Gemini Ecliptic : : Chapter 11
We bring with us the greatest burdens of our combined history. Had the mistakes of our forebears been any more disastrous, none of us would have survived to learn from them. Foremost to all of us, we mourn for the destruction of Earth’s precious and fragile ecology. But I urge you to also keep close to your hearts and minds the failure of the structures of governance and power that brought us to that precipice. Lust and greed transformed the vital, supple organism of government into the lethal, ossified rictus that nearly destroyed us all. As we vigilantly protect our new home, let us be as circumspect against the calcification of sovereignty.
- Excerpt of Consul Executus Guy Carlton’s First Inaugural Speech, from the Republican Archives 9 AT
The storm had cleared, and the satellite imagery of the epicenter of the blast extinguished whatever hopes Jeff, Misha, Sasha and Jager had held on to. Everything within a three mile radius of the explosion was, as predicted, glass. The radiation wreaked havoc on the sensors, creating far too much interference to get any kind of reading below the surface.
“If we had imperv suits, you could walk safely around the area,” Kostral offered. “But what you want to find is buried, and the temperature of the epicenter and the free radical content indicate it will be some months before the site is safe enough to excavate. Right now, even with handheld scanners, the energy residue would prevent them for reading anything else. I’m very sorry. I know this is a devastating loss.” He left them alone in the con, dismissing the other staff out of respect for their grief.
“It’s better this way.” Misha said softly. “Together. They went together. I can’t think of anything crueler for either of them than for only one to survive.”
“But the war is lost!” Sasha exclaimed. “Our only hope of beating the silicates was murdered and by our own kind.” Tears ran down her face.
“No, not lost,” Jeffrey said. “They gave us tools that might make the difference. Their new deflector array will save untold lives. They proved the Gemini Defense was possible as well. If we loved them, if we honor them, we will push forward and use what they gave us.”
“And what of those who did this to them?” Jager demanded hotly.
“Do not forget that I am still Justicar Psionica,” Jeff countered; his tone dark and dangerous. “I will use every resource at my disposal, every tactic at my command and I will not rest until these murderers are brought to justice. This was a declaration of war upon our own people. I will treat it as such.
“There isn’t anything else we can do here. You need to get back to the Academy. You have the burden of trying to put those young people back together again. A Squadron must somehow continue. It’s Jensen and Jared’s legacy. I will return to Celestus. ConEx and the Praetor need to be informed of what has happened.”
“What about the families?” Sasha asked.
“I will contact them as soon as I convene with Tomis and Hollis. We can’t keep this a secret from the worlds for long,” he answered. “In the mean time, you need to keep your eyes and ears open. Someone betrayed us. I don’t know who or how, but there is no other explanation.”
“Leave that to me,” Misha said. His eyes had grown cold, hard and vicious. As deeply as he hated to see this change in his friend, Jeff had no doubt that if anyone could ferret out the traitor, Misha could do it.
They rose to their feet, walking silently to the teleporter. They would return here in a few months, to gather the remains of their beloved friends, to inter them with the honor and respect they deserved. Misha’s foot faltered as he took the step up to the platform. On the other side, when he would materialize at the Academy, he would be walking into a world without Jensen and Jared. It was not a world in which he wanted to live, but for now, he had work to do out of love and devotion to two extraordinary young men. After would come after. Only then could he find the release he so desperately wanted.
Somehow, though he could neither remember the journey or how he had the strength for it, Jeff walked into his suite of offices at the pinnacle of Psi Min Tower. Cindy took one look at his wan countenance and decided to only give him his most urgent messages, and save the rest for later.
"Sir," she said gently, "Pontifex Maximus Tolliver has called after you several times. He says it is not urgent, but I thought you should know."
"Thank you," came the rough, nearly whispered reply. "Please contact ConEx and Preator Primus. I need to see them here immediately. The urgency cannot be overstated."
She nodded her understanding, her alarm growing by the moment and watched the normally tall proud figure of the Justicar Psionica, hunch-shouldered, walk slowly into his inner office as though each step cost him a great personal price.
