The Sword of Stars: Chapter 9 (J2 AU NC-17, Fic)

[paleogymnast]

Read Text Version Here



Chapter 9:

When the hood closed over Jared’s head, and he was cruelly yanked away, taken out of sight, Jensen felt like something inside him had sapped. It had probably, no definitely been fraying for a while and pulling apart in earnest ever since he’d started to learn the truth-about history, about the Church, about Jared-about himself. The connection the knee-jerk loyalty he’d felt to the Zyretan Church and Brother Benedict and Father Peleggi was gone. He still believed-he had faith in the God and Goddess as beings that protected and looked out for the Zyretans, who guarded their souls. But the more he learned about what had once been, how Zyreta really was before the Fall, the less able he was to blame science or Scientists or anyone for what had happened. He realized his faith had always had that shape, character; it was why he’d somehow always felt or known that his parents were up there with the stars looking down on him, guarding him. It was easy when he realized the reasons he’d fought with himself, hated himself, felt unworthy, were all based on lies.

The Inisidiari Usupare were out there and they were approaching quickly. They would rain down terror upon Zyreta and all the Colonies just as they had tried to 300 years before and just as they had done to countless other worlds all over the galaxy. And he, Jensen, was the only one who could stop them. All those lives-more lives than he’d ever imagined existed-hanging in the balance. People were trying to evacuate, retreat to shelters, but they didn’t want to leave their lives behind. And there weren’t enough ships or shelter and there was nowhere to go. He tried to imagine that-people on different worlds, where colors didn’t hold the same meaning, all looking at the same suns, but from different angles.

It was like Jared had said-it’s kind of foolish when you think about it. The planets all orbit the suns, so we’re all outside their embrace, why should going to a different planet or exploring the star system even matter? We’re not even the closest planet. Okay, closest planet in the habitable zone, but there are two closer. When Jensen thought about it that way, the Church’s predictions, pronouncements, and decrees sounded so-false, hollow. If the God and Goddess were so good, if they loved humanity enough to ask souls to join them in the sky, if they smiled down… No, none of it made any sense! How did he hurt them by loving Jared? Why should his actions mean others would suffer for not stopping him? Why should anyone suffer because he loved someone?

Only-only now, even that wasn’t happening. Because Brother Benedict-not the God and Goddess, or even the High Priest and Priestess or the whole Council-had decided he’d make a better example as a Permanent Burgundy. Others might not suffer, but Jared would die… even though he was supposed to be from a higher caste? It made no sense. Because it was all lies and manipulation to hide the truth-a perversion of the original religion of Old Zyreta. Jensen didn’t even need to question his faith… what he truly believed in remained unchanged; if anything, it burned brighter and shinier within him as all the layers of falsehood were stripped away, allowing him to believe in himself and trust himself for the first time.

His worth wasn’t determined by the color of his clothes or the words printed on a scroll. Every person had worth, and he could show his by what he did.

Billions of people living were with science, not magic, living in worlds not ruled by color, not underground, and seeing the suns from a different perspective. All of them were in danger… so close… and Jensen had the power to stop it. Or die trying. And he would.

He barely felt Brother Benedict’s hands as they tugged him from the stretch of cobbled road just inside the Grace City Gate. Jensen certainly didn’t hear Brother Benedict’s words, although he knew from the tone they were full of condescension, spite, and hatred. He walked where they led him, not trying to run. They probably thought he was broken, obedient, cowed… let them believe. He knew what he had to do, and he couldn’t do it here.

The cobbles turned to grass as Brother Benedict steered him through the gate and onto the emerald green grass that flanked the road. Lady’s grass, his memory supplied, because its soft triangular blades s brilliantly green and jewel-like as a noble woman’s garments, pliant and soft and gentle. Sapphire-blue knight stars were scattered throughout, their pointed petals standing proud among the grasses. He wondered, what had this world been like before rank and color were intertwined?

Brother Benedict’s hands on his back were firm, but far too gentle for the harshness of his earlier proclamation, into the covered cabin of a waiting hover coach. Moved by magnets and antigrav and e-electricity, not magic, he reminded himself.

As he tried to sit, someone-Father Peleggi-stopped him, pausing to release the binds that had closed around his wrists. He was surprised, almost overcome with gratitude at the small comfort. He’d assumed Father Peleggi was just like Brother Benedict… or at least he’d begun to think that as soon as they showed up together maybe he was wrong.

