Shadow

He breathes more and more heavily, as the air in the sealed helmet grows stale. The rebreather is overwhelmed. His body shakes at random as he runs aimlessly across the rocky landscape. Explosions blind him even through the polarised faceplate, but all he can hear is his own blood. Hypercom's silent; tactical display – blank. Are his comrades all gone, or safely back in orbit? He sees the towering Kinac soldiers too late, and makes an effort to stop. He's tired; the blaster rifle hangs in his arms like a dead weight. Two steps back, then he stumbles. "Just like in a cheap melodrama" he thinks in the instant before hitting the alien soil. And, just like in a melodrama, he can feel the enemies' gaze behind the dark plasteel, as the blasters are pointed in slow motion.

But not at him. Something flies over his head, a silhouette blocks his field of view. As in a dream, he sees hands in black gloves forming fists in the face of assault rifles. The nearest opponent hesitates for less than a second, and the mysterious stranger leads implausibly with a straight punch. Despite its bulk and armor, the alien is thrown down. The next one misses completely as the person in black twirls like a whirlwind, waving his ample cape. Hands moving in an indecipherable pattern, he takes his adversary off its feet. From a safe distance, the third one switches to full automatic, but the rescuer moves so fast he appears to be in several places at once. All around him, fiery projectiles spray red-hot chunks of rock. He answers with a shower of electrical sparks, and the last attacker falls. His scorched weapon clatters to the ground. The newly-rescued soldier jumps to his feet in excitement.

"T-thanks! Who are you?"

Instead of an answer, the newcomer turns towards him, at the same time arranging his enormous hood. The young Terran fails to suppress a cry of surprise and fear.

In a previous lifetime, thousands of light years away.

The big guy's hand cut through the air, and I found myself on the forest floor, admiring the treetops. Master Shi-Ken's voice came to me as from a great distance:

"You failed to focus again, Bal-Der! How many times do I have to tell you, drive doesn't equal focus."

He was by my head before I could think of an answer. He picked me up like a worn-out cloak.

"What do you think you're missing? A weapon? More muscle? Faster reflexes? Weapons are but extensions of the body, which is just an extension of the mind. This is where you fail, and being angry at yourself doesn't help."

With the last words, he tapped my forehead with a finger.

"I know you understand all this. Try to feel it as well."

He turned again towards the semicircle of gathered novices.

"So, who wants to show him one more time? Rhun?"

He knew Rhun and I were friends. Guess he didn't want me to be discouraged. From the side, Rhun came to me with a not my fault, pal look on his face.

"Man," he smile, "you'd better learn to move fast."

"Easy for you to say." I retorted. Speed was his power after all.

"Begin!" yelled the master.

A moment later, I was down again, this time with my face in the grass.

Present day.

How long has it been? Twenty-one years? Expressed in Mythian units, the duration seems insignificant. Eight gigaseconds is more convincing. Or two hundred and fifty three Earth years, of which the last four spent in a war. And now...

His thoughts jump across time, coming back to the dull gray planet spinning slowly under his eyes. The battle has grown desperate. By the latest reports, thousands of soldiers from both sides die every day down there. The young man he had met in the last raid could be among them. Or the three Kinac soldiers, whom he had spared. Do they have someone to save them?

One would be hard pressed to recognize the caped warrior in the old man standing in front of a tall, narrow window. Or, for that matter, expect him to be the leader of a whole Mythian battle fleet, over a dozen powerful starships pressing against a cornered enemy. But he is... and the responsibility is crushing.

He feels the hand reaching at the doorbell, beyond the door, but doesn't turn around.

"Come in, Shayla!"

He admires her face, reflected in the window's plasteel: long, black hair surrounding the perfect oval of her face, big eyes, an inhumanly calm expression, frozen by too many things she has lived through. She's half again his age, but when you live many times as long as any human, this sort of difference doesn't show anymore.

From the door, the woman walks gracefully towards him. The elegant black uniform accentuates her body shape.

"You always worry only after the battle." she says, and he finds himself unable to see beyond her neutral voice. It's her way of challenging him to listen for real, and he rolls with it.