The door sealed shut; Jeff walked to his desk and sat down heavily. Misha had insisted that he would break the news to Samantha and the remainder of A Squadron. He urged Jeffrey to share this burden, to take care of what had to be done officially and let he and Jager and Sasha handle things at the Academy. He had gratefully accepted, knowing the coming few days would only further wear him down.
He did not know how long he sat there, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes later when his two friends entered. He gestured for them to sit, and they both paled at his haggard complexion. Once they were seated, he knew no other way to do this than straight ahead.
"Gemini are dead," he said. "Two days ago, the fighter that Jared was co-piloting was destroyed by an explosive device. He, Alona Tal, their pilots, Sebastian Roche and Nicole Aycox were presumed dead." He continued the tragic tale to its completion, the image of the great heroes of the Republic, humanity's great hope, buried under meters of radioactive glass.
Both Hollis and Tomis looked like they would be sick. He gave them the time they needed to absorb all he had told them.
"One of our people did this?" Hollis asked.
"If you are asking if this was silicate caused, the answer is no," Jeff said. "This was an act of murder committed by humans. It takes no feat of logic to figure out these were the same people responsible for the incident at the Basilica. Right now, I know there is a traitor within my ranks, and the list is short. Only the pilots, the copilots, myself and Optia Ferris knew of the exercises that day and the locations. I have to suss out this person, hopefully not persons, and when I do, I will rend every last molecule of information from him."
"So, this is it,” the Praetor said. "Our hope snuffed out. The doom of humanity is upon us.”
"I just don't know, Hollis,” Jeff answered honestly. "Gemini gave us things that might turn the tide of the war. I've kept you both apprised of them, and it was the final testing of the Gemini Defense that brought this devastation on our heads. I can't dishonor them by giving up now."
"No, you are right," Tomis replied," but keeping hope alive for the rest of the Republic in the face of this disaster will be no easy task."
"No, it won't," Hollis added. "We will have to hold Conclave. Alert the other Primes as to what has happened. I would like to have a plan in place to present to them before hand. We will have no more than a day after that before a General Conclave must be held, and at that point, we have to announce it to the worlds."
"Their families have not been contacted," Morgan said. "I held out, desperate to believe we would return with Jared. Now, they must be told."
"Is it time to unleash the full power of our offices against those who perpetrated this crime?" Tomis asked, hotly.
"I don't even know anymore," Jeff said tiredly. "Before, I wanted to keep the boys safe, to unearth everything these conspirators had planned. Right now, I am facing about the worst possible week I can imagine. Somehow, I have to get through it. You want to unleash the hounds, by all means do it. I’ll head up the investigation after…after." His voice trailed off into a whisper, his shoulders sagging.
Tomis and Hollis exchanged deeply concerned expressions. In their years of working with Jeffrey, they had seen many sides of the man, but they had never seen him defeated. Somehow, someway, they had to shore him up, get him tentatively back on his feet before Conclave. The problem was, they had no idea how to do that. The trio sat in painful silence until the chime on the Justicar's com alerted
"Yes," he answered.
Cindy's voice replied, "Sir, the Pontifex is here. I know you are in a meeting, but I wanted to check with you before I sent him away."
Jeff looked at his friends, and they gave him the go ahead. "Please show Sryon in, Cindy."
The Pontifex Maximus, formerly the Pontifex Bello, held the highest scholarly position in the Republic. The curation of history fell to the pontifices, and they took it as seriously as a priesthood. Sryon looked old for his two-hundred plus years. To Jeff's eyes, he had aged considerably since their last meeting. His hair had gone almost completely gray, unheard of when the average citizen stopped aging at about 30. Theoretically, humans should live forever, but while their bodies may have been released from the aging process, their minds had not. The average life expectancy in the Republic hovered around 450 years. Sryon did not look like he would live to see the next year. His eyes were blue-gray, bright, keen and discerning. They gave glimpse of the powerful mind of the man. He looked somewhat shocked at the presence of such an influential audience, but it was the look on his old friend and pupil's face that alarmed him.