“Let’s see what we can do for your head, Jensen,” Father Peleggi added softly. “That wound looks painful. I think Brother Benedict would agree that you should not be so injured when we return to St. Pious.”

Maybe he couldn’t judge Father Peleggi-yet.



Jensen was then seated across from the two religious men in the tiny cab. It held only two seats facing each other, wide enough for two or three people each. The interior was upholstered in a soothing lavender velour that perfectly suited members of the Church. I’m not wor-he consciously forced himself away from that thought path, forcing his feelings of worthlessness to the back of his mind. He didn’t deserve to be here, but not because he was a Burgundy and not good enough, but because neither he nor anyone else deserved to be treated like chattel, punished by being forced to watch a loved one die. Yes, Father Peleggi had helped him-he’d freed Jensen’s hands and applied the oh-so-not-Zyretan portable regenerator to Jared’s head-that wasn’t even modified or re-reverse engineered… it was the exact same model he’d seen in Danni’s office. But that didn’t mean he had forgiven Father Peleggi. They were still stuck in this coach zipping by the country side, moving so fast at times he couldn’t see anything but blur. He couldn’t look at the Father Peleggi or Brother Benedict. Instead, he stared out the window watching the world whiz by. So much he’d never seen.

The hovercar had slowed down again so the scenery was actually visible and distinct. The land they were passing was covered in lady’s grass and the bluer, sharper noble scrub that Jared had told him was common in the smaller tows and throughout the country side. A pang of sadness followed by flames of anger tore through his chest at the thought of Jared… even now he was being led to his death, possibly beaten tortured, abused-just for wanting to find the truth and save them all from certain death. Jensen wondered absently how Jared had known about the grass… He doubted the information was made up, because the Scientists didn’t seem to risk letting their intelligence operatives dissemble or spin stories without absolute necessity. Had Jared read about the noble scrub in a book or briefing on the… computer… or had he actually gotten to see the places it grew… Touch and feel the sharp, toothed blades that now glistened with dew in the morning light of the suns?

That was another thing. The integration… his memories… the two halves of himself plus all the data he’d received, whenever he was around Zyretans, especially Church officials, he it was like his mind tried to undo the connections and hide. Simple words he should have no trouble remembering (like computer) would slip away and hide, retreating to an impenetrable fog. Now that he knew how his mother had done it, why it had been so important, he thought it might be easier to make everything fit together. But still he was struggling…

The landscape, though, was pretty, soothing, in places rolling hills gave way to grooved valleys, while jagged… mountains rose high above in others. Jensen marveled at the peaks he saw in the distance. They were so, irregular, and almost blue-gray, topped with something white. Snow-that was the word. Jared had told him about after Jensen learned the truth. Jared was as fascinated by snow as Jensen. Apparently, it was a little like ice-which was found underground-but not, and it fell from the sky where it was cold and mountains were taller so they were cold, and Jared had a fiend who lived or worked someplace “top side” where there were mountains and snow, but he’d never seen it. Jared’s enthusiasm had made Jensen want to see sow and mountains, and go all the places he’d never even dared dream he could go. But now… the pain swelled inside again, knives stabbing at his heart. He clenched fists, breathed in, and out counting one… two… three.. four…five… six… seven… and again and again until he felt more in control, and he could keep the images-Jared hooded; Jared bloody, dying; Jared screaming out in agony, reaching for Jensen; Jared dead-that hurled themselves to the front of his mind from taking over. For the first time, he didn’t care if Brother Benedict or Father Peleggi saw. Jensen was who he was, and he wasn’t going to change, not for them.

When he could breathe normally again, he started to wonder, why was all this land, this beautiful scenery with babbling brooks of clear, green water, and actual forests of porlo trees empty? Why had the Church not built here, when St. Pious was so crowded and may other cities and towns were over flowing with people too?

The answer came to him as soon as he thought the question, when he saw tree tings: red dirt poking from between patches of noble scrub; a bare patch of what looked like gray rock, similar to the boulders Jensen climbed on the monastery grounds, only buried in the ground; and there along the edge of the stream, something black and melted and so very, very ancient looking. They couldn’t build here.