"It's not the last one that I worry about."

"You have seen the new orders."

It's not a question, yet he feels a need to answer.

"Yes. We split again. Damn it! When is it going to be over?"

He feels her anger like a freezing wind on his back.

"What kind of a question is that?"

He turns to face her, with a sudden move.

"I've had enough of this war!"

"You've had enough? What about your duty? We're soldiers, Bal-Der. We chose to be, or have you forgotten?"

"No, Shayla, you are a soldier. I never was one."

"Then why did you join the military? For the prestige? For these?"

She uses her fist to tap the rank insignia on his chest, which designate him as a superior officer. They are identical to hers.

"What's your problem, you got this far and now you're done?"

He raises a hand; a hologem flies violently across the room to his hand.

"Thought I could make a difference. If I can't, then who?"

He feels her mental barrier falling, and the space between them is again full of vibration.

"I thought you did it for me," she says softly.

"That, too. Let me walk you to the teleporter room."

All that time ago, back home.

From the front, it seemed to be just an oval shape made of silvery metal, floating in the air at the same height as my head. From the side, it turned into a highly stylized human face, looking at the world through a pair of dark red lenses. It was a Datchí mask, the most advanced creation of a technology that had lond ago reached its limits. The masters could only suspect what powers it bestowed upon its wearer, because nobody had be able to control it for generations. It just sat there, suspended in its force field, reflected in the dark mirror at the other end of the hall.

"What do you see in that thing?" Rhun had asked me one day, and I had to admit not knowing why I was spending whole afternoons on the cold floor, contemplating the abstract figure which in turn appeared to look at me from above.

Perhaps it was the weariness following a day's work in the orchard, or at the fish farm, for it was the time of summer's tenth harvest. Maybe it was the coming autumn I could feel in my bones? There was also the disappointment of Shayla's absence; she never had time to visit me here, up in the mountains, which only added to the monotony of my life. While I was still making progress, my enthusiasm was gone, so it was more and more often that all I had to say about one of old Shi-Ken's lessons was:

"Master, I don't understand."

To which he answered invariably:

"Patience..."

One day he took me aside and told me the Mask's legend. He had much to say, but it seemed like each new detail seemed to invite a new question.

"So the Mask chooses its own wearer? How?"

"That I don't know. But there's something else over there."

I thought for a while.

"The mirror?"

"You didn't pay any attention to it, did you? Let me tell you something: it's no shame to examine yourself in a mirror once in a while. In any mirror."

I kept spending my afternoons in the Mask's hall, except now I was sitting with my back turned to it. Seen in the dark mirror, the metal face seemed more alive than my own.

Present day.

The observation platform is an island of darkness separating the archipelago of lights on the bridge consoles from the foamy ocean of the galaxy, which throws its millions of shiny drops against the great arched window of the command bridge. Far ahead of the flagship, two stars jump out from the backdrop of space. One is the white dwarf Deneea, the target of the Mythian battle fleet for now, as for the other... "That's where I should be, in front, on the Dreamer's bridge", he mumbles. Immediately, his headphones crackle with Captain Dekkar's voice.

"Did you say anything, Commander?"

He starts, then remembers: the R'Mon is not a Datchí ship, besides, the good captain barely knows him. He covers his moment of weakness.

"The Kinac plan to deploy their ships in a trident formation. Notify the Allakor, Renna and Chag-gar squadrons, they'll have to maneuver quickly on the flanks."

At the other end of the bridge, Dekkar shrugs to himself. On the tactical screen, the imperial fleet is barely a fuzzy cloud. He executes the order at leisure, typing the coded message on his own console.

"Done, commander. Anything else?"

"That's it for now. We wait..."

The captain slowly relaxes in his chair, keeping his eyes on the shadowy figure. Commander Bal-Der Ka-Lar, "a shadow cast over the Empire", as he is known in the allied fleet. Reporters... The admiral had heard stories of enemy bases taken down by one man – a certain man – and had decided that a starship captain has better things to do than play superhero (never mind that said man was in special ops). So he signed a promotion. As if anyone takes the Datchí title seriously anymore, or that weird mask of his that never seems to come off. Since then, things have taken a turn for the worse, eating at the crew's morale. He should be talking to the commander about it, but something prevents him every time.

