The IX by Andrew P Weston Page A

he might burst, his senses shattered. Before he knew it, he found himself in open free fall.
    What . . . What the hell?
    Surprised by both the transformation and the abrupt cessation of pain, he tumbled out of control. Over and over he went, cart wheeling at an ever faster rate as his speed of descent increased. A thrill surged through him. Familiarity gained from thousands of hours in the air filled him with sudden confidence. This, I know how to do!
    Reining in his panic, Mac adjusted his position, managing to slow the spin sufficiently for him to lean into the dive. Seconds later, he was on the hill and accelerating to terminal velocity. Yeeeeeeehaaa!
    The sheer exhilaration of the experience temporarily wiped his dilemma from his mind. Arching his body to achieve the perfect stable position, he did his best to take stock. Where on earth am I?
    Using his hands and feet, Mac began a very slow spiral and surveyed his surroundings. Blue sky, as clear as a lens, and cotton-candy clouds stretched off in every direction. Although he appeared to be bathed in glorious sunshine, he couldn’t actually pinpoint the sun anywhere above him. When he looked down, Mac was also unable to see any sign of land. And that was a paradox. If I can’t see land, that means I’m so high I shouldn’t be able to breathe. I’d be on the edge of space. And I’d be freezing to death. But I’m not.
    Then he noticed he wasn’t wearing a parachute.
    He accepted the situation stoically. Okay! Actually, this helps. There’s no way it can be real. I was on an oil rig and a nuclear bomb had just gone off in my face.
    He glanced around the endless vista. So. I’m either dead or dying, and on my way to goodness knows where, or I somehow survived and am in a hospital. Whether in a coma, on drugs, or a combination of the two, I don’t know. But this isn’t real. So what —
    “An excellent deduction, Alan,” a voice out of nowhere announced. “Or would you prefer Mac?”
    A shadow flashed past and before he knew it, Mac was buddies with an unknown, fellow skydiver. Someone, he noted, who also wasn’t wearing any equipment. Nor, if he was seeing things right, did he appear to be entirely human.
    Mac suppressed a snort. Looks like I’m suffering from severe head injuries, too. Where am I getting this stuff from?
    “Oh, you’re not suffering from hallucinations, if that’s what you’re worried about,” his mystery companion said as he maneuvered closer, “but, as you have correctly surmised, neither are your current surroundings authentic. They are, in fact, a fabrication. Think of them as a lucid dream-like reality, through which we can communicate safely.”
    “Okaaay,” Mac replied. “Say I buy what you’re selling. Who are you? What is this place and why am I here?”
    “A man who likes to get straight to the point,” the stranger countered, with a smile. “Very well, this may save a lot of time in the long run. My name is Psi Calen. Just call me Calen. Like you, I’m not really here. I am part of a very sophisticated AI program left behind by the residents of the planet you now find yourself marooned on. And yes, before you ask, you really are on an entirely different world than Earth. A fact that will be proven to you very shortly.
    “My image belongs to one of the leading scientists of the people who once populated this place. Through him, we hope to explain why it was so necessary to bring you here against your will.”
    “Seriously?”
    “Seriously, my good friend. Here, let me demonstrate.”
    Calen waved his hand, and they both began to rapidly decelerate. Coming to a halt in midair, the avatar pointed to one side. “Observe. Thankfully, you come from a time period sufficiently advanced for you to grasp many of the concepts you are about to see.”
    The air rippled in front of them, and Mac found himself peering down on a vast chamber. Although the lighting within it was subdued, illumination was provided by a large