"Jeffrey," he said fondly, gently. They two men moved to embrace. Greetings were exchanged between all and when the older man finally took his seat, Jeff began to fill him in on everything that had happened. Then Sryon did something that Jeff had never imagined he would do. He cried.
"Oh I am so very sorry," he said. "Both for the magnitude of your loss but also my blubbering. Pardon an old man, would you? I had come here, actually I’d been pestering that young adjutant of yours for two days because I wanted to see you specifically about Gemini."
"What did you want, Sry?" Jeff asked.
"I had been refreshing my memory on some of the early Republican histories. First and second century texts, to be precise and I came across something I had not noticed before. During that exceedingly difficult time, two individuals, one male and one female, rose to tremendous influence. The two, though not linked romantically as far as I can tell, served as the de facto rulers of the Republic while the worlds were colonized and the formal trappings of government and society congealed. I can find nothing in any record that offers anything but effusive praise for them. They served the people of the worlds valiantly and at great personal cost. They were given the title Archon."
"Archon is a last name," Jeff replied. "One of my men has that surname."
"Oh yes, but it was not a surname before that time. No census records indicate the name in use prior to them. I think you will find that your Jager is a direct descendant. The remarkable thing about this position is that it was more than an honorarium. It gave them extraordinary administrative powers. You know, the fledgling Republican government at that time had not been as thoroughly organized as ours, but much was the same, then and now. It appears that a unanimous decision by the prime leaders conferred the title. It really is not a wonder to find such a thing. I have no doubt the Archons were extremely valuable for the time and needs then. The people needed decisive leadership from individuals they could trust completely. The pair gave just that and they remain the only Archons on record."
"So what did this have to do with Gemini?" Hollis asked.
"Oh, you see, I recall when several of you were grappling with what honors and rank to bestow upon them after their extraordinary deeds," Sryon replied in his rambling fashion. "I had intended to bring this bit of history to all of you. I wished to propose that such a move might suit all of our purposes. This war has taken so much from all of us, and those boys gave us all hope. I had wanted to see the title Archon conferred upon them.
“Firstly, for practical reasons, given no one actually understood their abilities, a commanding officer designation seemed a bit foolish, and their character had been thoroughly validated by their deeds. The black card status helped to a degree with that, but we all agreed that when they formally entered service, issues of command and other details would likely prove problematic. The title would not have released them from the command structure completely, but would have given them latitude to do precisely what it was that only they could do. It seemed at that moment, such a tidy solution. I don’t know that I can quite grasp that it is no longer an issue.
“But I suppose more than anything, I wanted to see them lifted up before the worlds, that title of old speaking of extraordinary figures guiding the way, restoring hope to those who had lost it. I know it is a wildly romantic and old-fashioned notion, but truly, but just by being who they are; they helped all of us so very much. Young, handsome, charismatic. Powerful. This sad news I fear will hit everyone hard. Our hope was already so very fragile. I don’t know that it will survive this blow.”
Jeff smiled kindly. "It was a lovely thought Sryon. I wish nothing more fervently that we could have honored the boys that way.”
Sryon patted his friend's hand, offering what little comfort he could.
"And what says that we can't?" Hollis asked his voice far away and thoughtful. "We need to do something, take some great stride to keep humanity from growing completely dispirited. You said that the boys left behind things that might help us. Well, then our job is twofold: we must do all within our power to transform a debilitating state of mourning into an inspirational celebration of two phenomenal men. And we need to rally humanity to the cause."
"Even as their very last act, Gemini could give us that," Tomis said softly. "The heroic figures. The inspiration to move forward, to meet our foes. We could posthumously give them rank as Archons. Create in them a rallying point for all humanity."
"It is a most lovely gesture," Jeff said. "And no two deserve it more, but I don't want them turned into martyrs."
"No Jeffrey, they can't be martyrs." Sryon gently corrected him. "For revenge is not the motivation here. For them to be martyrs, we would have to turn anger, betrayal and hatred inward, seeking out the villains among us who did these unspeakable acts. No, they will not be martyrs. They will be icons."