The black melted ting was probably the buried remains of something from before the Fall-from Old Zyreta. Jared had said there were places where they couldn’t clear the debris, so the First Council had ordered them covered, buried-but there was too big a risk that someone would accidentally stumble across the debris and start asking questions. The Church doesn’t want people thinking or talking about what life was like or why things happened, beyond what they’re told, so debris fields are too big a risk, Jared had said.

The red dirt would be a problem too-Jensen could imagine the fights that would erupt as people tried to figure out the proper caste character of the soil. Was it burgundy, tainted and impure, not a worthy place for higher castes to build or live? Or was it the pure red of the Goddess’s love and passion, meaning only the Religious Order and Nobles could safely build their homes there? Or was it perhaps a sign of love and a blessing to settlers? Or a sign of corruption with a message to stay away?

Then there was the rock-bedrock-the rock that stretched down into the earth and formed the caves and caverns in which the Scientists dwelled… it made building difficult for the Church because they liked to build perfect, symmetrical hills-hills under which and in which they could hide their secrets, the truth of their “magic” the source of the government distributions, the slaves, the prisoners, and… and the tunnels that linked it all together, allowing them to move about unseen…

Jensen’s spine prickled with the realization. Tunnels. There were tunnels linking everything together in St. Pious. From the monastery, the Council Archive, the City walls, and the central plaza. His eyes went wide-there might still be time, still be a way!

He blinked and sat back against the velour seat in silence, casting an unblinking gaze on the passing blur. He had a plan. Now he just had to make it happen.



Upon their return to St. Pious, Jensen wasn’t sure what to expect. He had no idea if he’d be allowed to return to his chamber or roam freely… he felt as lost and unsettled as he had when he’d first been preparing for his ‘punishment’ with Jared. Would they take him to be marked with the color of his Permanent Caste?

Worry nagged at him; he had no idea if Jared had been returned to St. Pious or if perchance they’d already executed him. His stomach churned at the thought that Jared could already be gone. He felt cold inside the space where Jared had been growing into the gaping maw of a deep chasm. Certainly Jared was a good soul; his spirit would burn bright as a star looking down on the world like Jensen’s parents. But that didn’t make Jensen feel any better. Jared deserved to live for himself.

Deep down, Jensen knew it couldn’t have happened yet. Even if the Council-or Brother Benedict-was trying to speed through Jared’s execution, there were limits on how fast it could happen. Brother Benedict wanted an audience-that meant enough time for the pages to disperse throughout the City spreading the word. It meant tolling the bells and announcing the criminal, crime, date, and time from the central plaza. The executioner would need to be readied, attendants blessed after careful meditation, stands set up and organized with clearly marked seating areas for members of each caste so the noble and pure weren’t forced to intermingle with the wretched. Jensen had seen an execution come together in two days once before-but that wasn’t as high profile a crime and it didn’t involve someone from as high a caste.

Questions swirled in his mind as the hover coach came to a gliding stop outside the main entrance of the monastery. People 'oohed' and 'ahhed' at the display of magic. He turned his attention back to his fellow passengers.

Father Peleggi was looking at him, his expression unfamiliar. His hands were clutching at the ends of the scarf that was draped over his shoulders. Jensen thought he looked almost concerned and maybe a bit disquieted.

Brother Benedict, in contrast, was focused intently on the decorative wrist cuff he wore. He was murmuring into it, then holding it up to his ear. Oh, Jensen understood. It was some form of mobile comm device; he was probably making arrangements-either for Jensen’s new status or for Jared’s imprisonment or execution.

The coach came to a full stop, and the locks on the doors disengaged with a distinctive hiss. Two guards-different from those who’d accompanied Brother Benedict to Grace, wearing pale plum robes-snapped to attention on either side of the door.

Father Peleggi looked from Brother Benedict, who was still talking into his amethyst and silver cuff, to Jensen. “Are you alright, Jensen?” he asked.

Jensen was taken aback, “What do you care?” Before he never would have risked so insolent a tone with the priest, but now, what did it matter?

Brother Benedict’s reaction seemed pretty close to Jensen’s-he fumbled his words and muttered, “Pardon,” to whoever was on the other end of his wrist comm. “Yes, whatever are you going on about, Father?” he asked in a condescending tone.