He stands up abruptly and leaves the bridge. The watch officer promptly takes his place.

In space, time flows in a peculiar way. Discreetly, the stillness of the stars drips into your soul. One, two, three, a thousand... A thousand thousands? A star, a moment, a thought... Is the ship really moving? The eyes refuse to believe what reason affirms. You always fly from here to there, leaving behind scorched wreckage and devastated planets you'll never see again, and you feel powerful, but days pass until the next planet, weeks until the next star system and months separate battles, but when you look out the window again the stars are still there, immobile, cold. By the time you see a change in the constellations, you've already put light-years between yourself and the latest massacre. There's no time to lose. To victory!

The next shift has come quietly. The men seem as tired as those they have replaced. He notices the captain's tormented expression. When did he return to the bridge? The captain, always seeming to know better, intimidates him. In any event, the men trust him. His advice would be useful, but...

"Enemy in weapon range, sir."

The announcement electrifies the mood. Looking over the tactical officer's shoulder, Dekkar exclaims suddenly:

"They're trying to catch us in a trident...!"

The wisper turns into a shout.

"Red alert! Brace for combat! All ships, DEPLOY!"

For a brief moment, he vibrates along with the crew, waiting for the clash. Then a different feeling fills his consciousness screaming louder than the bridge speakers. But they're not trying to attack! They're not even warships, just refits! He turns towards Dekkar, pale in the light of the tactical display. The first explosion lights up the vacuum behind them, erasing all shadow.

Back when life was simple.

Five of us left the monastery, young, confident, ready to conquer a changing world. Up there, the news of the planetary government being formed had caused as much enthusiasm as in any large city. It was the culmination of a plan made before I was born, and the Datchí take pride in their sense of history.

Among other things, the Technical Academy in Shangryar had doubled the available seats.

"Why don't we go?" Elera had asked, and we had stumbled upon each other to reach master Shi-Ken.

The old man had set his hoe aside and had straightened his back to admire the newly weed-free flowers.

"You and so many others..." he sighed. "A new era begins, many want to contribute. But you're my best students. You should know you're not Datchí yet. You'll be going as what, then?"

There was an embarrassed silence, until I remembered the right answer.

"As mere people, master. Didn't you teach us we are people before anything else?"

He had sighed again. The next day we were on the road.

The truck took us halfway to the big city – at the edge of a forest as I first thought. I discovered soon that the "forest" had sidewalks, and even buildings: old, imposing villas. They grew denser as we approached the center, to the point that they formed a maze, but all of it still felt like one big public garden.

Rhun was proudly playing guide.

"We'll take the metro from here."

"The metro? Fourty atl from the city center?"

"Fourty from the city edge. This is the most remote suburbia. The appeal of the mountain, what can I say."

If that was a suburbia, I couldn't wait to visit downtown.

Present day.

The drop carrier's big conference room is packed. Black Mythian uniforms outnumber the black-and-gold of Mega. The gray metal of Cyblan exoskeletons are next to the colorful carapaces of the little Unaani. The Tsheia delegation also sits next to the Mythians, the only people they know in the whole assembly. There is something dehumanizing in this hall, in its vastness, in the white uniformity of the walls. At the far end, the violet light of the teleportation platforms reveals the day-to-day function of the space.

At the improvised podium, Admiral Yakad adjusts his laryngophone.

"If your intelligence is at all operational, then you know that right now, of all our attack force, this battle fleet group is the only one still able to take and defend a significant planet-side objective!"

The hall fills with disbelieving whispers as alien officers shuffle around in embarassement. Damn theatrics.

"In the last three stages of the campaign we have lost half the infantry and almost a quarter of our ships. And yet..."

He nervously unfastens the holocom pinned to his uniform and uses it as a remote control, projecting a 3D diagram in the middle of the room.

"...We're too far away in the heart of the Empire to get reinforcements. See anything strange in this?"

An imposing woman in black and gold stands up.

