CHAPTER
FORTY
Gunther took a deep breath and stepped off his pad, ensuring that the transportation sequence couldn’t initiate. The bluish-white glow beneath him dimmed, and the room fell into a tense silence. He motioned for Marty to step onto his teleportation pad. “We need to take control of this,” he said, his voice firm. “But first, we need to decide where we’re going.”
The team exchanged uncertain glances, the gravity of their situation weighing on them. They all knew they were being tested, manipulated by forces they couldn’t fully comprehend. But they also knew that they couldn’t keep reacting—they needed to take the initiative, to wrest control of their fate from whoever or whatever was behind this.
The team’s focus shifted to the holographic image of the map that hovered in the air above the portal’s console.
“Where do we want to go?” Gunther asked, his voice steady but filled with the weight of the decision they had to make.
Lowanna was the first to speak, her eyes fixed on the map. “We’ve been through so much already . . . Do we really want to keep jumping from portal to portal, not knowing what’s next? Maybe it’s time to face whatever this is head-on.”
Surjan nodded in agreement, his jaw clenched with determination. “I’m with Lowanna. We can’t keep playing their game, going from one test to the next. Let’s just finish this.”
“What does that even mean?” François asked. “Jump to portal number ten? And what happens when we get there? We fight the big boss? We face our judgment, hearts weighed against the feather of Maat like some dead pharaoh?”
Marty’s face held a worried expression. “But what if this is just another trap? What if going straight to the end is exactly what they want us to do? We could be walking right into their hands.”
“Does it actually matter? If we’re going to go in order, we do it now or do it later, and later might never come if we fail at one of these ridiculous tests of theirs,” Lowanna said, her voice calm but resolute. “We can’t stay here forever, debating what to do. We need to make a choice.”
The room fell silent for a long moment and everyone turned back to Marty.
Marty glanced once more at the holographic map and sighed. His expression hardened with resolve. “All right, I guess it’s somewhen in the western part of North America. Let’s go to portal number ten and end this.”
The others murmured their agreement, and Gunther felt a surge of uncertainty. The decision had been made, and now it was up to him to guide them through it.
He closed his eyes, focusing inward, reaching out to the voice that had promised to guide him.
I hear your plea and understand.
The voice rang loudly in Gunther’s head.
There is an error in the transport logic. You will leverage it.
Marty gave Gunther a look. “Are you doing something?”
Gunther waved the question away. “I’m trying to listen.”
Do not move until you’ve received all that I have to tell you, because the moment you step onto the pad, the circuit will be completed and the process will begin. Understood?
Gunther nodded and worried as the voice gave a technical explanation for what was about to happen. He understood some of it, but some of it made no sense:
. . . you will induce an error in the system . . .
Triggering the watchdog timer will yield the results that are desired . . .
Now go ahead. You are ready.
Gunther felt anything but ready, but aside from the technobabble, the instructions seemed clear.
He gazed across the faces of his team and asked, “Are we ready?”
They all nodded.
“Okay, whatever you do, don’t move or say anything while I do this.”
Gunther stepped onto his teleportation pad and it was almost as if time slowed to a crawl.
His heartbeat stopped.
Nobody blinked.
Not a breath was taken as the room was bathed in a brilliant white light.
Gunther stepped off the pad, triggering a series of clicks as the blinding light vanished, and he was back in the portal room with the others frozen in columns of white light.
In his mind replayed the instruction the voice had given him.
A five-second delay in transportation will trigger the countdown.
He kept a count in his head and just as he said the fifth Mississippi a loud metallic click alerted him to some change.
“One . . .”
Just like the voice had said, the transporter would start enumerating its targets, deviating from its normal programming.
“Two . . .”
As Gunther focused intently on the count, he was reminded of the warning the voice had given him: If you fail to put your foot back onto the teleportation pad before the count expires, the entire team will be vaporized.
Gunther was standing right next to the pad. Too early and they’d all end up in another place and time; too late, and they’d all be dead.
Suddenly, Gunther panicked as he realized he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to step in at the announcement of “ten” or if he heard “ten” and it was already too late.
“Eight . . .”
Gunther focused, trying to guess how many tenths of a second there were between each number.
“Nine . . .”
Gunther tensed as he tried to count—NOW!
He leaped onto the pad just as he heard “T—”
The bluish-white glow beneath him flared to life, and the room was once again bathed in blinding white light.
