Branegate (11 page)

He left them, and closed the door behind him.

“Very nice,” said Petyr, looking around.

“I feel like a prince,” said Trae.

“Maybe you are. Why don’t you pick up that phone, and order some food for us. I’m hungry, and you should eat something before I scan you.”

“What?”

“Brain status check, whatever you want to call it. I wondered how we’d find someone to do it, and here it is.” Petyr raised the little suitcase Nicolus had given him. “A portable unit, even has a battery, and it takes those holocubes you found. Now show me that drug you’re supposed to take.”

Trae showed him the vial with its compressed-gas atomizer. Petyr peered at it. “That’s an awful lot of liquid.”

“You know what it is?”

“Probably like the stuff you’ve been getting in your treatments, only a lot more of it.” Petyr smiled. “Maybe you’ll be a genius in the morning.”

“I’ll settle for knowing how we get to Elderon. I don’t even know where that is.”

“I’ve heard the name,” said Petyr, and flipped up the latches on the suitcase. “One of the first colonies, closer to the galactic core. For now we need to do a scan, and I want your blood sugar up for it. I need an updated neural map of your brain before you take that drug. The telephone. Use it.”

Trae called, said who he was, was informed their dinner was already on the way. It arrived a minute later, served by two men in white livery, and they ate at the glass table outside on the balcony. It was dusk, and the air was sweet. The meal was plentiful: green vegetables, yellow yams, a shank of lamb that fell from the bone at the touch of a fork, and a sticky pastry rich with dark honey.

“Oh, I’m stuffed,” said Trae, and pushed away from the table. “Now I’ll be sleepy.” He poured a cup of tea; maybe that would help.

“Take a nap, then, I can do the scan early. You only need to be drowsy.”

They went back inside. Petyr pulled a tangle of wires from the metal suitcase, and Trae lay down on a couch so deep it seemed to envelope him. He was immediately drowsy, and closed his eyes. Petyr swabbed his temples and forehead with something cold, pressed sticky patches several places there. There was a dull whine from the suitcase, then nothing. Trae was relaxed, his mind blank, but very much awake. A minute later Petyr pulled the sticky patches from his skin, and Trae heard the lid of the suitcase snap shut.

“That’s it, you’re done,” said Petyr.

“That’s all?” Trae opened his eyes. Petyr was sitting beside him, holding up a vial of yellow liquid.

“It’s all in a holocube. Now you take this, and I’ll do another scan in the morning.” He handed the vial to Trae.

“We haven’t even unpacked yet,” said Trae.

Petyr smiled. “You scared?”

“Nervous, maybe,” Trae lied. “I don’t know what’s in this stuff.”

“Your father left it and says to take it now. That’s enough for me, but I can understand the nervousness. That’s five times what I’ve seen used in ordinary treatments on you, even the last one. I’ll watch you close. You’ve never had any reactions to treatments before, and I doubt there’ll be any this time. Let’s get it over with.” He held out the vial to Trae.

Nervous, yes, but the fear was of the unknown, and Trae somehow knew he must do this. It would be an act of faith: believing the note was really from his father, the drug not tampered with. The bank accounts were certainly real enough, his access to more wealth than he’d ever imagined. And would Petyr ever tempt him to harm himself? No, he’d give up his life first.

Trae took the vial from Petyr’s hand, and as his fingers touched the glass his forehead suddenly cooled and a voice he could only be imagining in his mind said,
“Trae. This is the only way. Take it now. You can’t wait much longer to find us.

He listened, and lifted the vial to his face. The nozzle of the atomizer had a hair trigger, and the first blast up his left nostril made his eyes water. The second blurred his vision, and he felt like he was falling backwards when he knew he was lying down.

And in one instant, life changed dramatically for the reincarnated being of Anton Zylak.

CHAPTER 9

A
s Assan, and wearing the brown robe of humility, he hurried down the hall towards the preparation room. He clutched the envelope tightly to him, and though pressed against his body, his hand was shaking. The meeting with the priest had only taken a minute, but his heart was still pounding from the shock of it. A letter from a missionary of The Immortals, it was, and addressed to The Ruler of All Galena. Delivered privately, for Nicholus knew his real identity and often confided in him regarding problems of The Church.