Father Peleggi glared, glared, at Brother Benedict, and smiled at Jensen. “Jensen is still under our care. He may be a Permanent Burgundy, but as you said, Brother, what happened with Mast-Padalecki-wasn’t his fault or doing. He’d never been outside the city walls and we’ve just recued him from halfway across the continent! The man whose care we entrusted him into-who we commanded he serve as punishment-has just been discovered as a Scientist and a spy, and is scheduled for execution. So, I am asking Jensen, my charge, if he is okay.” Father Peleggi’s tone suggested he thought Brother Benedict was acting like a particularly dense and insolent child.

Brother Benedict looked flabbergasted.

For a moment, Jensen didn’t know how to respond. He’d never expected such kindness from anyone, let alone Father Peleggi, and let alone after being caught abetting the enemy. But-Father Peleggi had always been kind. He thought back to the disappointment and sorrow Father Peleggi had shown on that fateful day five and a half months ago when he’d nearly ruined the Piety Festival by colliding with Jared. Father Peleggi cared. And he thought Jensen was the victim in all this. And, he was willing to stand up to Brother Benedict to defend Jensen. Huh. A most unexpected ally. “I am okay, sir,” he said slowly, “but I would sure like to know what happens now.”

“Watch that insolent tone, boy!” Brother Benedict snapped.

“You’re executing someone I love, and you’ve already told me I’m going to have the rest of my lie to learn my lesson, so I guess you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Jensen deadpanned. He felt naughty and rebellious, a tiny bit of power snatched back with his cheek.

Brother Benedict looked disgusted, shaking his head in disapproval, but he turned his attention back to his comm.

Father Peleggi, however, seemed almost pleased. “Understandable is your distress, Jensen. Alas, Brother Benedict is the one who is directing your punishment,” he paused, “so we shall have to wait for his direction.”

Brother Benedict-or just Benedict, Jensen decided, no need to think of a lying, manipulative murderer by the title he abused-finished up his conversation and signaled for the guars to open the doors. The trio descended down the steps that unfolded from the side of the Coach, Jensen just slightly ahead of and between the two religious men.

“Bow, Jensen. Bow for the pious and righteous people of this town. Get down on your knees and bow,” Benedict said, with a forceful hand in Jensen’s back as soon as he’d reached the bottom of the steps.

Jensen grudgingly complied, gritting his teeth. He needed to choose his battles, and this… was not worth the effort.

“Up,” Benedict commanded.

Jensen complied without hesitation, happy to be back on his feet.

The crowd that had gathered was even larger than Jensen had realized. It stretched across the broad entrance and continued inside the monastery’s ample foyer. The doors had been flung open, and Church guards formed two lines to the Coach’s left and right, stretching from the vehicle to the doors leading to the private hall at the back of the foyer, the one that led not to the public areas, but to the Order’s private chambers.

“The Council Member Brother Benedict has returned,” the herald proclaimed, causing a hush to fall upon the crowd. “He is accompanied by Father Peleggi and the rescued ward, Jensen.”

Rescued ward? Perhaps Father Peleggi’s sentiments were right.

“Keep moving, Jensen,” Benedict said in a low voice, directing his words into Jensen’s ear. “They know Jared has been condemned and captured. They know what he was. The Council thought it best we tell them he lured you away and spirited you outside the protection of our gates. People are fond of you Jensen; you’re a constant, the woe begotten Burgundy who diligently serves the Church to the best of his meager abilities. They’ve been worried about you. Let’s not disappoint them.” Jensen kept walking, stomach in knots as he saw the worried faces of the gathered citizens. They were afraid for him; afraid Jared would hurt him, not realizing the real monster was dogging Jensen’s footsteps at this very moment.

“Are you going to tell them who I am? That my parents were Donna and Alan Ackles, the traitorous scientist spies who brought disgrace to the Nobility? Are you going to tell them that you’ve always known that you’ve been toying with me? With them? Are you going to tell them I went willingly? That I-I love him, I’ve made love to him? That I’m a Permanent Burgundy now because you think I make a better example that way than if you executed me?” He kept his voice pitched even to Benedict’s, eyes pointed straight ahead, stride slow and reserved.

Benedict clucked a hiss into his teeth, but mustn’t have given any other outward sign of displeasure, because no one in Jensen’s line of sight reacted. “Of course I haven’t told them you’re a buggering son of Scientist scum! Most of them have always thought you were permanent Burgundy.”