The hive mind sensed the exception triggered by an event in the test matrix, and immediately launched a thread to evaluate the current status.
“Watchdog Timer activated for a test checkpoint out of Brane sigma+654PWJZBE in the Orion arm of the Milky Way galaxy. Planet Earth, local relative year is 9104 B.C.E.”
The Administrator sighed as he briefly focused on what had occurred and, for a brief moment, he was frustrated. “I see that the test subjects exploited a flaw in the transportation programming. The communication received by test subject Gunther had to have come from us, otherwise how could the source of the communication know about an internal aspect of the transportation logic?”
The hive mind puzzled over the issue for a moment and came back with nothing. “We have been monitoring the communication with the test subject and have been unable to trace the communications to its source. I have no other answers.”
“Monitor all communications from all elements of the hive mind. Seek out those who have had access to the transportation design and gather all of their communications across the multiverse. There must be an answer.”
The Administrator shifted some of his attention to the trial that was underway.
“Motion to terminate the test now,” the Prosecutor said, his voice cold and precise.
“Objection,” the Advocate replied swiftly. “No grounds.”
Tests such as the one being administered to the Earth subjects were typically evaluated at specific checkpoints, where the team’s progress and decisions were scrutinized according to predetermined parameters. But this time, the situation had grown contentious.
“Prosecutor, explain the basis for your motion,” the Adjudicator commanded, his tone one of measured patience.
“This species has flagrantly violated the natural order of the test,” the Prosecutor said, his words dripping with disdain. “They were to proceed to portal six after arriving at portal five. Instead, they bypassed it entirely, using portal seven to jump directly to portal ten. Such actions are a clear breach of the rules. They are circumventing the intended sequence, thereby undermining the integrity of the test.”
The Advocate folded his arms, his gaze unwavering as he replied. “What rules have they broken? The test is not simply about following a predetermined path—it’s about their decisions, their actions under pressure.”
“The test of faith,” the Prosecutor shot back. “The sequence was designed to test their resolve, their ability to trust in the process. By bypassing portals, they have shown a lack of faith, choosing the easy way out instead of adhering to the challenges set before them.”
The Advocate took a step forward, his voice firm but calm. “You argue that they’ve lacked faith, yet what they demonstrated was, in fact, a profound leap of faith. They faltered at portal five, yes. But at portal seven, they chose to leap forward—to take a risk in the face of uncertainty. That is the essence of faith.”
The Prosecutor’s eyes narrowed, his voice rising in frustration. “These acts of so-called faith were not part of the designed test scenarios. They are irrelevant and should not be considered valid responses to the trials of faith. The team has manipulated the system and should be judged accordingly.”
The Adjudicator observed the exchange with a thoughtful expression. “You claim their actions are manipulative, Prosecutor, but the question here is whether the test subjects acted within their own understanding and judgment, or if they exploited a flaw in the test.”
“They exploited a flaw, plain and simple,” the Prosecutor insisted. “Their leap from portal seven to portal ten is evidence of their disregard for the structured nature of the test. It undermines the purpose of this trial.”
The Advocate countered smoothly, “The test is meant to judge them on their actions. They saw an opportunity and they took it, knowing full well the risks involved. That leap was not a calculated cheat—it was a demonstration of their belief that they could overcome the challenges ahead. They did not break faith; they embraced it.”
A tense silence followed as the Adjudicator weighed the arguments. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension thick enough to cut.
Finally, the Adjudicator spoke, his voice resolute. “Judgment is based on the actions of the test subjects, not on the unforeseen variables introduced by the test environment. The Advocate’s argument holds. The actions of the team, though unconventional, do not constitute a violation of the test. They acted on faith—a faith in their own abilities and in the decisions they made. Judgment is for the Advocate. The test may continue.”
The Prosecutor’s expression darkened, his jaw clenched in frustration. “I maintain my objection. This ruling sets a dangerous precedent.”
“Noted,” the Adjudicator replied with finality. “But the trial will proceed. The focus remains on their actions. Let them continue to prove themselves.”
The Advocate nodded, satisfied, while the Prosecutor’s anger simmered beneath the surface. The test would go on, and with it, the fate of the Earth subjects would hang in the balance, inching ever closer to an unknown conclusion.