He reached the preparation room with time to spare. There was to be a hearing for two merchants convicted of secretly exporting military-grade weapons off-planet without payment of either taxes or tariffs. If proven to his satisfaction, his judgment would be severe, for crimes of this sort reflected badly on his government. They could destabilize friendly planets, or aid and abet planets not so friendly with Galena.

Assan removed the robe of humility, and was Rasim Siddique once more. He donned the red robe of judgment, and sat down to read a letter addressed to him before he’d even been born, and from a man who was legend to most people in the streets. The envelope was sealed tight and he used a knife to tear it open. There was a popping sound when the seal first broke, and a wonderful scent of pine flooded his senses. The letter inside even smelled of pine, as if it had been rubbed with pitch. He breathed in deeply, opened the folded sheet of paper and read the instructions written there in a few lines. What he read frightened and appalled him, for it told him to do a thing he would never have considered doing in a dozen lifetimes. But this was an unusual time. The son of an Immortal was on a mission, not just for The Church, but for all people, even the ones who ruled them, and as a communicant member of the faithful a humble emperor was being called to take part in it.

Rasim breathed pine scent, felt the debate within him rise, then decline. A part of him felt the orders on the page both foolish and dangerous. Another part of him, growing with each breath, knew it had to be done. And so he obeyed.

He went to the Chamber of Judgment and sat on the throne in silence for a moment before people began arriving. He half-heard the proven case against the merchants, but enough to learn that some of their secret shipments had gone to the military government on Gan. The merchants had appealed to him to reverse their five year sentence at hard labor, and he denied it. He ignored the mumbled curses of the merchants as they left the room with their attorneys to be embraced by the military police. The air smelled like pine, and a plan was forming in his mind. He gestured to his secretary, and the man came forward, bowing.

“I want to have supper with my Security and Defense Ministers tonight. Tell them it will be in my chambers at seven.”

The secretary bowed again, and hurried away.

“I don’t like it,” said Evan. “What does Galena have to do with our problems on Gan? They don’t even agree with our interpretations of the Elements of The Faith; they think we’re zealots.”

“It came direct from the head of The Church, and used the current code. We cabled direct for verification, and got it. It’s real,” said Darian. “You just don’t want to believe Zylak’s kid could work so fast.”

“What it could be is a huge trap. If we assemble all our people in front of the palace like that, they could bag the lot of us in one move.”

“There’s no demonstration until the flag comes down, and there’s supposed to be an announcement of some kind. We’re just citizens in the street, and no weapons. If it looks right, then we protest. You’ll be in touch with every cell, Evan. You’ll have complete control.”

“We still have moles in The Church. This could get leaked. I won’t announce anything until the last minute, and I mean last.”

“Okay, but at least let me select protest captains and go over a ‘hypothetical’ plan with them.”

“We only have two weeks.”

“It’ll be enough. Not too long to wait for freedom.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Evan.

“Every cell received the message independently. Whoever sent it knew the entire network, and Galena is definitely the origin. Zylak has gone directly to the Emperor. It’s his operation, and all the rectors are cooperating.” Joseph handed the message back to Abelius a second time; the man had read it once, but seemed shocked by it.

“We’re acting on the word of a boy.”

“His instructions come from his father. They were in a letter. All we’re supposed to do is get a demonstration ready. I think it’s a diversion. Our signal is the flag coming down. My bet is they’ve organized some kind of coup. We know there are friends inside the palace.”

“We’ll be exposed,” said Abelius. “Some of us have never been seen on the streets. If there’s trouble we need something to distinguish our people. A leather thong around the wrist would work, with a silver bead on it. We need a dispersal plan if this is a trap.”

“I’ll get to work on it.”

“The cell rectors meet in two days. We’ll discuss our options, and I’ll get back to you. This is exciting, but frightening, Joseph. We’ve been living as oppressed people for over a generation. Perhaps our day is coming at last, and The Source hasn’t abandoned us.”

“Our faith has indeed been tested,” said Joseph. He pointed at the note in Abelius’ hand. “Destroy that paper. Our secrecy must be absolute. I have to check the garage, now, and see how many vehicles are operational. I should have a dispersal plan for you by tonight.”