They walked forward in silence once more. If Father Peleggi was surprised by the contents of their exchange, he didn’t show it. When they’d passed through the throng and into the foyer, Brother Benedict spoke again. “You will report to your chambers and meditate, Jensen. Tomorrow at noon, Mister Padalecki will be executed in the Central Plaza. Father Peleggi will collect you from your quarters and take you to a private viewing chamber. If you do not go or if you try to interfere in any way… well, just because I am loath to kill you, doesn’t mean I will hesitate to use the ample arsenal of persuasive techniques at my disposal to make you comply. Until the execution is complete you are not to leave the confines of the Monastery for any purpose. Are we clear?

Jensen answered with another question. “Are you going to mark me with my color?”

“After the execution, Jensen, for now, you will do as I say, or I will ensure you have a most unpleasant time, and I’ll personally regale Mister Padalecki with tales of your punishment before the hanging.”

Jensen gave an involuntary gasp, but kept walking. Noon. He had until noon tomorrow to find what he needed and save Jared. “I understand,” he murmured.”



Later that night, after Jensen had ‘meditated’ for three or four hours, he put his plan into action. The timing was all very tricky; very critical, and more things could go wrong than he could estimate.

He slipped out of bed silently and slid into clothes-snug, dusty grey leggings; his soft, quiet sandals; and a dark, charcoal grey tunic with an attached wrap belt. He hesitated-if anyone saw him it would be very suspicious to see him without a robe or a stitch of burgundy on his body. Of course, if any one saw him, he likely had much, much bigger problems, but that was no reason to tempt fate. Besides, if the hidden cache at Freedom Beach was anything to go by, chances were, he was going to have to hide something. His tunic and leggings didn’t really give him many options. So, he grabbed the darkest burgundy robe he owned-luckily, it was one that had narrow sleeves and was open in front, so it wouldn’t get in the way, slipped it on, and slid silently from his room.

He knew the halls of the monastery and the patterns and rotations of the guars so well it was actually quite easy for him to slip around un detected. Thanks to his restored memories and the knowledge his mother had passed on, he also knew where the surveillance devices were hidden and how to slip underneath them, and along the shadows so he wouldn’t be seen. He still had to make one dash across a brightly lit hallway before descending the ramp that would take him to the hall where the Archive was, but aside from that split-second dash, he was confident his progress had been unseen.

Finally, he was at the door, the place he’d stood so many times in his dreams, staring at it, he could almost feel the handle with its amethyst lights vibrating beneath his palm. It was beckoning to him…

Nervously, looking around to make sure he wasn’t in sight of the recessed Godlamps Jared had told him-and he knew from his mother’s memories-housed cameras that allowed the Council to see everything that happened, he pressed his hand to the amethyst dots that lined the handle, and closed his hand around it. He felt the handle grow warm under his hand, could see the lights glowing even through his closed palm, and heard a faint chime and click… or maybe those were in his mind. He moved the handle, pressing down, and the door opened.

He needed to enter. Without further hesitation, he crossed the threshold and stepped inside the Forbidden Chamber. He stepped around the door and it closed behind him of its own accord.

It made no sound, but once closed left him emerged in total darkness. Jensen felt himself begin to panic, the unseen walls closing in on him, pressing all around. He was trapped! How could he get out if he couldn’t even see the door behind him or how the handle operated? Jensen dug his fingernails into his palms in a frantic attempt to calm himself. Think, Jensen, think, he scolded himself. He felt the panic recede slightly. There must be an explanation. As he began to turn, fingers outstretched feeling for the door behind him; he heard a sound like a deep, but quiet, boom, the almost-noise reverberating around him. Suddenly, there was light extending from somewhere overhead.

He turned back to face the original direction, blinking with momentary distortion as his eyes struggled to catch up with the rapid switch from light to dark to light again. The booming noise repeated again and again more light filling the space after each noise. Jensen blinked and squinted until finally his eyes adjusted to the display before him.

Jensen sucked in a dumbfounded gasp for the space was unlike anything he remembered seeing before. It was overwhelming with its enormity and brilliance.

Before him, the Archive spread out in a sweeping arc that descended at a shallow angle for hundreds of meters beyond him. High overhead, easily fifteen meters above him, row after row of Godlamps-electrical lights his mind corrected-flicked on, illuminating another curved swath of the room.