Marty’s head spun as the white light dissolved, leaving him unsteady and disoriented. He felt the ground solidify beneath him, but the disconnection between body and mind lingered, making it difficult to tell up from down. He blinked hard, trying to clear the swirling haze from his vision. The transition left him gasping for air as if he had been plunged underwater.
The first thing he noticed was the cold, dry air hitting his lungs. It was a stark contrast to the acrid scent of the chamber they had just left. He coughed, his throat raw, and instinctively reached out to steady himself, his hands finding purchase on something rough—stone. Slowly, his senses began to return, and he became aware of the gritty texture beneath his fingers.
Marty opened his eyes, forcing them to focus. The world around him was coming into view, and what he saw took his breath away. They were surrounded by towering walls of rock, their surfaces layered in shades of red, orange, and brown, as if the earth had been sliced open to reveal its ancient history. The cliffs rose high above them, their jagged edges etched against a brilliant blue sky. The sun, low in the sky, cast long shadows across the rocky terrain, adding depth to the already dramatic landscape.
He pushed himself upright, his legs still shaky from the disorienting transition. As he took in the vast expanse before him, he realized they were standing in some kind of canyon. The ground beneath them was uneven, a mix of gravel and larger rocks, with patches of hardy vegetation clinging to life in the harsh environment.
The rest of the team was scattered around him, each recovering in their own way. Gunther was the first to rise, his eyes scanning the cliffs with a mix of awe and wariness. Lowanna, already on her feet, moved cautiously, her gaze sweeping over the landscape as if expecting danger to leap from the shadows. Surjan, still on his hands and knees, took a deep breath before pushing himself upright, his expression one of sheer disbelief.
Marty took a few steps forward, his boots crunching on the loose gravel. The air was dry, tinged with the scent of dust and stone, and he could feel the heat radiating from the ground despite the coolness of the air. He glanced up at the sky, noting the absence of clouds, the vast openness making him feel both exposed and insignificant.
“What . . . is this place?” Gunther murmured, breaking the silence.
Marty shook his head, his mind racing as he tried to place the landscape. It was unlike anything he had ever seen in person, yet there was something about it that tugged at his memory. The scale of the canyon was immense, the cliffs stretching far into the distance, their layers telling a story that spanned millennia. It was a place of raw, untamed beauty, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something that made him uneasy.
“It’s . . . it’s some kind of canyon,” Marty finally said, his voice filled with uncertainty. “But the size . . . it’s massive.”
“You mean like a ‘Grand Canyon,’ you doofus?” Lowanna smiled as she walked toward him, her boots crunching on the gravel, and gave him a bearhug.
Marty returned the hug, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against his. “Are you sure?”
“Zero doubt,” Lowanna responded. “I’ve been here before, doing a study on the Anasazi.” She examined the ground. “Look at the way the rock has been carved,” she said, pointing to the smooth curves in the stone that hinted at ancient water flows. “This place has seen some powerful forces at work. It’s beautiful, but . . . it feels isolated, desolate.”
Marty’s eyes drifted to the horizon, following the steep drop-off that led down to the canyon floor. A narrow river snaked through the bottom, its waters a distant, glittering ribbon. The sound of it barely reached them, a faint murmur carried on the wind. The scale of the place made him feel small, insignificant, and yet he knew that they were here for a reason.
“There’s a river down there,” Marty said, pointing to the water below.
Surjan joined him at the edge, staring down at the river. “It’s amazing that the water carved out this entire canyon,” he said, his voice laced with disbelief.
“It looks like it’s late in the day and we need to get our bearings,” Marty said, his voice steady despite the tension gnawing at him. “Remember, we have no idea when we are, even if we know where. This place . . . I’m sure it’s not what it seems. We need to be ready for anything.”
“For all we know, we might be in the modern day,” Gunther said.
“No, I don’t think so.” Lowanna shook her head and pointed at one of the looming walls of stone. “I recognize that cliff. Nowadays . . . er, in our time . . . it has metal railings to help folks hike down the trail to a lower level. I don’t see any of that.”
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting even longer shadows across the canyon, Marty knew they were about to face something significant. The voice in his head remained silent, but the feeling in his gut told him that they were far from done.
Marty motioned to the horizon and said, “We probably have just enough time to get closer to the river before it gets dark. Whatever and whenever this place is, it holds answers—answers that we’re going to need to survive.”