Optia Samantha Ferris, Mistress of Disciplines to the Academy Psionica, sat in a large, soft chair that was perched before a massive window in her quarters. One of the perks of her position was these rooms, some seven floors above the campus grounds. From here, on more occasions than she could recall, she had watched, enthralled, as Lyrea revealed her alpine splendor. The magnificent view often restored her, helping her overcome the trials and tribulations that came with being steward over thousands of young people as they came to grips with their remarkable powers and, usually more difficultly, who they were as individuals. Today, she found no respite.
The cup of tea in her hand had long since grown cold.
When Misha, Sasha and Jager came to the temporary quarters where the remainder of A Squadron had settled, she knew immediately the worst had happened. Jeffrey wasn’t with them, but more importantly, neither was Jensen. Three pairs of eyes, hollowed out by despair and trauma offered her all the answers she needed.
The boys would not be coming back to the Academy. Not now, not ever.
It was just too much. Five people had been killed, no murdered, and by their own kind. She still remembered Sebastian and Nicki from their time at the Academy. Long ago she had made a type of peace with herself, with her role and lot. When the Adepts graduated from her care they would be sent to the war. She knew that. To the best of her ability she had accepted it. These young men and women would offer the only hope for all of mankind. Too many of them would not survive, but those concerns happened after they had been entrusted to the care of others.
Alona, Jensen and Jared had died while under her guardianship. She knew she felt more for them than she should. Especially towards the boys. No matter what mountains life kept dropping on them, they struggled and finally stood up under the weight. They evoked her strongest protector impulses. She didn’t even try to deny or mitigate those feelings. They needed everyone they could possibly get to be truly, unconditionally on their side. She gladly took that on.
But now, the Optia had work to do. She had young people hurting more than any group she had ever seen at the school. She needed to help them find a way to put the pieces of their lives back together. Frankly, she had no idea how to do that for herself. Jeffrey had gone on to the capital, no doubt to set the machinery of government in motion. No one within the Republic would be unaffected by this. The announcement would come soon, and she needed to begin to prepare for the fallout when the student body found out that three of their own had been murdered.
Nothing had ever prepared her for this. Somehow, someway, she needed to figure this out and get to work.
She did not move from her chair.
Tom feared for his ribs. Erica held him so tightly and her fists were clenching the fabric of his uniform to the point he wondered if the material would ever lay flat again. In truth, he didn't mind any of it one bit. He could not express his gratitude to her. She had given him something much less painful and agonizing to focus on than his own grief. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, placing gentle kisses and murmuring comforting sounds into the mass of brunette waves.
The moment he had seen Misha's face, he knew. Of anything to be even remotely thankful in this whole catastrophe, he strangely took comfort in the fact that his beloved best friends had met their ends together. The thought of Jensen entombed in that damnable stasis chamber for the rest of his life had made him ill. It would be worse than death for Jensen and for the rest of them. That did not however, truly assuage the pain of the loss. Their absence ached like a sucking void in his chest. He would never see Jared throw his head back as that barking laughter of his echoed around a room. He would never see the extraordinary love shine in Jensen's bright green eyes when he looked upon his beloved. Now, these details, little moments smattered throughout their times together, came to him in startling clarity. In one regard, he was so very glad of it. He cataloged them, feverishly committing it all to memory. Because he would never have the chance to see them again.
Erica's breathing had sped up from the gentle rise and fall of her slumber. The tears had started again. They had so much to be thankful to their lost friends for, not the least of which was finding each other. He knew Erica now hurt for the loss of things she would never again share with them, of things hoped for from which they would be achingly absent. They had talked in some detail about marriage. Tom knew she was it for him. He would never find another, and he knew she felt it too. They wanted a traditional ceremony, one of those gloriously old-fashioned ones from the ancient traditions of Terra. They wanted Jensen and Jared to stand at their sides in places of honor to witness their joining. It made a lovely picture, one even Tom had gotten excited over. They had stored it away, safe in their hearts for the day they all left Academy and could officially announce their intentions.
The picture would forever remain safely guarded there, because it had no chance of becoming a reality.