"I gather the green points represent our positions, and the red ones... Aren't there too few of them? Where did you get the map?"

"Where you got yours. From your friends – Terrans, Rivoli, Caino. But it's not the same map, is it?"

"They're not our friends! We live at the border between two empires. What do you expect us to do? Do you know some of us are Kinac and fight against their own?"

"Come on! On Mega you'll find people from seven or eight civilizations. Remarkable, but the Empire comprises twice as many, so..."

"Gentlemen! Does it look like we have time for this?"

The Cyblan dominates both of them without as much as raising his voice.

"The Mythians are right. We got here way too easily. On the ground we meet desperate resistance, while in space we waste our missiles on freighters. We end up glassing useful planets because we can't leave anyone to guard them. Where are the alliance's leaders?"

"I can answer that."

He reflexively arranges his enormous hood, under the sudden pressure of hundreds of eyes.

"Each of you has given us the position of one Triangle battle fleet, but we were the first to put them all on a single map."

With a flick of the wrist, he lights up a network of yellow lights. It forms a compact wall right behind the frontline.

"Now, either the Empire is drawing us to the largest trap in the history of space warfare, or else the Triangle is using us as cannon fodder only to crush us later and rid themselves of all competition. Either way, we have a problem. One we can only solve together. Admiral?"

"Thank you, commander. I think we've said enough for now. Any suggestions?"

Elsewhen.

"What's your name?"

I turned towards the girl with the tablet computer. The first thing I noticed was her body.

"Uh... Bal-Der..."

I stopped. My old name was meaningless to me now, and the new one was incomplete. But on Myth that wasn't much of an issue.

"Do you have any ID, Bal-Der?"

I gave her the hologem issued by the monastery.

"Good. What do you want to study?"

I looked at the curved ceiling again. It was shaped like the underside of an ocean wave.

"Well... architecture. Can I? I mean, what are the requirements?"

"Look, I've heard they have exam-based admittance in Dleneth. Not here. You simply get in, and believe me, if you're not good enough you'll give up in no time."

I wanted to tell her I wasn't planning on giving up, when the rest of the gang showed up. As they were dragging me towards the exit, I could only think of how to spend more time with that girl.

In the blinding sunlight, the Monument of Man had blurry contours, or was it the distance? We started that way, passing by the campus buildings. The perspective was dizzying.

"I expected you to sign up for the architecture department as well." Rhun said after a while. "This city really makes you dream, doesn't it?"

We passed below the water arch of a fountain, but I couldn't see where it emerged, nor where it went.

"When I was a little boy," he continued, "I liked to think the city is endless. I dreamt of becoming a legendary architect, like Stander. Only at the monastery did I learn that a city is built in generations, by many people. Nobody can be a hero all by himself."

The edge of the park was a shadowy wall ahead.

"Shayla would say there is no such thing as a living hero," I replied, "that is, if she were here, at least today."

She was there, in the shadow of the nearest trees, ghostly in her white, wide clothes. Her voice had something of an ice-cold mountain spring.

"What have you been doing?"

"Looking at girls!" Rhun intervened, but Shayla ignored him. Faithfulness wasn't much of an issue on Myth, either. I looked her in the eye.

"Maybe I want to do something real."

"For who?"

I looked down.

"Find me when you have an answer." she added. Silence followed, and I knew she was gone.

Present day.

He's falling through a violet light. Falling until he can't feel his body anymore, and his thoughts become a blur. He could fall like that forever; maybe then he'd have time to rest. But his senses return with painful suddenness: the teleportation only lasted a few seconds. It was a disheartening inspection tour. This time no ship came out undamaged. He hurries towards the elevators, surrounded by the intermittent sound of welders. Sailors look up from their work as he passes and throw him hateful looks, making almost no effort to hide. In the infantry section, they mumble threateningly. At least the officer's mess hall is empty. Right next to his quarters, a circuit panel hangs on a bunch of wires. The door still works, though. He lets himself fall on a chair, and his external appearance melts, appearing to vanish into the backrest. All that's left is a tired old man in a sinister uniform.

