan.

— Ei, ei! Mitä te tarkoitatte? Minä en tahdo kuolla. Minä tahdon

kärsiä elämäni kiirastulen.

— Kuollako? — Feodorista tuntui siltä kuin sisar olisi hymyillyt. —

Ei kuolla. Saksa ja Venäjä vaihtavat sotavankeja. Teidät viedään
kotiin.

Koko matka oli hänelle kuin ihmeellinen uni. Häntä kuljetettiin

eteenpäin junassa, milloin maitse, milloin meren poikki. Hän kuuli
ympärillään ensin saksaa, sitte kieltä, jota hän ei ymmärtänyt, sitte
kotimaansa kieltä. Hän sai tietoja sodasta ja sen vaiheista, ja kaikki
olivat hyviä hänelle. Näkevät kertoivat näkemiään, kädelliset olivat
kätenä hänelle.

Hän ei voinut käsittää, että elämällä vielä oli niin paljon hyvää
hänelle.

— Te olette kadottaneet paljon, sanoi hänelle, "sisar", joka

hellävaroen muutti hänen siteitään läpi Suomen kulkevassa
sairasjunassa. Sisar oli muuttanut säären ja olkapään siteet ja siirtyi
nyt silmiin. Feodor kuuli samassa jotain nyyhkytyksen tapaista.

— Itkettekö, kysyi hän osaaottavasti. Vailla kättä, vailla jalkaa ja

ainaiseen pimeyteen tuomittu! Sisar ei saanut puhutuksi.

— Älkää itkekö, Feodorin täytyi lohduttaa. — Minä en saa nähdä

kotimaatani enkä omaisiani, mutta minä näen sen suuren todistajien
joukon.

Hoitajatar asetti hellävaroen uuden siteen paikoilleen. — Te

kestätte sankarillisesti, sanoi hän.

— Se suuri todistajien joukko auttaa minua, vastasi Feodor.

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