Branegate Read online

  A limousine awaited them, a large, black thing with heavily tinted windows. A plate mounted on the front grill of the car showed a flag striped in green, red and yellow. A uniformed driver opened the back door for them, and they got inside to a plush interior, Trae and Petyr facing Pavel.

  “We’re naturally concerned about you being seen here,” said Pavel, and the car began moving, “but private accommodations will be provided for you in the palace until you wish to move on.”

  And when would that be? There were no new fugue states to tell him anything. “Thank you,” said Trae.

  Pavel smiled at him. “I’ve never seen an Immortal before. Excuse me, but there doesn’t seem to be anything special to distinguish you from other people.”

  “For the present, that’s to our advantage,” said Petyr.

  “Are you aware of any Lyraen churches here?” asked Trae.

  “Oh, yes. There’s one near the palace. The state, of course, doesn’t officially sanction religion. There are no subsidies or tax benefits, but several religions exist, some going back to ancient times. Emperor Siddique isn’t a religious person, but he insists on tolerance for all beliefs. It is a matter of respect, and our people feel secure with his policy. I think it’s why we’ve had no unrest on this planet, while the rest of The League has experienced instabilities, especially on Gan. Your Emperor Osman is not a friend of ours, and has publicly called our Emperor weak.”

  “Osman is nobody’s friend on Gan,” said Petyr.

  Pavel nodded, his hands folded neatly in his lap. “Yes, well, these things will be discussed. You’ll meet soon with a representative of The Throne. I don’t know who it will be, or what agenda he’ll bring to you from our Emperor. I can only assure you your beliefs are respected, your needs fairly considered, and you have the protection of The State while you’re here.”

  The drive was short, at high speed. The palace was a complex of white stuccoed buildings surrounded by a ten-foot-high wall. They drove inside to a courtyard with beds of flowers and a gushing fountain. Pavel led them inside to an empty, vast foyer with columns and floor in brown marble. Trae wondered briefly where everyone was in such a state building. The air was still, and there was a sweet scent about them. They crossed the entire foyer to an ornately carved door. Pavel put his hand on a lever to open it, and stood aside. “I’ll wait for you here,” he said softly, and gave them a slight bow.

  They went inside, and the door closed quickly behind them. The light was dim, and it took seconds for their eyes to adjust. It was a large room without windows. Lamps glowed from stonewalls, spaced between gleaming portraits of richly dressed men in regal poses, and there was a faint odor of the oil paints they’d been done with. A long, broad table with many chairs occupied the center of the room. A single lamp glowed from one end of the table, bright enough to reveal someone sitting there.

  “Please sit,” said a man’s voice, deep and rich.

  They sat down to the right of him, Petyr sitting closest. The man’s face was barely visible in the dim light. It was a long face, with deep-set eyes. His lips were thin, and curved into a faint smile. “You may call me Assan, and I will speak for our Emperor Rasim Siddique, who is your host. May His Wisdom continue in all matters.”

  “We greatly appreciate your hospitality,” said Petyr, “as well as your willingness to listen to us. We’re here to seek counsel and possible aid regarding the plight of the Lyraen people and others being oppressed on Gan.”

  “Directly put,” said Assan, and leaned forward to put his forearms on the table. He was wearing the rough, brown robe ordinarily used by Lyraens during their meditations at home. “I intend to be equally direct with you so there will be no misunderstandings. I speak for our Emperor and his policies, but I also have my personal opinions. I will try to distinguish those for you.”

  Trae could hold back no longer. “Your robe is familiar, sir. I’m wondering if you’re a believer in the Lyraen faith. I’m Trae, and this is Petyr. He’s my teacher, and a soldier of The Church.”

  “I know,” said Assan, “and yes, I’m a believer. It’s the primary reason I was chosen for this interview. I know who you are said to be, and who your father was. His missionaries were quite active on Galena until he went away, but that was in the time of Selah Siddique. Your youthful look is amazing. You must be nearing eighty.”