He had to think on other things. He had to focus on Erica. If he dwelt too long on the never-will-bes he would lose himself in his anguish. Erica had suffered enough. He held tight to her, to his control, and to being in this moment.
For now, it was all they had.
For as long as she could remember, Nazomi had known that of the two of them, her brother was by far the more emotional. He had always felt things more deeply, more keenly than she. Their father often delighted in the difference, stating the long and proud heritage of their family, of the passionate men. Raidon clearly carried on the tradition. It had not surprised her in the least that her brother would find love first. She had always expected such. She endured constant insults about being cold or frigid, but gentle Raidon knew better, flaring up in rage at those who spoke of something they knew nothing of. Yes, he was always her valiant defender. It could only be fitting that love come to him first.
She had watched the developing affection between him and Alona proudly. Alona was a fine match for Raidon's bright, if not mercurial, temperament. She somehow managed to balance him without diminishing that glorious spark his passions gave him. Nazomi had whole-heartedly approved of the match. She waited with almost as much anticipation as her brother for the end of this term. Alona would return to their family home to be introduced to their parents. Their father would instantly approve, him being like his son. Mother would be more hesitant, but in this, she would turn to Nazomi for guidance.
Now, all of Raidon’s plans and dreams had died in that damned canyon along with his love. She never considered herself to be empathic, but she felt his agony as though it were her own. They had curled up together on a small sofa in their temporary quarters and she held him, fingers carding through his thick, straight, black hair. It reminded her forcefully of so many times in their childhood when he would seek her out for comfort. From nightmares, bullies or from Mother's rebuke. Those problems always dissolved away into nothing as the twins held on to each other.
But not this time. This loss would leave him scarred. She knew he would be less. He would smile less, laugh less and love less. He had lost his love, and part of the vibrancy that made him who he was. She had lost a good friend, a future sister and a part of her brother that she had always cherished and guarded.
And they had lost Jensen and Jared. It surprised her how well Raidon held together in the face of it all, but his strength matched her own. She knew that they would in time, move on from this. Now was not that time.
Sasha and Jager sat propped up against each other in the Uncommon Room. As far as they knew, no others had been back here since the canyon. This place with its warmth and comfort radiated so many of the things that were Jensen and Jared. Sasha knew that Jager suffered acutely. She knew that words spoken nearly a year ago haunted him. Somehow, in that mind of his, he had taken on guilt for their deaths because of his call to the Justicar to end their lives before they became too dangerous. Sadly, she could do nothing to help him in this. He would have to find his own way free of his guilt. All she could do was be there to support him, to guide him and to pick him up when he stumbled.
She knew he would do the same for her. Her thoughts returned to the chaotic state they now assumed when she didn't focus on someone or something. The magnitude of this loss hit her from all sides. They had been her charges and she their protector. She had failed them in that. They had been hope when she had all but given up. The constant struggle not to collapse into despair pulled at her incessantly. She knew that the legacy of Jensen and Jared might turn the tide. The things they left behind might be enough. It was only a glimmer, but it was there. But the bleakness of her grief, the loss of two young men she deeply cared for and respected, the blackness engulfed the little spark of hope.
It would take all of them to get through this and to mourn. She also knew it would take all of them to watch over that spark and foster it to become a flame. It would have to be enough. None of them had a choice.
Tears fell down her cheeks and the idea of carrying on was a cold knife in her heart. She wanted to swat the tears away, to curse her weakness. A gentle finger wiped one away and she looked up, lifting her own finger to wipe away Jager's tears.
The dark curtain of Chris' long hair surrounded Mike's face. Chris would swoop down to kiss him, a ravishing almost violent motion that matched the furor of his lover's hips as he drove himself harder and harder into Mike's prone body. He never passed up an opportunity for sex with the medic. Chris was every bit as fiery and all consuming as he knew he would be. Part of Mike wanted to stop this. To just gather the shorter man into his arms, giving him permission and sanctuary to fall apart, but he knew Chris would resent that. Right now they both needed, more than anything, to feel alive. To feel each other and know they both lived. Jensen could just have easily switched with Chris instead of Alona. Mike could be left alone in his grief and that gave him a pang of guilt. He certainly wasn't glad Alona was dead instead of Chris, but still. The thought of going through this without him would make it so much worse.
