Page 22 of Spectral Seas (Spectral Worlds #2)
T HE GLYPH TO the side of the Indicus Plane gate switched from red to green, then the door slid open to reveal three of the mysterious indigo robed monks already waiting at the back of the glass lift, their cowled hoods hiding their bowed heads.
“ Our welcoming party ,” chipped Leta.
“ I’m surprised they came this far ,” said Abby, then stepped in and to the side. Leta and Soren entered next, followed by Uhggwa and his two elite guards in their atmospheric hazmat suits.
When the gate closed behind them, all remained silent and the small glass elevator, to Abby anyway, took on a surreal quality. To his left stood the three hooded monks, to his right, three helmeted Viridians, and across the lift, the Umbra—Soren and Leta.
Soren was dressed in all black and his eyes were closed. Abby assumed that, since the shift from the planar neutral center of the Bubble out to the Indicus plane didn’t have much effect on the Umbra physiology, he was simply in a state of self-meditation. It seemed to be how he spent most of his time, most likely, Abby thought, to deal with his hypersensitive sense of smell. Leta, on the other hand, was focused back on Abby. He rocked back on his heels, and let a wide grin spread across his face. Without moving his head, he darted his eyes from left to right, then left to right again. Then chin-chipped, “Awkward.”
Leta’s face tightened in a way that assured him she was holding back a smile of her own. Her face relaxed quickly, though, as she successfully composed herself and in her predictable, sober manner, changed the topic. “I wasn’t sure you were going to convince Uhggwa to leave the other two guards behind,” she silently said.
“Call it luck,” he said. “You seem to be in a good mood.”
She subtly shrugged. “Less the suit.”
“Mmm,” he said. “ I bet that… ”
His words stopped but in his mind, the thought continued. A ramble of how funny it was that Leta was uncomfortable in the heavy hazmat suit, but happy in her uniform, and how much happier he was to be dressed in his street clothes, his white mandarin collared shirt, his long dark coat, how just plain happy he was in general. Happy. Just happy. He continued to drift, unable to process anything more than the euphoric effect of the planar shift. The glass lift was in motion and as it traversed through the onion layers of the interplanar Bubble, the specialized nanites swimming in his brain helped his mortal form cope with the planar transition by triggering the release of the tryptamine derivative, dimethyltryptamine—DMT. There was a light rush of blood in his frontal lobe as a billion simultaneous diatomic quantum flops engaged, flooding his forehead with a heavy dose. His muscles flexed taut as the familiar quiver raked back across his scalp, trickled down his spine, then spread throughout his extremities in a series of micro-spasms. His fingers and toes tingled as the chemical took hold. Leta faded from view as the compromised connection between his watering eyes and his brain swapped focus from her to the multi-colored kaleidoscope swirl beyond the glass. A silly grin set onto his face as the swirl morphed into an unraveling fractal mosaic of sharp yellow and orange hues. The rapidly spinning funnel of color cycled toward the glass, a long undulating tube that gradually blended to a bright fuchsia, then darkened to a deep indigo blue. The tingling throughout his body gave way to a further euphoria, a lightness of being, as the soft creamy wall of the indigo tunnel settled to a smoky vapor.
“Abby,” Leta said aloud.
His attention snapped back to the interior of the glass lift.
They’d come to a rest.
He shot Leta a guilty half smile.
She tilted her head to the side, as if to look through him. “Are you all right?” she chipped.
Abby raised his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. “Harrumph,” he said. “We’re good to go.”
But as the gate behind the three monks opened to the dark Indici night, Abby had his doubts. He was drifting further with each incident, more easily and without any control.
~*~