  Trae’s mind blurred for a heartbeat. “I’m sixteen, sir. I’ve been reincarnated into this body after being murdered by the Emperor of Gan shortly before my father fled. I still have memories of it in my dreams. The Lyraen people have been hunted down and slaughtered for nearly a century on Gan. Only a few have managed to avoid capture, but it’s a matter of time before they’ll also be gone, and the Lyraen faith with them.”

  “On Gan, perhaps, but the faith will survive elsewhere. Khalid Osman is a hard man; this is well known. His policies have incurred the anger of his subjects. He’s insecure. The Lyraens pose a direct threat because they stand for freedom of the individual, and Osman will have none of that. His rule must be absolute.”

  Assan leaned back and steepled his fingers in front of his face. “The same is not true here. Rasim Siddique as Emperor could also be a total dictator, but is not. Our senate has representatives from all classes, and judges all policies. In the rare cases when a judgment is overruled, satisfactory compromises are made. The system has worked for hundreds of years, well enough that even the Lyraen Mission founded by The Immortals has not sought to change it. Individuals enjoy freedom here, but we are not a democracy. Is that your purpose in coming here? To change what we have? Or is it to solicit our military support in overthrowing the government of Gan?”

  “I wish I could tell you exactly why we’re here, sir,” said Trae, “but my primary purpose is to save the lives of innocent people on Gan.”

  “Ah, but from the point of view of Gan’s Emperor the Lyraen people are not innocents. They advocate his overthrow. They’ll accept only a pure democracy, a utopian concept brought to them by a foreign people who have come from far away, and who say they’re Immortal. Even that concept is difficult to believe, and I say that as a member of the Lyraen faith. The Church here questions things; it doesn’t blindly accept them. We question the idea of a pure democracy when personal freedom and high quality of life can be accomplished in other ways. The Lyraens on Gan do not question the teachings of The Immortals. Their thinking is narrow and rigid.”

  “Would you allow them to be killed, then?” Trae felt heat in his face, and anger stirred in him.

  “I haven’t said that,” said Assan quickly. “The point I’m trying to make is that even among Lyraens on planets of our local system the reputation of The Church on Gan has always been poor. It is rigid and uncompromising, and the problem has now coupled with the existence of a cruel Emperor who’s threatened by it. To topple an Emperor means war, or, the threat may be removed by a mass migration of the Lyraens on Gan. But who will take them? Should we open our doors to them on Galena, allow them to come in and then make trouble because we don’t meet their ideals? There are seven planets, and seven Emperors in The League. None are purely democratic, and most are dictatorships to some degree. Good relationships between us are of mutual benefit. So what are we to do with the rebellious Lyraens of Gan? Do you see the dilemma?”

  Trae stared at Assan for just an instant, and then his eyes focused again. “I see that unless my people can compromise their beliefs the only way I can save them is to take them far away from here. Their neighbors won’t take them in, and there’s no way they can overthrow Emperor Osman without outside help.”

  “We cannot give you that kind of help,” said Assan. “Our military is purely for defense, and we will not intervene in the business of other League members unless it threatens our safety. Emperor Siddique wanted this made clear to you. On the other hand, if The Church on Gan could adopt more liberal views of what a free society is, we would consider taking them in as citizens, provided they make no plans to return t
o Gan or plot against the government there.”

  “I can’t speak for The Church, but it might be possible,” said Trae, but then Petyr touched his arm.

  “I don’t think it’s likely. The conservative element of The Church has dominated since your father left us. We don’t have time to persuade them to soften their views.”

  “Then we can’t take them in,” said Assan. “That leaves arrest, imprisonment or death, exile at the best. I’m sorry, but extremists are often the source of their own problems. One thing my Emperor has mentioned to me; Khalid Osman has spoken of the Lyraen problem in League Council, but it’s common knowledge his reign is considered oppressive by all his people, not just one group. If he brings it up again, an Emperor known for compassion might suggest exile of antagonists to another colony world and give Osman an opportunity to allow it. He has good reason to be concerned about his image on the Council these days.”