They didn't talk about Jared and Jensen. They didn't talk about what would happen next or what the next steps might be. Saying it would make it more real than either of them could handle right now.
No this, this rough, burning, wild joining was what they both needed. The official announcement would come in the next few days. Then, then they could start to deal. Right now, they just needed each other.
Chris' orgasm rocked through Mike's body, pushing him over the edge with his lover. Chris had never been quiet during sex, but tonight his yell left Mike's ears ringing. They both glistened with sweat, breathing hard, Chris looking wild-eyed and gasping for air. The gasps began to slow and then before Mike knew it, the gasps turned to sobs. The shorter man just collapsed on top of Mike and he instinctively wrapped his arms around him, holding him close.
He didn't offer platitudes. He didn't offer words of any kind. He just held on. Words would come later.
Misha sat unmoving, his legs and feet twisted up in the ancient lotus position This crystalline room where he had spent so many hours with the boys, teaching them and learning from them. He had used this room to find peace and centeredness since his days at the Academy. Truthfully, that room had been destroyed with the first spire. No this was truly Jensen and Jared's room, and tonight, peace and his center would not be found. He wasn't even seeking either end. The best he could hope for would be a diminishing of pain and to find strength to make it through another day.
Strong emotions to Misha were simply a part of everyday life. He had learned in this institution how to deal with them, mitigate them and block them out of necessity. Years of training, years of trials and years of experience failed utterly in the face of this. He knew he had gotten in too deep. He had invested far too much emotionally in those two. The warning signs were everywhere. His attitude toward the Justicar and his responses to every peril they faced. Somehow, the idea of losing them just never entered his mind. There had always been this belief, unvoiced and unquestioned, that somehow, someway, those two would always pull through.
But they hadn't and Misha was falling apart. Years ago, the violent waves of emotion, some his own, but mostly from others, had driven him to consider suicide once before. He had wisely sought help from his instructors and they had immediately sprung into action to help alleviate his pain. But this, this was different. The pain was entirely his own. He couldn't begin to function without full blocks in place. One trace of the agony of the others would be his undoing.
So here he sat, in a place redolent with memories of his loss and failure, seeking what would not come.
"Enough!" he shouted into the silence, violently pushing away all thought and feeling. In the brief internal silence that followed, he heard it.
The music. Oh how easily he could slip into it, losing himself completely, never surfacing and never wanting to surface. He latched onto it with a ferocity that almost surprised him. Yes, that blessed calm, that glorious elation. It tasted like sweet, cold water in the depths of a desert. He wanted. Yes, he wanted to just let go, plunge in and never come back up but even though he tried, he couldn't.
Something pushed him back. It certainly wasn't himself. It was like the music wouldn't let him. He puzzled at it, examined it closely and he had no idea how long it took him, but there, in the song, he felt them. How he knew it was his boys he had not a clue, but with every fiber of his being he knew.
They lived if only in that song. It was enough.
The day of Conclave, for Jeffrey, would be agonizing. Before the private meeting of the prime leaders of the Republic, he had to meet with the families of the victims. First, he met with the Roches and Aycoxes separately. He did his best to assure them that their loved ones had served with honor and dignity; their sacrifice would not be forgotten. The Tals had to be sedated after he told them that their lovely, young daughter was gone. Their complete shock he expected. The pilots had been in active service for several years. Their families lived with the daily fear for their loved ones. It certainly didn’t diminish their suffering or loss, but they were not as completely blindsided as Alona’s poor parents. When they had been entrusted to medical care and supervision, his office sat empty and quiet.
He supposed, in that moment, he understood how Sryon could look so much older than his years. Jeffrey was not a proud or vain man. He had never wanted anything more than to be a scholar, his dream of being the first to record the fascinating history of his kind, of the Adepts, now but a fleeting memory. He became a warrior, worse than that, a general. The function of his office now solely dealt with training up talented promising men and women and sending them into battle. He knew the stakes. He knew the alternatives, and sadly, no one could do the job better. He did it. It was his duty, and to do it, he had put aside his own desires, goals and ambitions.