Room wasn’t really a fair word to call it. He understood a little better what Jared had said about the importance the Church and the First Council placed on constructing artificial hills. The Archive was bigger than the Temple, the Grand Foyer of the monastery and the Central Plaza combined. It would be impossible to hide above ground and difficult to carve out from ordinary ground, especially if it had… bedrock underneath. By creating a hill out of nothing and building it all above ground, the Council had created the perfect hiding place for their knowledge, treasures, and secrets. Jensen was pretty sure the slope of the floor was about equal to that of the grounds outside the monastery, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the graceful curve of the far wall he could just barely see was indeed in line with the city walls, set however far inside the city walls was necessary to hide the Archive’s existence.

Along each arc were banks of computers, not that dissimilar from those the in the Scientists’ hidden base, but different somehow. Older… and not all matching. It wasn’t that the machines were all ancient, although perhaps some were, but their design seemed simpler and more rudimentary. Jared had said the Church’s knowledge of science and te-technology was largely frozen in time with what was in use during the Fall with only bits and pieces captured or coerced out of their Scientist slaves and secret technicians.

The technology wasn’t the only relic in the vast space…

There were... objects, parts of buildings, some sleek and black and shiny, others looked ancient, rusty brown and beige bits of stone-something crystalline that sparkled in the light. These ancient bits of structure contained carvings just barely visible in the surface, parts of which had been washed or wiped-worn-away leaving behind only the faintest traces of swirling lines and circles-

They were religious buildings, or pieces of the facades of them-a tall archway to his right, something that looked a lot like a dais a few rows ahead and to his left. The symbol on nearly all of them was almost identical to the emblem with the twin suns the Church used today... almost but not quite. The __ was different. He was seeing pieces of the Old Zyretan religion, or at least one of them, seeing their existence and the evidence of change. A simple variation over time didn’t show much, but it already showed the Council’s rhetoric to be a lie. They’d said the Church had remained unchanged, unwavering for millennia.

His eyes tracked from the relic buildings around the span before him. He could see cases now dotted throughout the space popping up among the terminals. They seemed to shine with silvery metal around the edges and were all lit from within with a faint sapphire light. They held... relics? He took a few steps into the Archive to get a better look at the nearest case, which was in the very first arcing row. Yes, they were relics. He could see the broken, weathered edges of a stone tablet, and another item-a statue carved of white rock with gems inlaid in red and gold depicting the God and Goddess in the sky. Next to it was an object decidedly more technological-it was roughly cube shaped and had lights that still glowed green and orange.

Then he noticed the scorch marks. On all the remnants of buildings scattered around the room, bordering the spoke-like aisles that descended deeper into the archives and along the walls, there were black marks, like smoke or charcoal. Some of the metal pieces looked melted, much like the shiny blob he’d seen on the way back from Grace... He flinched at the recollection, the need to save Jared burning anew in his chest. These were relics from the Fall, the Great Battle itself!

Could that be what his mother had meant? Were there secrets to Zyreta’s past, to the Council’s deceitful stranglehold on the populace? He wanted to hope, but he wasn’t sure how any of this could help!

Jensen took deep breaths, letting them out slowly like Jared had showed him, closing his eyes, blocking out everything but the beat of his own heart and the sound of his breaths... When he felt relaxed enough to focus, he slowly opened his eyes.

The lights were amethyst and sapphire. The color gave the archive a surreal quality, emphasizing the shine of the machines around him, emphasizing the gentle sweep of each row-terminal after terminal surrounded by long, continuous desks and only interrupted by the regularly spaced aisles and the irregularly arranged artifacts. The lights shone from so many angles, there were no real shadows in the room, just patches of more and less brilliant light-although none of it was painfully bright.

He walked forward again, towards the third row, seventh terminal to his right... His footfalls were silent as he descended the gradual decline of the central aisle. He looked down and saw the floor was made from some sort of nubbly grey material that, while firm, transmitted absolutely no noise from his steps. He stopped again when he reached the third row-an ample walking and standing area, covered in the same grey substance, separated each row of terminals. He envisioned the room full of people standing at terminals... there would be ample room for others to walk behind them in each row without disruption. Around the display cases and artifacts, there was subtly more space... so researchers or... worshipers, perhaps? could gather and still leave plenty of space around them for others to pass.