  Trae looked at Petyr, who shrugged his shoulders in resignation. Assan smiled. “It’s the best we can do for you right now, but the two of you can remain here as long as you wish. You might visit with officials of The Church and get their views. I think it will give you a new perspective.”

  “Thank you,” said Trae. “It’s not what we’d hoped for, but I’m sure it’s all you can do for us. There’s so much for me to learn, and I don’t have much time. I really think Osman will begin arresting Lyraens soon. He obviously knows they’ve sent an emissary off-planet. We were followed and attacked on our way here.”

  “That alone might delay any arrests he’d like to make. Any outward signs of oppression are signs of instability. The League of Emperors is working for free trade between all their worlds, and wants permanent agreements. They’ll shy away from worlds showing unrest. It’s a lever Emperor Siddique can use, and he has suggested it in my presence. Please believe me when I say he’s sympathetic to the plight of any oppressed people, but all he can do for you now is subtle and political. He certainly wishes you well, and I need to get back to him. Your escort by the door will show you to your rooms and see to your needs.”

  Assan stood up, and extended a hand to them. They shook it. “You will not see me again, but I pray The Source will give you a safe journey.”

  “And for you and your Emperor a good life,” said Trae with a nod.

  Assan smiled broadly. “Amazing, such a youthful look. One would never know. Perhaps one day your own people will return to show us better ways.” He turned and left the room, and Pavel, their escort, was instantly standing in the doorway.

  “My own people?” said Trae.

  “The Immortals,” said Petyr. “That’s what you are.”

  Pavel led them to their rooms.

  Assan’s face flushed as he quickly crossed the foyer and down a long hallway to the adjoining office building. He was feeling a strange mixture of awe and shame, awe at having met an actual Immortal and shame at not providing what the man had come for. Khalid Osman was a despicable despot, and sooner or later The League would have to deal harshly with him before the cancer of his policies could spread. Now was not the time.

  An Immortal, so old, but a strip of a boy, and at one point it seemed his eyes had glowed. An Immortal on a mission, but there was more to it than just a fight against a harsh Emperor, of this Assan was certain. Perhaps The Immortals would return in force to create new systems of government in The League. Perhaps this boy he’d just met, this reincarnation of the son of an Immortal missionary, was being sent to fetch them. And if The Immortals returned, what would happen to the Emperors, good or bad? What would happen to their devoted servants?

  Assan mused on this as he reached the preparation room, and went inside. He changed out of his robe of humility, and put on the white robe of wisdom and purity of thought, then went through the door to the judgment chamber.

  It was empty. Good. He had a few minutes to think. His hard-soled sandels clicked hollowly on the marble floor, the sound echoing from the high vaulted ceiling above him. He went to the throne on a dais rising three feet above the floor, and sat on it, bowing, and placing his face in his hands.

  “Source of all things, give me the courage and wisdom to do that which you would have me do,” he prayed, then straightened, and enjoyed a few moments of quiet meditation.

  There was a knock on the great door.

  “Come!”

  The door opened, and a secretary stood there. “The delegation has arrived, Excellency.”

  “Send them in,” said Emperor Rasim Siddique, the ruler of all Galena, and a clandestine Servant of The Source.

  CHAPTER 8

  After his visit to the palace of Rasim Siddique, the dreams were suddenly more frequent and intense. The first night Trae was startled awake, face hot and sweaty. His feet hit the floor with a thud that awoke Petyr. Trae had never felt such a sense of urgency before. He tried to grasp the reason for it, but it was gone, fading with the dream. He’d been talking to Petyr, or rather his father, and there’d been drawings, technical things, on a table in front of them, and long lists of numbers. He awoke remembering nothing except a visual flash of the scene, but his head hurt, and somehow he knew all the details were still in his mind, and it was urgent he find the key to release them. But why?

  Petyr questioned him, and seemed concerned. “The Church is supposed to provide for you wherever we go, but I have no new contacts. We’ll have to ask them whenever they decide to meet us. I’m sure Siddique will expect us to move along quickly. The treatments are initiating these dreams, Trae, and I don’t know how or why.”