Once, longer ago than he could really clearly remember, he had thought it would be lovely to have a wife and a family. He hadn’t really understood until he prepared himself for the next few hours that he had surrendered that dream. The emotional entanglements required were something he simply could not afford. He still had nightmares from the first battles he saw, remembered vividly the details of the assault, the lives lost. His duty required him to consign so many people to their deaths, but for his own sanity’s sake, he could not allow his heart to feel it. Any of it.
But somewhere in the past year, two young men refused to be held at bay by the fortress walls he had so carefully erected. Hell, they refused to acknowledge they even existed.
But sitting down with the Ackles and the Padaleckis nearly did him in. Misha, Jager and Sasha had asked to be present, and he was thankful to them for that. When Donna and Sheri entered, it was clear they had been crying for some time. Their husbands looked ashen and frail. The children of both families entered together, as a unit, clinging to each other for support. It held no surprise to Jeff that the mothers would never break physical contact with each other, and they didn't for the entire meeting.
"I am," Jeff's voice broke. "I am so sorry." He got no further when his grief, suppressed for days overcame him. He had been forced to tell far too many families of the deaths of their brothers, sisters, sons and daughters, but today, he had no strength left.
With open arms, they brought him close, sharing the intimacy of their grief. No blame, no recriminations against him or his office or his people. This group simply embraced them all, for all had loved the boys dearly. This loss was too great for any one of them to carry. Without words, the three groups, three different families in a way, merged into one, and gave release to their heartbreak, their pain and their suffocating loss. As one family, they wept for their boys.
Jeff was the last official to join the Conclave. One look at the man, with his gray complexion, bruised, reddened eyes and no one spoke a word. The large, round table sat precisely in the center of a chamber of the Basilica that was rarely used. The outer walls formed the outmost of a set of concentric circles from the dome to the chandelier, to the wood inlay on the table’s glasslike surface. The venue, the only one used for Conclave, reinforced in every detail a leveling of privilege and position. In Conclave, all had equal power and voice.
The attendees were the five Justicars, three Consuls, two Praetors, the Princeps Major and Minor, and they sat in their assigned positions. Not one of them permitted to sit beside others of their own administrations. The Pontifex Maximus represented his order and would record the events of the meeting for posterity. Conclave only met during times of great crisis or to appoint replacements to key government positions, and those who attended by mandate were known as the Prime Leaders of the Republic, or the Primes. The meetings were few, highly confidential and the agendas never revealed beforehand. Any Prime could call a Conclave but the privilege had never been abused. Thus a summons to one had for millennia been determined as the highest priority. After matters had been dealt with to the Primes’ satisfaction, the Pontifex Maximus would call a General Conclave, the assembly of all key elected and appointed leaders. He would then report all that had transpired in Conclave, not only to the leaders present, but to the worlds via broadcast. By law, he had no longer than 72 hours to hold the General Assembly.
As the gathered leaders waited, Jeffrey summoned whatever remaining strength he had and addressed the group. “It is, with most profound sadness that I must inform this honored assembly that Centurions Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki have been killed. Gemini is no more.”
He looked down at his hands, trying to control his emotions, too tired, too wrung out to look up. It wasn't until Hollis took over for him that he realized that the room was completely silent. He had expected anger, fear or some volatile emotional cocktail that would overwhelm them all. He looked around the table and saw shock, sadness, disbelief and something he had not expected aimed at him. Many eyes remained on him, but none held anything more than sympathy or respect. Most of the eyes were filled with tears. He wanted to catalog each face, each expression. He knew that in this room at least one person had been complicit in the death of his beloved boys. Either the conspirators were far better actors than he could discern, or the empathic tampering had been so complete, they didn’t know of their own guilt. He was simply too worn out to tell.
“This news brings with it unspeakable sorrow and no small portion of fear,” Hollis stated softly, his voice heavy with emotion. “The full details of this event are not yet known, but we can say to a certainty, that these young men were murdered by fellow citizens of this Republic.”