He didn’t know why he felt drawn to this particular terminal, he just knew he was... the symbolism of the numbers appealed to him, settled the storm raging in his mind. Perhaps there was something more, another buried memory, a quiet hinting from the implant that was spurring him along, but whatever the reason, he trusted his instincts.

As he approached the terminal, it moved, shooting up a handful of centimeters higher. It was now at the perfect height.

What now, he asked himself? Slowly, cautiously, he extended his right hand and touched the smooth, cool surface of the terminal.

The computer whirred to life beneath his palm, and welcomed him. He could feel it, connecting with him, linking with the bioelectric chip in his wrist, and sending excited tendrils of data flowing into him, waking up more memories, more hidden dusty corners of his mind. The screen blinked to life, briefly glowing blue, and then it began displaying image after image, downloading the knowledge directly into the bioelectric chip in his wrist. It told him the precise moment the Scientists should trigger the plasma jet ejection that would stop the approaching Insidiari Usupare fleet. It explained the exact moment the fleet would be in range-how far out they could still be and still fire… how to ensure both Suns could be targeted at the same time. It was the missing piece, the information that could change Chris’s mission-for he had no doubt Chris would insist on flying it-from a last-gasp, suicide run, to a sure bet. It even explained how he and the ship could get clear, use the mass shadow and magnetic field of Zyreta itself as a quick shield against the storm. All the other ships would need to be grounded though, and they’d likely lose the station, but it would be ok.

After that information downloaded itself, new images, images of ancient texts and Council documents began to display. It was the records of the First Council!! And before that, the original scriptures the largest Zyretan sects had followed. They made no mention of colors or castes. No tales of the God and Goddess striking down those who didn’t abide by strict roles of status and conduct! There were letters of how the leaders of one of the more conservative sects who thought the people, both religious and not, were too bold and permissive, they’d altered and falsified records, made up prophecies and lied to the people at their time of greatest pain and fear, while the world was burning around them. Kept the people moving and scared and starving and working until the world was dismantled, and half the population had been blamed.

He was overwhelmed by the totality of their deception. Finally, after what felt like far too long, the download slowed, the screen went dark and then blinked. There was one more file, and it opened for him. His mother’s face filled the screen.

Oh, he realized, this is what she meant. This is what will reunite our people. As the message played, the speakers silent, but her words flowing into Jared through his chip, his realization was confirmed. She was telling the true history of their people-what the Council had done to the religion. How the reluctant truce among the sects, the common goal for a more thoughtful, reverent society had been twisted and corrupted, individuals coerced, entire town oppressed, murdered, so the most greedy and the most afraid could get their way. It showed the records, how the original Council’s edicts changed, the body count… the war against the Scientist Union… the people fleeing. How it had been Zyreta that had struck, not the Scientists. The threat they all faced… and then, then, the revelation. The why she had promised.

Thousands of years ago, the Insidiari Usupare, a race from a distant galaxy, a species the Scientists now knew had remained technologically and societally stagnant for millennia, that went around conquering worlds, killing their people, subjugating a few slaves, and taking the planet for their ever-expanding population. They had come to attack, but a magnificent coincidence-or maybe it really was the will of the God and Goddess-the suns had lashed out and destroyed the fleet. The people on Zyreta had seen the dark shapes approaching, then disappear. They knew the suns were powerful, and they worshipped.

Then three hundred years ago, the Insids returned, only the same coincidence didn’t… the suns caused some damage to the ships, as did the Zyretans’ weapons, but much of the planet’s surface lay in ruin. The ships turned back, but only because, the Scientists had later discovered, the Insids had noticed the now-colonized worlds-more habitable planets and more people to subdue. Their fleet wasn’t large enough, so they returned home intent to come back and try again. Now they approached, and without the knowledge the Scientists had gathered, the planet would fall. The Colonies-other worlds populated by their brethren, would fall. The Council knew this and refused to stop it.

As the images played, a more detailed version of the story slipped itself into Jensen’s mind. The information he needed to know to tell the Ministry. It was there. He had found it. His mother’s message at Freedom Beach had been right. Their chances were much greater now that they knew why.