Only when seeing her name on the screen does he realize they haven't seen each other since the conference. But her message comprises just a quote from The Book of Man. Her favorite part.

Who are you running from? You can't escape yourself. What are you looking for? Haven't you found yourself yet? Who are you fighting? Take a good look at your enemy, in the mirror!

It is followed by the two stylized symbols: an eye and a hand. Soul and body... He smiles sadly to himself. "Now you remind me?" He hesitates, hands above the console, then changes his mind. What is there to write about? How he disappointed his men? Hmpf, what a victory, a near-disaster. Although, with the new so-called cooperative strategy the Admiral devised... No, the troubles started a long time ago, since he saw Shayla last time. They started with his promotion... with the offensive phase of the war... Myth joining the war... Him joining the military...

He jumps awake as the holocom buzzes.

"Dekkar here. The ground team has secured a perimeter. Time to see who it was we fought, sir."

"Be there in a kilosecond."

Back in the white monotony of the corridors, back in the violet, oppressive lighting. A heavily armored figure is waiting for him at the teleporters.

"Shall we go, commander?"

"Let's."

He's wading through the recently settled ash, his boots throwing it back into the air, as he points the armor's sensors every which way, fully aware of how futile it is. With clay feet, he climbs the mound of glassed duracrete that used to be the building's wall, turning his back at the metallic remains on the inside. The commander is watching him from a distance, unmoving and silent. In the end, it is the captain who loses his patience.

"I don't get it. Nothing makes sense! What is all of this? What was this place?"

"What were you expecting?"

He sighs pointedly before answering.

"Laser clusters. Deflector shields. Hangars. Drydocks. The famed imperial fortress of Ithru. Instead, a bunch of empty missile tubes and..."

He waves his hand at the building behind him.

"Guess what I found in there," he sais in a disheartened tone.

"Agricultural machinery, I presume."

The commander's calm pisses him off.

"You've seen that, too? Like before the Deneea assault?"

He turns his head as if the captain had slapped him. In his mind, he sees the Kinac ships melting like toys on a fire at the first salvoes. He remembers the survivors they had brought aboard, men and women with no armor or weapons, trying to protect their children. In the end, the real imperial fleet had shown up, errupting from the planet's ring. It was then that they had lost the first cruiser.

The captain's voice over comm drops back to a whisper.

"They were simple farmers, weren't they? They only had a few ground-to-orbit missiles, but we struck them as if... Why did they take the weapons, commander? Why did they fight?"

"Why do you fight, Captain? Why do your men?"

He hesitates to answer, until the pause grows embarassing. Then:

"My men won't fight anymore."

He draws a deep breath.

"I regret to inform you that right now, no commanding officer will follow your orders."

Is his superior shaking, or is it the wind tugging at his cape?

"I tried to warn you a long time ago, but you gave me no opportunity. You pushed us forward, no breaks, no explanations... You haven't been close to us."

"I was minding our military hierarchy."

"I know. I wish it wouldn't have come to this, but it's too late. In a few hours, Commander Laïr's battle fleet will be here. You will have to surrender command to her."

A rustling sounds like dead leaves in the wind. Ka-Lar is laughing.

"In a few hours there may be nothing left to surrender – or to whom."

Dekkar freezes.

"You were wondering what happened to the fortress, Captain. Well, nothing. We came from the opposite side of the planet, that's all."

"There were no sattelites in orbit..."

"No, but soon it will be morning on their side, and they'll wonder how their comrades over here are doing."

Suddenly, the captain looks much smaller, with all his big armor.

"And with our ships out of combat, Atla-Gamath with its escort doesn't stand a chance."

"Right. Think of that next time you consider mutiny, Mr. Dekkar!"

He walks away with equal, heavy steps, heading out from the circle of ash. Grass blades stand up among the fragments of a dome. He goes on without looking. Something cracks under his boot. Surprised, he stares at the snail that somehow ended up in the disaster area. Too late.

The captain catches up with him.

"I've given it some thought. We can't just wait. Repairs are going well. If we go now, we'll synchronize our attack with the other group. Gives us one more chance."

"How will you convince the other officers?"

"Even in our weakened state, we'll make the difference. They'll go along."

