by David Beers
“It’s for our safety, Luna.”
“Oh, I’m a danger to you now?” She scoffed. “A woman who’s never used a weapon in her life?”
The Ascendant made his way to a chair next to one of the windows. He sat and looked outside. The windows in this room couldn’t be broken, so the woman wasn’t able to throw herself to her death even if she wanted to. Alexander sighed. “You haven’t been honest with me, Luna. That’s why I’ve slowly distanced myself from you and left you to your own devices.”
“Please, my liege, tell me how I’ve been dishonest.” It wasn’t a question but a demand. Perhaps she was done playing the game. Or maybe she would play it on her terms, and the Ascendant would be forced to do something drastic.
“A few months ago, something happened in this room, Luna.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke and his voice was mild, as if he were talking about the cloudy weather outside. “I’m sure I don’t have to go into detail, but I will, just so there can’t be any misunderstanding. I know you’re not a stupid woman, Luna. You know that everything that happens within these walls is monitored, tracked, analyzed, and categorized. There’s no reason for us to act like that isn’t the case. A few months ago, you spoke to an empty room. You said something like, ‘Who’s there?’ and then you began to sob. To shake.”
He met her eyes and saw the knowledge on her face. He saw something else, too: fear. Had she thought he hadn’t noticed? That something so severe would slip past him? Perhaps she had, given the amount of time that had passed, but that was why he’d done all this.
To soften her up before the blow.
“I want to know two things, Luna, and I want to remind you that it’s important you’re truthful here. However smart or capable you think you are, I promise you I’m more so. However great your genes are, remember who you’re talking to. I say all that because I don’t want harm to come to you. First, I want to know what happened. Who were you talking to? Why did you begin to sob and shake? Second, I want to know why you didn’t tell me what happened.”
He stopped speaking and let silence fill the room.
Something he hadn’t expected occurred. Tears filled Luna’s eyes. She reached up slowly with her shaking right hand and tried to wipe them away. Her face turned to the floor, and a single tear dropped into her lap. She was quiet as she brought her other hand to her face, trying to stop the tears that wanted to flow.
After a moment, she whispered, “I don’t know, and that’s not a lie.”
Alexander didn’t think she was lying. Not knowing and not having an opinion were very different things, however. “What do you think happened, then? Was someone in the room with you?” That was what the damn Fathers had said. The ex-Titan had moved across the universe like a ghost, floating from planet to planet and room to room. That was their theory.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she whispered, still not looking him in the eyes.
Dear gods, no, Alexander thought. She can’t be about to tell me the same thing.
What came from his mouth was, “Tell me, and do not lie.”
She took her hands away from her face and smiled through the tears. “I thought Alistair was in the room with me. I thought I heard his voice. I didn’t tell you because it sounds insane. Even now, I feel crazy saying it aloud.” She looked up. “I didn’t tell you because it’s impossible.”
Alexander felt a deep cold settling in his stomach. The Fathers and this bitch had told him the same thing. This Alistair Kane had traveled the universe, breaking the laws of physics, the laws of nature, and no one knew how he did it.
Alexander tried to swallow, but his mouth and throat were dry.
“Has it happened again?” he asked.
She shook her head. The tears had stopped as suddenly as they’d started. She wiped away those still on her face. “No. Nothing has happened since. I must be losing my mind.” She laughed, shrill and slightly crazy.
Alexander stood. “Maybe not.” It was time to go to the Fathers.
Caius de Gracilis had done as his Ascendant asked. He had returned to Mars and begun preparing for what might be the Commonwealth’s first real test.
He had also begun physically preparing himself for war. He didn’t think he would be able to face this Titan down. The Ascendant might call him a former Titan, but Caius believed you could never remove the title. That wasn’t the purpose of his training.
Caius simply knew no way to go to war except by leading.
He would fight whatever came to the Commonwealth right beside his men.
Caius had heard about the Titan’s newest victory. The man had somehow gotten hold of an entire army, and from the whispers that came to Caius’ ears, they were all mutants.
Caius was a student of history, as most men of his stature had to be. The difference between him and the Ascendant was he didn’t have the same arrogance. He didn’t look at the Commonwealth as a force that couldn’t be defeated because his bloodline hadn’t started the government. Caius believed it could be defeated since it was only as strong as the people who ruled it.
Just as those who would come for the mantle were only as strong as their leaders.
That was where Caius found himself worrying.