Eventually the recording came to an end and the screen once again went dark. A data wafer popped out of the terminal. He knew it would have the same information on it as was now stored in his memories and his chip. He had to get this to the Ministry. If he didn’t-if Chris was going to use the data in Jensen’s genetic code and the designs for the bombs-probes-and fly the mission himself (and Jensen knew if they could clear Chris medically, there would be no way he could turn that down), he’d get himself killed. It was almost certain. Jensen could stop it. But he had to get out of here first. Get out and… communicate some how.



Jensen rushed back out of the Archive, securing the door safely behind him. It was too late though… later than he’d planned. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed, but apparently he’d been in there for hours. He could hear the noises of morning. People up and about.

He hurried back the way he’d come, careful to stay out of sight of the hidden cameras, trying to avoid people and stick to the shadows, his breathing tight, measured, counted the entire time. He felt so out of control, so desperate. He dug his nails into his palms, stopping only because he realized he risked crushing the data wafer. Instead he slipped it inside his robe, in one of the tiny pockets he had there.

At last he reached the last hallway before he reached the foyer. He darted into the foyer eager to get back to his chamber and figure out what to do next. Dashed… and nearly collided with Misha, who was coming from the direction of his chamber, approaching the kitchens.

“Misha,” he gasped, panting, trying to look innocent, but knowing there was no excuse for him to be outside his chamber, returning from somewhere at this point in the morning… especially after all that had transpired-he was supposed to be meditating in his chamber. He thought of the time, listening to the sounds, the amount of light, the information his chip was feeding him… Within three hours, maybe only two, Father Peleggi would be coming for him to escort him to watch the execution.

“Jensen,” Misha asked, “What’s going on?”

“N-” he started to say ‘nothing,’ but realized it would never pass muster. Instead he opted for something closer to the truth. “I’ve been walking, thinking. I-I couldn’t meditate in my room anymore… it felt too small, closed… I’m just overwhelmed, and there-there’s an execution today, and I have to watch and…” he took a deep breath and turned sorrowful, overwhelmed eyes up at Misha, “please don’t tell Brother Benedict I was out wandering around. He wants me meditating, but I just…”

“It’s okay, Jensen,” Misha said, squeezing his shoulder gently. “You take the time you need. I’m so sorry about… it just sounds awful. Are you okay?”

Jensen started when he heard Father Peleggi’s words echoed. “I-I’m not okay,” he admitted, “but I think maybe I will be?”

Misha nodded and smiled, understanding that seemed maybe a little too real shining in his eyes.

“Tha-thank you,” Jared murmured. “I am just going back to my chamber now to prepare.”

“May the God and Goddess smile upon you,” Misha said, turning and heading into the kitchens.

The moment the door closed, Jensen breathed a huge sigh of relief. That had been… lucky. He crossed the remaining distance to his Chamber and slipped inside. Now he needed a plan. Who could help him? Where could he turn? Could he try to slip out to the headquarters? No, that was probably abandoned by now-Chris and Eliza would have commed Sam and let her know the risk so she could take cover. They would have made it back before Jensen did, gotten into the headquarters through the tunnels, and cleared everyone out. They’d be well on their way to Losa Desert by now if not there already. He could go to the headquarters and try to use the secure comm, but he’d be alone, and exposed, and he wasn’t sure he could remember the codes. His mind was kind of overwhelmed at the moment with this mother’s commands about how to disseminate the recording she’d made to the populace. Over the past several weeks, he’d learned it took a lot of energy and focus to integrate the memories, and when his attention was divided, as it was now, it became difficult to accomplish anything. He’d been lucky he’d managed to carry on any sort of conversation with Misha.

Think Jensen! he chastised himself. If he went to headquarters, he risked getting caught or exposing its entry to the Scienti-he had no doubt they would be involved in guarding Jared’s residence. Information tumbled free in his mind, but he pushed it aside to analyze later. He could tell it wouldn’t help now. Who else… who else… Vissandra! Yes, she’d planned their travel, but considering how Father Peleggi had been duped by the plan as well… there was a good chance she wasn’t in custody. Probably being watched, but then again, this was Vissandra, and she’d escaped and deflected suspicion for twenty years. As far as he knew no one had ever connected her to his parents, even after all this time.

The question was, how could he find her in time? The clock was ticking, and the lives of his partner, his friends, and the entire planet were in the balance. Time to come up with a plan. Jensen dropped to his bunk and let the memories overtake him.

Continue to Chapter 10

Master Post | Back to Chapter 8, Part 2