Artificial Absolutes (Jane Colt Book 1) (18 page)

About two weeks before, the seminary had selected Adam to give a student sermon at the campus temple. Jane had begrudgingly gone to the sparsely attended service for his sake.

Adam pushed back the hood of his forest-green Via robes. The illuminated golden Via symbol formed an unearthly aura around him, making his peridot eyes seem to glow with an otherworldly brightness. In those moments, surrounded by the temple’s colorful trappings and mesmerized by Adam’s almost ethereal appearance, Jane forgot briefly that she was an atheist.

He’d looked right at her. “In this world of ever-advancing technology, we must never let go of what it is that makes us human.”

Jane had thought she would zone out at some point. Instead, she’d been surprised to find herself absorbing every word as he spoke of the importance of compassion, weaving in allegories from various Via texts and framing them in intricate yet down-to-earth language. Something about him was magnetic, hypnotic even. She understood why his advisor pushed him so hard.

After he finished speaking, Jane sat awkwardly still while the rest of the congregation recited prayers and carried out rituals. The whole thing reminded her why she found religion so freaking creepy, and she told Adam as much when she met up with him after the service. “Don’t get me wrong.” Her voice had reverberated against the walls of the emptied temple. “
You
were great.”

“Thanks.” Adam was back in his normal clothes and looking like his ordinary, nice-boy self again. “I wrote it for you.”

Jane leaned against a pew. “Indeed.”

“It’s true! I thought: How can I make this appeal to someone who thinks everything I believe in is a joke?”

“Sorry,” Jane said sheepishly, but she could tell he didn’t resent her for it. “I guess I don’t get the point of all that, the chanting and arm-waving and stuff.”

“The ritual may seem strange to you, but it brings comfort to those who believe, serves as a way to make them feel more connected with the Absolute. It’s a physical reminder of the Absolute’s presence and the idea that they’re part of something greater.”

“But I don’t understand how talking to… um… no one… helps with anything.”

A teasing spark lit Adam’s eyes. “Let’s try it, then.”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Just start by addressing the Absolute One, end with ‘so be it, truly,’ and the rest is up to you.”

Jane pushed off the pew and stood erect. “Hell no.” She didn’t care that she was in a place of worship. “No way you’re getting me into that shit. No offense.”

Adam smiled. “What’s the harm? By taking part once, you can learn what it is you’re opposed to, instead of fighting something you’ve never understood.”

Jane gasped indignantly. “That’s not true! I’m not atheist because I don’t know any better. It’s because I
do
!
I know all about the history, the hypocrisies, the manipulations, and all that nonsense!”

“How can you really understand something you’ve never been a part of? You were raised to believe that there is no higher power, and that’s why you find everything we do so alien. What if you’d grown up Via, believing in the Absolute? Or Origin, believing in God? Or otherwise religious, calling your divine being something else entirely? You keep telling me that people should try to see things from various perspectives. Why shouldn’t that apply to religion?”

Jane groaned. “I hate it when you’re right.”

Adam put his hands on her shoulders. “Try it. Even though you don’t want to participate in the institution, you can still take comfort in the spirituality.”

She grimaced. “Fine. But I’m not kneeling.”

“Fair enough.” Adam let go.

Jane faced the altar and folded her hands like she’d seen Adam do when he prayed. She closed her eyes. “Hello, Absolute One. I don’t know if You can hear me. Hello? Hello? Are You there?”

“Jane!”

She opened her eyes. “What do I say? I don’t know where to start, other than to ask for… I dunno… a raise or something dumb like that.”

Adam shrugged. “Say whatever’s on your mind, and be honest about it.”

“Ugh, you’re useless. Okay…” She closed her eyes again. “I know, Absolute One, I have no right to speak to You. But I’m here now, so here goes. Please help me do well in… everything, protect me from evil, and all that. Please help me find a way to be happy, even though I’m caught between the life I can’t have and the life I can’t stand.”

She paused, and sudden anger ignited within her. “Hey, listen, I’m sorry I’m not wiser, stronger, smarter, nicer, whatever. Forgive me. I can’t be everything I should be. And forgive me for being so extraordinarily arrogant. It’s the only thing that gets me past my debilitating insecurity. If You can hear me, please help me be something more than me. And I’m sorry if I’ve wasted Your time by praying here today. So be it, truly.”

“Jane…”

Jane’s eyes stung. Somewhere in her mockery, she’d struck something real inside. She blinked furiously, annoyed at herself. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Adam’s voice was gentle. “I know how hard it must be for you, being caught between what you want and what your father wants you be. But it’s your life, and—”

“And I gave up my dumb pipe dream because that’s all it ever was,” Jane said sharply. “I’ve told you before: There’s no sense in wasting my life chasing something I can never be. Everyone loves to parade around with stories about the people who made it, like Sarah freaking DeHaven, but what about the ones who give it their all and end up with nothing?”

“That’s your father talking.”

“Well, he’s right.” Jane turned to the altar. “Hey, Absolute One, back me up here. You’ve got a limit on the number of people You can bless, haven’t You? We can’t all be special, or it doesn’t mean anything. I guess I’m not one of Your chosen ones, and if that’s the case, so be it. Truly.”