  They had to wait three days before being contacted by the Lyraen church on Galena, and then it was only a note delivered by an unknown messenger. It told them where and when to go, but Petyr was suspicious enough to ask Pavel for a military escort. There was another delay of a day before the meeting, and in the meantime the dreams came every night, a jumble that confused Trae and frightened him.

  It was no longer conversations with a familiar face in a familiar room. There were visions of other places: forests, and two moons in a deep blue sky, a huge room in polished brown marble with frescos on a high, vaulted ceiling, then domed huts made of bricks and surrounded by sticky mud he struggled to walk through. The fire came again, and he was beating at the flames with crisping hands, the same dream he’d had since childhood. All of this happened in one night, and repeated after that. Each morning he awoke exhausted and shaking to find Petyr there, sitting on the edge of his bed, looking down at him.

  Pavel took their request seriously and showed up with a heavily armed escort of a dozen soldiers and three armored vehicles. They were driven to the central Lyraen church in the capital city, an unadorned building that could have been offices or a bank. They were met by three, young priests, and an elderly proctor named Nicolus Shue, all dressed in business suits. The entire time they were in the church the young priests were never introduced to them, were apparently present only to listen and learn. They bowed in deference to Trae, watched his eyes constantly, and hung on his every word.

  “They’ve never seen an Immortal before now,” explained Nicolus. “I was a small lad when your father passed through here, and we’ve not seen him since. It has been a disappointment to us.”

  They went to a large room with white undecorated stucco walls. Rows of tables went back from a stage and podium. One table was prepared with two pitchers of water, glasses, and notepads in front of six straight back chairs. They sat.

  “I’m trying to find my father, or any other Immortal who can lead me to him. The Church is in serious trouble on Gan, and lives are at stake,” said Trae.

  “So I hear,” said Nicolus, “but that has nothing to do with us. They’ve made their own nest, and broken contact with churches all across The League.”

  “They’ve been driven underground by threat of imprisonment or death. There can be no communication because of the risk of discovery.”

  “Yet here you are.” Nicolus smiled.

  “The leavin
g was planned for many years,” said Petyr, “but our destination was kept secret from us until the last moment.”

  “Not a very well kept secret. You were attacked, and apparently killed.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Petyr, and glanced over his shoulder. Pavel was there at the doorway with four of his soldiers.

  “We have our sources,” said Nicolus.

  “Are you questioning our identity?” Petyr’s eyes narrowed.

  “I am. There have been recent attempts to infiltrate our ranks, and the bodies have been returned to their masters on Gan. Like all planets, we also have soldiers of The Church.”

  “And I am one of them.”

  “He’s been my teacher and guard since I was a child,” said Trae. “If you question his identity you question mine.”

  “Yes, I do. There’s a simple test, if you’ll permit it.”

  “Of course.”

  “Not so fast, Trae,” said Petyr, and motioned to Pavel. The man came running, the soldiers right behind him. Nicolus recoiled in surprise, and the young priests pushed back their chairs, ready to flee. Four rifles were now leveled at them.

  “You question who we are, but how do I know you represent The Church?”

  “What’s the test?” asked Trae quickly.

  “We need a small drop of your blood, that’s all,” said Nicolus, and looked straight at him with fear in his eyes. The muzzle of a rifle was only a foot from the man’s head.

  “Then do it,” said Trae, with authority. “I need no proof of your identity. I’ve seen your face before, and the faces of these young men. You’ve stored things my father left behind for me. They’re in a black, wooden box, and I need to have them before we can move on. Take the blood and make your test. We can’t waste time with this.”

  “Trae, I—”

  “Please, Petyr. They’re only questioning me. Their agents have seen you before at a concave on Gan when I was small. They believe who you are. The test will tell them I’m an Immortal, and also that I’m the son of Leonid Zylak. Put the guns down. You’re frightening them.”