The resulting outrage tossed the meeting into chaos. It was only the stentorian bellowing of the Praetor Primus that restored order. “An investigation of a scope and scrupulousness not seen in centuries by this government has been launched. Normally, the Justicar Psionica would head such an inquiry, but this heinous crime has so deeply injured the person of the Justicar that, at his request, the Consul Executus will spearhead the probe. I am certain no one will object to this course of action.”
Tomis smoothly took over. “We are all acutely aware of the colossal burden for our Republic that the Justicar Psionica and all Adepts bear. That such a heinous act could be committed against not only men in the full blush of their youth, but who had repeatedly demonstrated ability beyond reckoning and single-handedly returned hope to us all in our hour of darkest despair. That our own species, on the brink of extinction, could do such a thing inflicts all of our souls with an anguish I personally cannot begin to express. I possess not the capacity to even begin to understand the betrayal and distress Jeffrey must feel. We the Primes, must endeavor with all our strength to support him and Adepts everywhere and to bring the guilty parties to justice.”
Cries of affirmation echoed off the stone walls. Tomis gestured for all to calm so that he might continue.
“The full resources of ConEx will be brought to bear on this onerous task. I now know that all resources the Primes may contribute to our effort can be counted upon in a time of our need. However, as deeply as our desires for retribution may go, we face an even more difficult task.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping around the table, awaiting a moment in which one of the other leaders would arrive at his implied conclusion. Unsurprisingly, the Justicar Ingenium, Julian Richings, spoke first.
“Assuredly, the moment this tragic news becomes public, our people, all people, will lose heart, much as we have,” he said in his precise, sagacious manner of expression. “The light of our hope has been extinguished, and by one of our own, no less.”
“Then we should not announce their deaths.” The deep voice of the Consul Juris, Mitch Pileggi reverberated in the ensuing silence.
“This is not a secret that will be kept,” Richings countered. “However expedient we feel secrecy may be; it is not practical. I assume that this Conclave has been convened precisely because of this. I also assume that our esteemed colleagues have a tentative plan they wish to bring to our attention.”
“You are, as always, a most shrewd and insightful man, Julian,” Sryon answered. He spent the next half hour recounting the events that had led him to this moment and answering questions about the archaic office of Archon. Details from the ancient records as to the duties, powers and restrictions upon the ancient leaders appeared on the scrolls of all present. When the discussion at last died down, a voice that had not yet spoken quietly drew the attention of all.
“Jeffrey,” Consul Legate Kimberly Rhodes addressed her peer. “You have said nothing about this. What are your thoughts?”
“Kim, if this will help the Republic grieve, if it will prevent the complete loss of hope, I won’t oppose it. I feel this loss far too deeply and too personally to be of much use here. I understand the necessity of this discussion, but all I know is that two young men that I had grown to view as sons are gone. Taken from me. So long as whatever is decided here today brings honor to their memory, I will support it.”
Kim’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I understand, my friend. Part of me thinks all of this is an exploitation of a tragic situation, but I think you have the right of it. We bring honor to them, and by allowing the people of the worlds to also bring that honor, we give the best expression of our grief that we can.” She hastily wiped away unfallen tears. “I support this. Sryon has provided us what is likely the only way to salvage something out of an evil tragedy. But may it be known, I support it not for expedience. I support it for Jensen and Jared.”
In the end, the vote was unanimous. Jeffrey had requested to abstain, but kind and gentle reassurances from all present ultimately prevailed upon him to vote in support of the promotion. The call for General Conclave would go out for two days hence. Normally, the Assembly would meet on the next day, but the magnitude of the news the Primes must announce to their peers called for greater caution. The Primes, as always, would be sequestered in the Basilica and all contact with the outside world cut off until after the larger Assembly adjourned. They each had the option of calling their adjutants and assistants to them, but once they entered the Basilica, they too would stay isolated. The ConEx Sergeant at Arms delivered the requests for the adjutants and the summons to the General Conclave.
As the Primes somberly exited the chamber, Kim took Jeff’s arm in hers, and they walked silently to their temporary quarters.
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