Through the Door

By Malcom Abstan

A crew of devious space pirates and their equally villainous captain set out on a quest to acquire a marvelous treasure from lore; known only to lay deep within the Abyss (A section of space not yet explored). Along their journey they are sidetracked however, and by some whim of fate find theyve been included in a far more dangerous quest to save the entire universe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491731789

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Copyright © 2014 Malcom Abstan.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-3177-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3178-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014906698

iUniverse rev. date: 06/03/2014

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

Picture an abyss of pure energy, endless in every direction, galactic sheets of crystalized exhaust fumes. There were four ultrasonic awl ports to a vessel, curling smoke sifting from each to amass with the stagnant world around them. Now picture one of these vessels here, a beautiful auburn sea ship, engulfed in waves of endless white, three shades of silver no eye could ever see at once all in swells three hulls tall. Illusions, you say! No boat of wood, no matter how grand, could ever exist in such a place as the fourth cursed plane. You are correct, illusions, such fantastic trickery; as to shield an entire space vessel from port to bow; the ship was a pseudo battlecruiser, Class 5 Stellar Siege, built in a different era, a time when a ship wasn’t ever just a ship. But the Dark Epoch has passed; now the radiant is upon us all.

Now picture a captain, cradled in the shadows of his quarters; he has a hat of course, a hat of fine leather, one adorned with strange feathers of the most extraordinary colors. He stands tall and stoic, propped against the arch of a doorframe, Broad shouldered coat adorned with gold doilies—military grade, buttoned up the front, it was too old to belong to his young face. The captain gazes out of this doorway with eyes lacking pupils—gentle lavender orbs perfectly lidded by long lashes, framed by skin the color of a cloud, white… too white. But exactly the color it’s meant to be. Then there is his ears, angled out, pointed slightly and thick with piercings—all of which lay nestled into long elegant locks of silvery hair. He is not human, a distant relative, forty-five hundred times removed perhaps—The Cloudkin Of Fomhaut Two, that’s all his species was that nightless day in hyper space.

Tis I; that lonesome captain in the feathered, tri-cornered hat. What you picture, I see. It’s amazing, the space between dimensions—long ago we settled on the false belief that it was a physical one, to be overcome by speed, a tweak to the Nuclear Lathes, simple, cheap. With Nuclear lathe’s being the primary warp engines of the era, Larger ships could suddenly go faster—so faster we went. Little did we know then, that the speed which was thus named Hyper-space was actually a place, a dimension all it’s own. The fourth cursed plane we call it now. To go there your vessel had to be the best, and your crew… well they had to be legendary.

So on this nightless day, nocturnal as my species was, I cowered within the shadows, turning as the door closed behind me; I was not so alone though as one might suppose. Picture a flower now, one that only blooms in darkness, examine it’s corolla—the deepest purple, the most intricate patterns carved into stems—stems which bound pillars and Cloudkin temples in networks of web-like vines. Picture this captains cabin filled to the brim with these creatures, a hundred blooms angled in toward the gentle glow of Nanomallets, their artificial light carved across these flowers faces. Here, in the midsts of them I stood, my flawless features turned to gaze upon my only companions. We are alike in the sense that both the flowers and myself despise sunlight; perhaps this was the reason I tended to them, the Omnikin of Khor. See, alike as we were, when the cabin door creaked open behind me all hundred and one of us sank away into the depths of the room. Not even the white, feminine boots that sought to shield my feet dared cross the wall of lemon-colored light which had so suddenly divided my den.

What stood before me is not an easy thing to describe;

Tysal

I say simply, some dark, threatening quiver to my voice. Everyone knew never to open my cabin door without knocking, I despised the passing light of suns above the plane’s first vortex, I despised them with every molecule of my soul. Tysal… what a character though, picture a Pseudolodger from a planet only revered for it’s cruel ways—Vega Delta. A desolate, twisted rock nestled into the protective arms of the Socialist stars (a government so powerful, so corrupt they guard their sectors with class 9 Orbital Battlers—machines of death created for the soul purpose of destroying whatever tempts them.) We are against them, those who’s planets dwell within the governments reach. However, Tysal had once commanded a Socialist star ship known only for it’s victories. I needed him for the mere bragging points—Tysal, the name wrought fear in the eyes of children, in the eyes of god’s, and great generals alike. Even I feared him occasionally; as his six armed form, muscled and toned to perfection stepped silently through the wall of nauseating light—then the click of the door lock, the mechanisms pushing air from their innards. Tysal’s form stood out beautifully in the golden light, reptilian body rippling, thick scaled neck tilted slightly as a boney jaw catches in some demented smile.

Perhaps it was those teeth i feared most, fanged and shimmering, or the way his thick black tail slid behind him in a way most reminiscent of a snake.

Darkness Came Tysal’s voice; perfectly in Que with the manner in which the wall of light receded, then glanced sickeningly across the face of my favorite mirror, before the only thing that remained in terms of visual recognition was a set of six horrible turquoise globes glowing in the soft Nanomallet ambiance.

With the door now closed, I composed myself immediately, Lavender eyes alight with anger and some undeniable attraction. There, in a color so imbued with neutrality, upside down emotion slid away undisturbed—there lay some horrible… unreachable mystery. I could never have it, and that alone is the reason that I allowed the Pseudolodger in my company. You see, my people, we are a simple race; entirely without gender. We are equal, each and every one of us, old or young. We keep away from relationships as well, for we have our minds, love is complicated, messy… and yes, Perhaps this is why we are a lonely race, sexual attractions arising solely from our inability to admit defeat; our inability to be deemed as anything but superior. Thus if there was some subtle air of lust casually threading through