"You do realize it's suicide?"

"No need to insult me. We are still soldiers."

"In that case, Captain, you have command. Oh wait, you already do, right? Good luck, then!"

"And you, sir?"

"The men need a real leader. Me... Let's pretend I stood in the path of a missile."

The commander isn't shaking after all. The wind has picked up.

"I understand, sir. See, now I know why the Kinac peasants fight."

The shockwave pushes him back angrily, forcing him to bend down. When he regains his balance, the captain is alone. He hears the sonic boom, but the sky is shining too brightly for him to see anything.

In the past.

She lay down lazily next to me, and I caressed her. I felt awkward.

"I haven't found the answer, Shayla."

"I know. Doesn't matter, I was angry. You will find your answer, plenty of time for that. No point in searching today..."

Then she rolled over me, warm and heavy, and I forgot what the question was.

We woke up as the setting sun sent all its light through our window, painting her skin red gold. While she got dressed, I asked her half-jokingly not to vanish this time. She gave me a sad smile. "All right," she said, and she used the door instead. Left me the key, too. I have admired many sunsets since then, but her smell hasn't faded.

It was supposed to become the biggest accomplishment in Mythian architecture. It was supposed to be a city of gods, just as Shangryar was a city of dreams. It was supposed to become the capital of the world. For now, though, it was just an announcement, spreading over the 'net, which promised a fabulous prize to the best project, and I hated formal competitions.

After graduating the first stage, I presented my own concept to the Academy's council.

"They won't even look your way," Rhun had warned me the night before, and he was right.

After the second failure, I got drunk and cried, alone. I would have cried just as well without the booze. Went out to town after that. Met the reception girl desk and picked her up. In the morning, I deleted all my work from the past one hundred days. Before I knew it, I was with all my class aboard an Academy vessel, en route to Ha-Shi-Dor island. We visited the summer campus, swam in the ocean and got lost in the woods. We drank and laughed with the teachers in the tropical night. The gang split apart soon enough. They all had contracts already. I stayed to help restore an ancient temple. I added a personal note, and the priests liked it. Small things I could do very well. I cried again, slept naked on the beach and dreamt. Started a new set of sketches. That didn't go so well. One evening I climbed the Hill of All Winds to admire the sunset, and decided I missed Shayla's smell. Closed my eyes, but instead of her face all I could see was an oval shape made of silvery metal.

Present day.

The fortress is a geometric maze of bunkers, garages and covered roads delineating the entrances to underground hangars and launch platforms. The local star rises above the top of the hill, casting a long, thin shadow over the complex. The man in the black cape starts down the slope, arranging his enormous hood as he goes. He runs into a patrol and zaps them with a nervous flick of his hands. He looks at the smoking corpses for a moment, trying and failing to feel pity. He picks up two weapons from the ground. Onwards!

A tower-mounted sentry gun notices him at last and tracks him with laser fire. He answers with inhuman precision, sending wave after wave of solid flame through the barely visible slits. He runs forward under the burning metal. Much easier, shooting at a machine. Anti-infantry missiles spiral towards him; he throws away the empty guns to focus better. The smoke trails arch back where they came from. He can see the glitter of full-body armor among the explosions. Deadly rays criss-cross around him; he tries to dodge, but there are too many, so he jumps. Time seems to hang at the top of the trajectory, he alone keeps falling slowly, so slowly, behind an improvised barricade. They have personal deflectors here. He thrusts his hands forward, claw-like, as he sends organ-crushing tractor beams in the alien flesh. They crumble. Only got one heart each, like everyone else.

Never mind that. Run. Run. More troops. He cuts a path through them with his hands and feet. Grabs a rifle, blinks through a wall, pulls both triggers frenetically. Useless move, that's not the command center. He blinks through the opposite wall. Out. Change weapon. In. Fire!

