Branegate Page 6

  They were in transit at one gee acceleration for six Gan days and nights. Trae slept soundly each cycle, controlled by the light spectrum in his compartment, but the cycle before his first glimpse of the great pinwheel of Ariel II he was troubled by a strange dream. He was not a little child, but himself, and he was sitting at a table on a stone balcony overlooking green fields lined with trees flowering red, and there were two moons in a sky so blue as to be nearly purple. A glass of juice sat on the table in front of him. He tasted it; the drink was bubbly, and had a sharp tang he didn’t recognize. Petyr suddenly appeared, as if condensed out of vapor in the air, and sat across from him.

  “Do you like it?” asked Petyr. “Has a bit of a bite.”

  “What are you doing in my dream?” asked Trae, and Petyr smiled.

  “Well, it’s not exactly a dream, and I’m not Petyr. You seem so relaxed around him, so I thought his presence would be good for this. You and I are going to be having some serious conversations from now on. Your mother won’t be here for them, but she sends her love, and she’ll come to you at other times. You’re going to be busy, Trae.”

  Trae felt drowsy, even in his dream, and he felt amused by Petyr being there. “Are you going to tell me something I need to know?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Petyr. “Yes, indeed.”

  And he told him.

  Trae awoke with a start. Light was dim in the compartment, all of it coming from the video screen that showed the page of a book. Petyr was lying in the bed next to his, reading, turning pages with a remote in his hand. He glanced at Trae. “Did I wake you? I couldn’t sleep.”

  Trae shook his head, and Petyr looked closer at him. “You had a dream.”

  “Yes.”

  “Anything?”

  “When we get to Ariel II we go to Port Four, Station Six. Our passes are waiting for us there. We’re going to Galena, and someone will be taking us to the court of Emperor Rasim Siddique.”

  “Ah,” said Petyr, and smiled.

  CHAPTER 6

  It was not the first time Fedor Quraiwan had been the bearer of bad news for his master, but this news was worse than bad and he feared for his safety. Emperor Khalid Osman was not a merciful man, and was subject to outbursts of temper in lesser circumstances than this. Bad news could be dangerous for the bearer, for Osman’s rage was often manifested by the act of throwing any object at hand, be it knife, cup, or small furnishings. Good news, on the other hand, could generate a hearty laugh, a hug for an old servant, a trinket or gold coin kept for minor rewards in a small, oaken chest on his desk. Alas, today’s was not good, and Fedor Quraiwan could only hope his master was in a peaceful state.

  He’d been waiting for more than an hour, sitting on a bench by the great double doors of the judgment room, now closed. Osman was inside with an emissary from Nevice who had traveled four weeks to meet with him on a trade matter. Another step in the expansion of Gan’s trading influence, and it would undoubtedly create new wealth for the intimate circle of supporters of the planet’s monarchy. Osman made business simple for them, with few restrictions and generous tax benefits for those who created jobs, and higher taxes for those who were employed by them. It all seemed to work well, despite the unrest of the masses, despite threats in the past. But today there was a new threat. Fedor was about to announce it to The Leader of All The World, and he was afraid.

  The doors opened and Osman came out with his arm around the shoulders of a small, dark man with amazing amber eyes. They were laughing at some private joke. The small man bowed and pumped Osman’s hand vigorously, whispered something and walked away with a smile on his face. Osman was smiling, too, rubbed his hands together, then turned and saw Fedor sitting there. Beckoned to him.

  “Come in, come in. Took longer than I expected, but was worth it. Those Neviceaens do love to bargain.”

  Osman seemed pleased with himself. That was good. He closed the tall doors behind them, a golden robe spilling over the curves of his bulk. There was no one else with them in the room: domed ceiling held up by eight, marble columns, a rosette window of stained glass covering a wall, a floor of polished, black marble with the huge, oaken desk at its center. There were two chairs and a roll-in bar with carafes of coffee and tea. They went to the chairs. Osman glanced twice at Fedor, then poured tea for both of them without asking for a preference.