“You don’t have to be a ‘chosen one’ to—”

“Can we get out of here?” She was in no mood for another of Adam’s be-true-to-yourself speeches.

Adam seemed to get the message, for he said, “Of course,” and let the matter drop. He put an arm around her. It was strangely comforting.

As they left the temple, Jane’s mood lifted with an unexpected sense of relief from having vented. She thought she might—
kind of, maybe
—understand why people clung so tightly to their irrational beliefs. It was nice to have someone, even someone invisible and unresponsive, to depend on, to hold on to, to credit for one’s fortunes and blame for one’s troubles. She almost wished she were one of those illogical worshippers.

As she and Adam made their way across the campus, Kydera Minor’s blue-green form lit the seminary so brightly that the streetlights hardly seemed necessary.

“Funny,” she said. “I’ve been to systems across the galaxy, but I’ve never visited our world’s sister world.”

“Me neither, although it almost became my new home.” Adam looked up at the planet. “I didn’t ask for it. They just told me one day that I’d been transferred to the seminary on Kydera Minor. Counselor Santillian applied on my behalf because a last-minute spot opened, and she said I should take it because there are more opportunities over there.”

Jane stopped in her tracks. “Wait, you’re leaving?”

Adam faced her. “No, I turned it down. It wasn’t easy convincing them to let me stay here. You won’t believe the amount of bureaucracy I had to deal with—the arguing, the legal nonsense, the bribes, the threats. But I said I’d drop out before I’d let them transfer me against my will.”

That doesn’t make sense.
“You fought the system to stay somewhere with
less
?”

Adam nodded. “Counselor Santillian kept saying anyone else would jump at the opportunity. I told her to make that ‘anyone else’ happy and leave me be.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“I wanted to stay with you.” He must have been kidding, because he’d smiled and added, “I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone with those Quasar tools.”

Jane reclined in the pilot’s seat for over an hour, daydreaming and otherwise allowing her mind to wander, even composing part of that promised motet in her head. Her previous wooziness had dissipated, and the pain in her arm had dulled.

She pulled her slate out of her pocket, marveling at the fact that it hadn’t gotten lost or broken during the whole Viate-5 fiasco. She half-heartedly surfed the Net.

Nothing held her interest.
I give up.
She folded the slate and dropped it in her pocket.

Maybe I can practice flying.

She put her hand on the scanner, indicated that she was the only pilot—to disengage copilot capabilities—and switched off the autopilot. She placed her hands on the steering bars and moved them to the right.

The ship didn’t turn. Jane checked the navigation chart. The Stargazer continued on its straight trajectory toward the tunnel.

Did I miss something?

The stars in front of her abruptly disappeared, replaced by a video. She gasped in confusion.
What the hell?

It was a close-up of Devin. The timestamp indicated that it had been taken about seven years ago, around the same time their mother had been assassinated. He looked so much younger. His hair was longer and his complexion slightly darker, but what really gave away his youth was the boyishly offhand attitude he gave off with his defiant smirk, a look bizarrely incongruent with his situation. Two guns pointed at his head.

Jane couldn’t see who was threatening her brother, only the menacing black barrels.

Someone hissed, “
Get on with it
.”

Devin kept smirking, but Jane recognized the anger in his eyes. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. These assholes want me to plead for my life and tell you to give them a shit-ton of money. Well, fuck that. I know no one’s coming to save me.”

The view of the stars returned. Jane blinked in disbelief. Questions rioted in her head, each screaming louder than the next for attention: Who put that video there? When had Devin been held hostage? Why had no one told her? Who were those bastards? What the hell happened?

Seven years ago…
Jane recalled how unspeakably furious she’d been after her mother’s death when she couldn’t reach her brother, whom she’d desperately needed. He hadn’t even attended the funeral. Jane had demanded that her father track him down and
make
him come back.

Dad had acted oddly distant, saying “Devin won’t be back for some time. He signed up last-minute for a study abroad program at Iothe Central University.”

Jane had been unable to contact her brother for almost a year after. When he finally returned, he seemed different. He’d listened to her long, tearful tirade in silence.

When she’d run out of ways to say, “You jerk! How could you leave me?” she’d thrown her arms around him.

Devin had returned her embrace. “I’m sorry, Pony.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “I… I don’t know what to tell you. I know I should’ve been here for you, but I couldn’t come back until now. I didn’t mean to be gone so long. Please… Forgive me.”

Jane had thought the grief and injustice of losing their mother had caused him to shut himself away. She wondered just how much she didn’t know.

The last time she’d seen her brother before his supposed trip to Iothe had been after coming home early from school. To her surprise, she’d found Devin’s black one-person air transport on the landing pad by the Colt mansion.

Excited, she rushed toward the front door, which was open. Her brother and her parents stood in the foyer.

She stopped. Something felt wrong, and the first words her mother spoke, in her poisonous quiet tone, confirmed it. “How could you betray us like this? How could you commit these—these
crimes
?”

Devin’s expression turned furious. “I’ve
had it
with the questions! I know you don’t really want an answer!”

Dad slammed a table. “
Enough
!”

Jane jumped. She pressed herself against the wall outside to stay out of sight.

Dad continued, “You’re a
criminal,
and I won’t have any more of this! I
won’t
!”