Branegate Page 9

  “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

  As 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 flam
e, 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

  Trae 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.”

  “Alive where?” asked Trae. “You ran away, and I only see you in dreams. Is that the reality you mean?”

  “I didn’t run away. I’ve always been with you, son; you just didn’t know it.”

  “Not when I’m conscious, no,” said Trae sarcastically.

  “I don’t think that’ll be a problem from now on. Here, try one of these.” Petyr stacked pieces of something on a plate and brought it over to the table. He put it in front of Trae along with an empty plate, knife and fork. Gobs of burned flesh, it looked like. Petyr served himself, motioned to Trae. “Dig in.”

  “What is it?” Trae found the faint odor of the food somewhat nauseating.

  “Cowry. It’s a flightless bird native to Tabor.”

  “It smells awful. It isn’t real, anyway.”

  Petyr cut off a piece, shoved it into his own mouth, and chewed vigorously. “You’re missing something, son, and you need your protein. What kind of meat will you eat?”

  “We had fish in the caverns,” said Trae.

  Petyr waved his fork over the serving plate like it was a magic wand. “Then let it be fish.”

  The plate blurred, shimmered, cleared again. Where there had been two lumps of blackened flesh were now two slices of golden brown fish, flaky at the touch of a fork.

  “Like you said, it isn’t real, but eat it anyway,” said Petyr.

  Trae tried one slice, then the other. It was delicious.

  “Of course this is all illusion, manufactured in my own mind and shared only with you this time. No watchers here, except your mother, bless her. She was willing to be a tree just so she could watch over you while we talked, but there are things I cannot allow her to know in the event she’s stolen from me by people who’d like to see me dead. There are many such people, Trae, and they’ll try to get to me through you if they have the chance. Your life isn’t safe.”

  “The Emperor’s police have already tried to kill me,” said Trae. “It’ll go on until the Emperor is thrown out, but so far I’m getting little help from other worlds, only words of sympathy. The Church of Gan isn’t respected; the believers elsewhere consider them extremists.”

  “Indeed they are,” said Petyr, “but they’re no longer your problem. There are far greater dangers than the Emperor’s police. You’ve now reached a stage where Immortals scattered across the galaxy might become aware of you. You might have experienced signs of that.”

  “I’ve heard voices calling my name. I thought my mission was to find you and save our people on Gan.”

  “The voices were your mother and I when you came of age. The mental ties are within the family; it’s part of our genetics. And you’ve accomplished your immediate mission well enough.”

  Petyr swallowed the last of his meat. “Oh, that was good. How was the fish?”

  Trae ignored the question and pushed his empty plate away from him. “I’ve accomplished nothing,” he grumbled, “except to nearly get myself killed.”

  “You’ve pulled a trigger that will rid Gan of its Emperor. The Church has its own problems to solve if it expects to reintegrate into society there. The Church was not my doing, Trae. All I brought to Gan, all I bring to any planet, is a philosophy. It’s not a religion. What the priests call The Source is in all of us; it’s a part of us that gives us wisdom and creativ
ity. Our people, yours and mine, learned how to tap its energies fully a long time ago in a place far from here.”

  “The Immortals,” said Trae.

  “Not really,” said Petyr, speaking for another. “We live a very long time with perfect health, but even so our bodies don’t last forever. There is a reincarnation process, but it’s artificial. Your mother and I have lived several lifetimes, half of them spent in ships making the transit across this galaxy. You’re already in your second life, Trae. You were Anton, our first-born, and your mother died with you in a fire started by the Emperor’s troops. I wasn’t there, but I experienced it with you. Your death agonies were probably experienced by every Immortal within light years of Gan. Those last moments were lost to you, but not to me, and I’ve returned them to you. They’ve been in your dreams since you’ve been reborn. And our technology has given you and your mother back to me.”

  “In new bodies.”

  “Yes.”

  “My earliest memories of the caverns are from when I was only two years old.”

  “Physically you were a year old at reincarnation, but only a few memories were introduced then. The process was accelerated after you were six.”

  Petyr paused, and a frown creased his forehead. “There were not a lot of memories to reintroduce. You were so little when they murdered you.”

  “What about my mother?”

  Now Petyr smiled. “We chose the age of twenty-five. It was a very good year.”

  “We all have spare bodies lying around, just waiting to be used for reincarnation?”

  “Not exactly,” said Petyr, and he chuckled. “I’ll tell you more later. Total reintegration is complex, and more than a bit traumatic. It’s not to be taken lightly. Have you finished eating?”

  Trae laughed. “If you say so.”

  Petyr smiled again. “Doesn’t have to be real to be tasty. I want to show you something, and we have to fly there to see it.”