  “I presume you have news for me, but I’m not encouraged by the expression on your face, my friend,” said Osman.

  They sat. Osman handed him a cup of tea with pudgy, ringed fingers, and took a sip from his own cup. “The news isn’t good, but is also inconclusive,” said Fedor.

  “They haven’t been found? We had five different sources of intelligence on this.”

  “Oh, they were found, Excellency. We could have taken them on the beach, but you wanted as much information as we could get on their supporting network. We’ve identified two cells in the operation, and arrests are being made as we speak.”

  “So why are you frowning at me?” asked the Emperor of Gan.

  “Our principle targets have suddenly disappeared. The boy and his bodyguard got away when we attacked their car on the highway to the shuttle-port. The car was burning so furiously it took hours to discover the remains inside weren’t theirs. They killed six of our people and escaped to the shuttle-port in one of our cars. It was found at the shuttle-port. Our men didn’t see them. They might have flown out, or been taken somewhere else. We’re going over passenger lists there and at spaceport. We’ve found unused tickets that might have been theirs. It’s possible they’re still on Gan.”

  Osman sipped his tea, and though he spoke softly there was a dangerous glint in his closely spaced eyes. “I think that would be a poor bet. If they have any intelligence at all they know we’ve penetrated their cells. Their structure is crumbling; a year or two, and we’ll have all of them. This so-called Church of Lyra will disappear forever.

  “Meanwhile it’s important we get the boy in our hands. He’s a figurehead, a symbol to them.” Osman shook his head, and sniffed. “They think he’s an Immortal.”

  “We’ve put agents on every flight since we discovered their bodies were missing from the car,” said Fedor, “and our listeners in the cells have been alerted.”

  “The longer he’s free the more hope these fanatics have, and the more people we’ll lose when we bring them down. Eventually we can dig them out if they remain on Gan; the difficulty lies off planet, especially on Grenolda and Galena. The League is fragile, Fedor. You’ve been with me long enough to know that. There are some who at least sympathize with the democratic and anarchy preaching of the people who came here out of nowhere to stir up trouble. My father fought it for twenty years, but I don’t have his patience, Fedor. Any remaining Immortals must be arrested and killed, their followers arrested, their caverns emptied out. I want their church destroyed, and their philosophy erased from our history. I want order on Gan, and I will have it. That boy is to be found, and killed, and his body brought to me.”

  “I understand, Excellency. It will be done.”

  “Of course it will, old friend. I trust you. We’ve been together too long for you to fail me. Who was in charge of the attack on the car?”

  “Del Onsager, Excellency.”

  “I want him arrested and shot without delay.”

  “He’s dead, Excellency. He was in a pursuit car, and it crashed into a tree, killing four operatives.”

  “And who was his overseer?”

  “Captain Kirman planned the operation.”

  “Then have him arrested and shot instead.”

  “But Excellency, the Captain—”

  “Symbolism, Fedor. Every action is a symbol of leadership. My leadership. And failure is not tolerated. Now carry out the order.”

  “Yes, Excellency.”

  Osman made an effeminate gesture of dismissal. “Don’t report on this matter again until you have something positive, but that must be within a month. You have one month
to show progress, Fedor. The responsibility is now yours. You’re an old friend, and it would grieve me to make a symbol out of you.”

  Fedor stood. “I will not fail you, Excellency.”

  “A positive attitude is a good attitude,” said the Emperor of all Gan, and he turned towards his desk.

  Fedor hurried from the room and closed the doors softly behind him.

  His armpits were soaking wet.

  CHAPTER 7

  Everything happened the way his father, in the guise of Petyr, told him in the dreams, or whatever fugue state Trae was now experiencing with increasing frequency. Mostly it was like daydreaming, a lapse of consciousness of only seconds, but something would happen. He would become aware of a face, a scene, a sequence of numbers flashing past his consciousness so quickly he could only recognize their presence before they were gone.