Open air again. Two walkers clamber to block his path. He claps his hands with a rolling avalanche noise, and the shockwave blasts the first vehicle aside. He forms a ball of plasma in his hand, and throws it at the second one. He rides the shockwave of the explosion into the air. Underneath, hangar gates start opening. Desperation washes over him. It's too early! He rolls back down among dead bodies and piles of rubble. When did he cause so much destruction? Crouched in a corner, he spreads his arms wide as he calls for power. The rock underneath starts shaking, and its own tensions amplify the movement. Somewhere, giant hinges squeal. Did he stop all the lift-offs? Unlikely.

A huge explosion throws him out in the open. He falls to his knees, waiting for a finishing strike that doesn't come. Let them work if they want him dead! Deafened, blinded by smoke, he raises his hands at the sky, launching an electrical light show. The rock bed trembles again, in brief shocks coming closer. A familiar signal buzzes in his head, and he gives in to the violet light that swallows him then winks out. Behind it, plasma missiles cauterize the ground methodically.

So long ago.

The autumn was ending on Mount Shangr. I pulled my robe tighter around me, but the wind kept doing its thing. Starlight wasn't enough to reveal the path, but I knew where to put each step and it was enough. This was home. I looked up, trying to see the monastery walls. Not one light. Not one soul was awake. I walked under the stone arch dotted by phosphorescent fungi, which gave even less light than the stars outside. The end of the corridor was hidden in darkness. What lay beyond the Mask?

White veils waving in an air current I could not feel. Shayla.

"So, you have decided. You think the Mask can give you answers."

"I only have one question, you know that."

"The same everybody asks. What makes you any better?"

"I am aware that I don't know the answer."

"So you've returned where you started from. Then do the next step as well. Examine yourself in the mirror, Bal-Der!"

"Or else?"

"Or else the Mask will make you. Remember Iono?"

How could I forget? Iono, who cried and laughed at the same time, who talked to himself when he was with us and the other way around, who didn't have and didn't want a cell to himself. The other novices called him crazy. Nonsense. He was just overly honest with himself.

"Iono used to be one of the best. Better than you. Others who have tried on the Mask are dead."

I turned my back on her.

"And how do you know so much about the Mask?"

On the wall, the dark mirror seemed to have its own inner light. But it did not reflect Shayla; instead, I saw a geometrical titanium angel.

"Trust me, Bal-Der, I know."

"Oh, Shayla!..."

She came and grabbed my shoulders.

"I want you to make it. Don't you get it? I lived four times as long as you, and that's just the beginning. Do you have any idea how many lovers I've watched growing old? I don't want to lose you. Not you!"

I squeezed her steel-locked hand.

"Then help me do it!"

The metal melted and flowed away, unveiling her soft, perfumed skin.

"This will be the hardest thing to do."

"For who?"

She turned me around and kissed me. It seemed to take a lifetime, then she ran at the other end of the hall. I followed. She had her inexpressive face again. I raised my arms, and the Mask slid on its forcefield to land in my hands.

"Tell me, Shayla, what was the name of the one who had it... the last time?"

"I don't know his name, but everybody used to call him Ka-Lar – Shadow. Why do you ask?"

"Simple curiosity."

Then I fit the Mask to my face; there, inside it, I was finally just myself.

Present day.

Like never before, he finds the teleporter room on the R'Mon warm and welcoming. He looks over the perfectly aligned troops who fill the breadth and length of the hall. He salutes, accepts the thundering response, then turns towards the captain.

"What happened?"

"You don't know? You've kept the imperial forces busy for over an hour. When we got there, they barely put up any resistance. We had minimal losses."

"The Dreamer...?"

"Still in one piece. Same as Atla-Gamath. Commander Laïr is waiting for you."

"What about the mutiny?"

"What mutiny? All I had to do was tell them where you went. Commander, I want to tell you, what you did was remarkable. I mean, we all knew the stories, but..."

"You didn't actually believe those fairy tales, did you, Captain?"

Dekkar flashes an embarassed smile.

"In any event, that was very brave."

"Come on, it was madness."

"But you won, sir!"

"I won?..."

"He looks meditatively at the soldiers' tired faces. His voice seems to reverberate throughout the ship."

"You won! I'm proud of you!"

Then he passes among the lines in a hurry, and the blast doors close silently behind him.

Shadow by Felix Pleșoianu is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.