“I’ll be here,” said Abelius. He lit a candle and held the paper out towards the flame as Joseph left the room. The door closed, and he was alone. He pulled the paper away from the flame, folded it twice and put it into his pocket. The telephone was in an adjoining room, half-buried with paper on his desk. He lifted the receiver and punched in six numbers.

“Cero’s,” said a man, and it was Fedor Quraiwan.

“Abelius Zorn here. I left a set of linens there last week, and it’s most important I get them back today for a special dinner I’m having. Can I pick them up now?”

“Of course,” said Quraiwan. “I’ll be here until six.”

“I’ll be there within the hour,” said Abelius, and hung up. He breathed a sigh of relief, for Fedor was not often in his street office this late in the afternoon. The meeting would be face-to-face, and he could report with precision the terrible plot being hatched against the Emperor. He went to the door, and opened it.

Joseph was standing there with a pistol leveled, and two men were with him.

“What is this?” said Abelius.

“Take him,” said Joseph. The two men grabbed his arms, and marched him along the hall, Joseph behind him.

Abelius struggled, and glared at his captors. “What has he said to you? The man is taking power for himself.”

“I suppose you’re the one who nearly got Zylak killed, and Petyr, too. We’d elliminated all other possible people; that left only you. Your telephone was rigged for voiceprint, and as far as I know the Emperor’s Security Chief doesn’t run a cleaning establishment.”

“You’re mistaken!” shouted Abelius. “Why are you really doing this?”

“In here,” said Joseph. The two men hauled Abelius into a room filled with cleaning supplies and turned him to face a concrete wall as Joseph kicked the door shut.

“What are you doing?” screamed Abelius Zorn.

“Solving a problem,” said Joseph.

The shock wave reached Abelius’ ears just as the heavy bullet blew away the back of his head and sprayed his blood on the wall in front of him.

CHAPTER 10

T
rae was startled awake by a gust of wind
and a strong scent of jasmine. He was sitting on a bench connected to a plank table, and had apparently fallen asleep with one cheek resting on his forearms. His cheek felt numb, and he wiped a patch of drool from his chin. Two trees were close on the other side of the table, the trunks like giant cables woven from brown velvet and topped with purple fronds of a fern-palm mix he’d never seen before or even imagined. Immediately, he was suspicious.

The table was covered with a red cloth fuzzy to the touch and there were porcelain plates stacked neatly at the end of it. Trae’s head turned at a sound behind him. A few steps away a man stood by some kind of cooker, back to him. The cooker spewed smoke, but the wind blew it away and Trae smelled only Jasmine from the field of flowers coming up to their location on the brow of a hill. Rolling hills covered in violet hues spread out before him, broken occasionally by clusters of strange trees with swaying trunks and purple tops. The sky was a clear, powder blue and the crescents of two yellow moons were just above the horizon. It was a beautiful place, magical, not real. Trae knew instantly it wasn’t real.

Even from the back the man looked familiar, but when he turned slightly to one side a neatly trimmed black beard was visible and before he turned away his face seemed to blur, shimmering, dissolving into something else.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said the man, and it was Petyr’s voice. He turned around, a spatula in one hand, and indeed it was Petyr. He smiled. “Hungry, yet? We’re about ready here.”

“I saw you changing,” said Trae. “You were someone else a few seconds ago.”

“We’re all different people wrapped into one,” said Petyr. “Even you, Trae. You aren’t who you seem to be, even here.”

Trae was suddenly conscious his appearance was normal in this strange place. He was not a small child here.

“So this is another dream. The setting is new; I’ve never seen such strange plants.”

“Not a dream, Trae, a sharing of minds. We’re connected now, son. This is Tabor Reserve. Your mother and I used to bring you here when you were a baby. It was one of our favorite places. Dear Anton, in fact, was conceived out there in that field of flowers. I don’t think even you can remember that.”

“You’re Petyr, not my father.”

“Images, images. You have a fixation about that.”

“I’ve seen pictures of my father. I saw his face just before you turned around.”

“A face isn’t a person. I can be anything I want to be. So can you. Most of life is an illusion we create in our own minds. It helps us hide from reality, which can be far better for us than the illusion if we acknowledge it. I’ve had many faces, Trae. It’s one of the reasons I’m still alive.”