  Trae slept soundly each cycle on the way to Ariel II. If there were dreams, he didn’t remember them, but each time he awoke to find Petyr watching him, and each time the man would ask if he’d learned anything new. Trae answered patiently, realizing once they’d left Gan his teacher and guardian had no plan to follow, and was relying solely on his ward for direction.

  Two days out he told Petyr about how it was his presence in the dreams, now, his Immortal father using a soldier of The Church as a kind of familiar disguise. Petyr seemed pleased. “I’m flattered, but I wonder why he doesn’t use his own face. It’s not like you haven’t seen it before.”

  “Everyone knows his face,” said Trae. “It was in every cubicle in the caverns. But some mistakenly worship him as The Source.”

  “He’s a part of it, and so are you,” Petyr said reverently.

  “And you?”

  “No. A soldier of The Church is not an Immortal. The Immortals come from The Source, and bring us a new way of life if we’ll accept it. We don’t know what The Source is, or where It is. It could be beyond the stars.”

  “I don’t have time to get there,” said Trae, and his vision blurred for an instant. “It will have to come to me. I have the feeling right now it’s not important. It’s not even important I find my father right away. What I need to do first is find other Immortals and convince them I’m who you say I am.”

  “Who I say you are?”

  “You say I’m the reincarnated son of Leonid Zylak, an Immortal man who left us seventy five years ago. That makes me an Immortal, and now I’m supposed to save the Lyraen people from an Emperor who’d like to kill them. I know I’m different, but I don’t believe in reincarnation, Petyr. I really don’t believe what people are telling me, but here I am, following directions from visions I get in my head. I’m feeling The Immortals are waiting for me. I have to find them, and that’s why we’re going to Galena. It’s not about raising an army, either. It’s about money. Economic power. Not one Emperor, but several, a League of Emperors.”

  Trae put his hands on the sides of his head. “It’s a babbling. It comes and goes.”

  “Confusing,” said Petyr, and smiled.

  “Bursts,” said Trae, “like just now, and it’s already fading. It’s getting worse.”

  “Relax, and listen. All comes from The Source in various ways. You’re being given what you need as you need it, but we still have to do our part.”

  Trae still didn’t know what that was when they docked at Ariel II. Nobody was there to greet them. Petyr got off first to scan the people near the port, then came back for Trae. They walked the long tunnel to the lobby to stretch their legs. The cylindrical tunnel walls glowed a fluorescent light blue, and there was a breeze with a scent of pine in it. The lobby had four levels, and they came in at level one. They took an elevator up to level four for ticketing. There was no line at Station Six, and Trae walked right up to the young man checking in passengers there. The man smiled.

  “You must be Lan,” said Trae. “I’m Trae, and you’re holding two tickets to Galena for me.”

  “All ready for you,” said the man, and handed Trae an envelope. “Your departure was scheduled for tomorrow, but there have been inquiries about you so you’ll be boarding in an hour. Please remain here in the lounge until twenty minutes before boarding, and we’ll arrange a diversion to send you on your way. Your luggage is already on board.”

  “Thanks for your attention to this,” said Trae.

  “Wherever or whatever,” said the man. “The Source is with all of us.”

  Trae told Petyr what had happened. “More spies,” mumbled Petyr. “How far do we have to go to be rid of them?”

  They sat in a corner of the lounge, their backs to the Station counters, and watched the stars go by on a giant observing screen on one wall. The time of their departure approached rapidly, and Petyr was checking his watch to begin their sprint to the port when there was a loud commotion behind them. Two policemen came out of the tunnel leading to Port Four, and they were dragging a red-faced, struggling man between them. A woman followed them, waving her arms and screaming for everyone to hear.

  “Right in front of the counter he took it from me! Tore it right off my wrist and tried to run! Criminal!”

