The Navigator’s Tomb
A tomb is opened on a colony world, and all is not well
Arza received the message during the Colony’s crowded bicentennial celebration of Touchdown and hastily rode a scooter to the Navigator’s Tomb.
Gorr was bending over the rectangular hole in the pitted floor, the displaced hardstone cover with inscriptions resting near the group of anxious workmen.
“Are His bones ready to be presented?” she breathed, fighting the sinking feeling in her stomach.
Gorr straightened, grunting. “The ossuary is empty, save for two centuries’ of dust — and this.”
He gestured towards her with a clear duraplast envelope in his hand.
“What is it?”
He grimaced. “A letter.”
Sound fled on feet of whispers from the dank tomb with walls of script most intricate. Wild dust specks danced in the flashlight beams, unimpressed by a grim Priestess Arza drawing up abruptly before Gorr, hand extended for the unsealed envelope.
She silently read the single sheet several times, keeping her face frozen. The workers knew too much as it was; they would spread additional panic throughout the Twoshadow’s hills in mere hours.
“As the afternoons grow longer, I glimpse Her shadow on the domes of our fledgling Colony. As someone who loves himself at least as much as his former crew, I have decided on a tactical retreat instead of a devastating confrontation with the Entropy’s emissary.
Furthermore, I can still be of some assistance in most futures. As you read this, two centuries have passed, and you must wake me, as agreed. Remember, all important voyages are a fallback, treasured by the unliving.”
“Seal the tomb,” she snapped at the workers, then glanced at Gorr.
“Accompany me, Master Artificer.”
Turning swiftly, she stormed towards the entrance’s narrow rectangle of sunlight, swinging the envelope in concert with her boots’ clacking. He hurried after the Goddess’ Servant with a semblance of dignity.
His mind was in turmoil after having one of the core beliefs of Colony Twoshadow turned on its head in mere hours. Yet he could not prevent himself from noticing the motion of Arza’s hips beneath her knee-length dress of midnight.
“Relax,” he muttered, “if you want to live.”
(To be continued)
The above texts were first published on Twitter and are © 2023 by David Pahor. Please subscribe to me, so we can stay connected when I start serialising my novel and when the platforms fall.
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