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32
It wasn't like floating in water. It was weightlessness. When you're floating, you can still feel the tug of acceleration from gravity. You are still engaged in a struggle of forces. Weightlessness, the complete lack of gravity, was more lost. The universe does not notice you. The universe does not care.
"Do you know who I am?"
I heard the voice from behind me and froze. "Yes," I said. I steeled my nerves and closed my eyes, coming to sharp awareness.
"And I know you, Simon Francis Sayer."
I found the center of my being and, as my father had taught me, I drew in around the cold, dark blade. I began to push it out from my center toward my chest. I drew my hands to my sternum at the ready.
"Won't you turn and face me, Simon?" the voice chided. "Look into my eyes."
"If I see you, I must slay you."
The voice laughed derisively. "Oh, that you could," it said, "but there is no rest for me."
I felt the strange pressure on my skin as the dark matter pushed through. I flexed my right hand.
"Think, little man. This is no place for one like you. How can you be here? The universe will not let Humans run free."
At that I stopped. The voice was right. I could not be here. "This is a dream."
"As you wish," it said. "Look at me."
I was loathe to do so. "Tell me," I said. "Is this my dream, or yours."
"I have no dreams."
"It doesn't feel like my dream," I said.
"Won't you look at me? Won't you play my game?"
"No," I said. "I'm no pawn for your games."
"A pawn?" I could hear the smile in it's voice. "No, Simon. You are a knight."
"I am not YOUR knight," I said, pushing the blade back to my core.
"No, you are not," it replied. "You are my pawn."
"Never."
"Why, Simon?" the voice had moved. It was coming around to my right.
I tried to turn to my left, but I couldn't control my movements in the weightless void. I started to spin slowly and crookedly backwards, my feet coming up, or in a direction I had thought of as up. I moved my right arm, trying to stabilize myself, but it just changed my trajectory randomly. I was spinning slowly and moving away.
"Shall I catch you?" the voice asked teasingly.
"No," I gasped, beginning to feel nauseated. "Don't touch me."
"Fine," it said, coming closer. "Why, Simon?" It was approaching fast. I closed my eyes tightly. "Why do you hate me?" It was right in front of me, staying with me as I spun away.
"You know," I snarled, my teeth clenched. "You know what you did."
"I've done so many things," it said, less than an inch from my face. "Remind me."
"Hell," I said. "You sent us to Hell."
"I did no such thing," it said. "I was asked to collect and deliver two things. Rocks. I did that. I have never touched you."
"You knew!" I growled. "You knew what you were doing!" My stomach began to rumble and my head grew dizzy as I struggled for some sense of orientation.
"Perhaps," it said, "you should direct your anger against the motivator. I was just the means."
"We've enough anger to go around," I said.
"Yes, I suppose you do," it said. "Never mind that. It's over. I am here to explain the rules of my game."
"I'll have none of your games." I could feel nausea overcoming me.
"I'm not asking you to play, Simon," it said. "Do be still." As soon it said the words, I stopped.
"Thank you," I said, panting.
"Never mind that as well," it said. "I cannot abide a cheat."
"It's no concern of mine."
"Oh, but it touches your concern," it said. "Here is what I require from you..."
"I do nothing for you."
"Never mind that. I have one rule for you."
I said nothing.
"Thou shalt not kill."
"I do not serve your whim!" I spat at it.
"No? Open your eyes, Simon," the voice said, fading away.
I sat up with a start and scared Samantha's cat, which was sleeping at my feet. It bolted off into the kitchen, its claws skittering on the tile. It took me a second to remember where I was. I was sleeping on Sam's couch. Amy was in Sam's room with her. My heart was thumping away and I was out of breath.
"It was just a dream," I whispered. "Just a dream." I settled back into the pillow and stared at the ceiling. I could still hear the voice in my ears. I could still feel the lurching sickness of weightlessness in my stomach. "Not your whim," I whispered. The hateful name kept running over and over in my mind.
Demiurge.
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