  “Let me go, or you’ll regret it,” snarled the man. “My identity card is in my inside pocket. This is a sham; she shoved her hand into my pants pocket to put the bracelet there, and you’re interfering with official business!”

  The police dragged him away, and as soon as he was out of sight Trae and Petyr walked rapidly down the tunnel to Port Four and boarded the city-sized vessel that would ferry them to Galena over the following four days.

  It was like boarding an asteroid with engines, the rocky exterior of the great ship pitted and scarred by high speed collisions with interplanetary dust and debris. Only a tenth of ship’s volume was living and working space, the rest of it filled with frozen water for reaction mass, and eight thermonuclear reactors for power. Inside the living space one could imagine being in a fine hotel, with restaurants, entertainment lounges, a casino and shops featuring the wares of several planets.

  There were nine levels. Petyr and Trae had a room with two beds on the third. After disconnect from Ariel II it was awkward at first, moving about like drunken monkeys swinging from strap to strap on walls and ceiling, then buckling into recliners for acceleration, low at first, rising to one gee within an hour and lasting for most of the trip.

  They watched films in their apartment, but ate in the restaurants, even gambled a bit. Petyr’s eyes never stopped moving; Trae found himself looking for a furtive glance, a face appearing often near them, the close-spaced eyes of one of the Emperor’s thugs. The whole trip he saw nothing to disturb him, and there were no dreams to break up his sleep. The time passed peacefully for four days, and then they arrived at Galena.

  There were few comparisons with the world of Gan. No soldiers were visible at the spaceport, and there were no checkpoints in or out of the arrival area. People dressed casually in light, loose fitting clothing so that Trae and Petyr stood out in their formal, dark suits. They walked the long tunnel leading to the baggage claim area. Soothing music with no defined rhythm came from speakers in the ceiling. A man dressed in the orange flowing robe of a Lyraen priest went by them in the opposite direction without so much as a glance at them.

  Trae was amazed. “That can’t be a Lyraen priest in public, can it?” he asked Petyr. “Nobody even looked at him, except me.”

  Petyr turned to answer, but looked sharply over his shoulder in surprise.

  “Yes, it’s a Lyraen priest,” said a voice from behind them. “There’s no religious persecution here.”

  Trae slowed, and twisted to look behind him. A small man in baggy pants and a loose, white sweater was right behind them, following their stride. “Welcome to Galena. I’ll guide you to our car. Your luggage has already been picked up, and we’ll be taking you directly to the palace.”

  There was good reason for suspicion; the man had appeared out of nowhere. So why did Trae feel safe with him?

  “I didn’t not
ice you when we came in,” said Petyr.

  “That’s because I was on the flight with you from Ariel II. I was to clean up any residue of some problems we had there. As a soldier of The Church I’m sure you know what that means. You may call me Pavel, but it’s not my real name.”

  The man moved in between them and looked up at Trae. “You’re younger than we expected, but I’m sure it won’t matter. Our hope is you’ll be open with us about the purpose of your coming here.”

  “Will we be meeting with Emperor Siddique?” asked Trae.

  “His representative will conduct your interview. Our Emperor cannot be directly involved at this moment. The politics of The League are delicate, and have considerable influence on our economic development. You come to us from the most conservative of planets, while we are quite liberal. The other five worlds are somewhere in between us in their policies, but lean towards the conservative side. So far Galena is tolerated as a wealthy and successful rebel, and we want to keep it that way. This way, please.”

  They turned into a branching tunnel and after a few paces Pavel went to a door marked ‘Flight Personnel Only’ and unlocked it. They went down a level on concrete stairs to a lounge overlooking shuttles parked on the tarmac. A shuttle crew was sitting at tables there, eating light meals from vending machines lining one wall. Pavel nodded politely to them, went to another door. Trae and Petyr followed him down a long, empty tunnel leading directly to the street outside the terminal. One look, and Trae was reminded of a dream he’d had of two moons in an azure blue sky.