He had assessed the Propraetors and the Ascendant and he’d found them all lacking, at least compared to the Titan, who was quickly turning into a legend.
Had the Commonwealth grown soft over the years? Had the leaders not been challenged enough when training for the position?
Caius understood the answer was yes. It had to be yes. What challenge was there to be had without war? What strife was there with boundless energy being mined?
The Ascendant had fucked up with this Titan and was coming to know strife. He now knew war and loss, and that could either break a man or make him unbreakable. It would appear, from Caius’ perspective, that the man wasn’t breaking. Perhaps he wasn’t even bending.
Caius had kept his grandson a secret from the Solar System. Not that people weren’t aware he existed, but they didn’t understand the way Caius had raised him. The Titan hadn’t seen as far as this threat from outside the Commonwealth, but he did have desires for his lineage. He had always believed that if you had a monarchy, the strongest should hold it. To have a monarchy with a weak leader was simply asking for destruction.
Caius had planned long into the future. His son was to be a politician and his grandson? A warrior.
The plan had been going well until his son died, tragically and accidentally, leaving only the warrior.
Now, though, a politician wasn’t needed, but a warrior—and if the Commonwealth survived this coming assault, there wasn’t any reason power shouldn’t change hands.
Caius had summoned his grandson Hector de Gracilis from the far reaches of Mars a week ago. The grandson was a good man and knew his duty to Mars, the Gracilis name, and his grandfather. He’d finished his job on the other side of the planet and then traveled to his grandfather, which was how it should be.
Now Caius sat in his private dining room, and a servant entered.
“My liege, your grandson has arrived.”
Caius stood from the table, his meal mostly untouched. He hadn’t known exactly when his grandson would arrive, only having trusted the young man would make it. In his early twenties, Hector was as responsible as any ruler Caius knew. “Please, allow him to enter,” he told the servant.
A man that towered over both the servant and Caius stepped into the room. His shoulders were one and a half times wider than Caius,’ and he stood a meter taller. One would expect to see red eyes in that massive body, but there was no hint of the color, not even under the most intense inspection. That had been one of the most important pieces of this whole endeavor: ensuring that no red remained in his grandson’s eyes.
Caius had made him a mutant as a young man, though he hated the term. He’d hoped his son’s political status would be able to reverse the prevailing hatred of mutants, but if not, Caius wasn�
�t taking any chances.
There might be suspicions, but except for the man standing in front of him, every mutant had red irises.
Not this one.
The grandson dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “My liege.”
“Stand, stand,” Caius said, dropping his hand and taking hold of his grandson’s shoulder.
The man stood, and Caius put both hands on his biceps. “You look good, Hector. How are things on the other side of Mars?”
“The rebellion is finished.” Small rebellions happened from time to time on all planets—things that had nothing to do with subversives, simply men or women whose eyes were bigger than their stomachs. Hector had a relatively fresh cut running down the side of his neck and continuing below his maroon shirt.
“Were you injured?” Caius asked.
Hector’s eyes widened for a second, then he realized what his grandfather meant and smiled. “No, just got a little too frisky in a battle. Barely a flesh wound, Grandfather.”
“Come, sit.” Caius gestured at the table against the window. Hector nodded, walked over, and sat in the second chair, making everything look small. Caius glanced at the servant, who was still standing at the door. “Please bring my grandson some food.”
The servant nodded, obviously having been waiting for the command.
“That’s okay, Grandfather—” Hector started.
“Nonsense. You will eat with an old man. I still have a full plate, after all.” Caius went to sit with his grandson. “Do you know why I called you here?”
Hector shook his head. “No, sir.”
Caius knew his grandson wouldn’t lie to him, but he’d been busy killing rebels for the last few months. He knew about strife and danger.
Caius leaned back in his chair and looked at the plate of food. “A true rebellion is coming, Hector. Not like the things we have here on Mars.” He tapped his fork absentmindedly with his forefinger. “A rebellion that will threaten us all. Everything. Mars. Earth. Every remaining planet within the Commonwealth’s grasp.” He put his hand in his lap but didn’t look up. “I don’t know about the people of the Commonwealth, but those like you and me? The ruling class? We will be killed. Anyone who supports us will also be killed.”
His grandson’s voice dropped lower. “Does this have to do with Pluto?”
No one with any brains believed the farce the Communications Ministry had put out about Pluto. The Subversives had become too powerful or some nonsense, so an entire planet had to be wiped out of existence.
“Yes,” Caius said. “You’ve heard of the Titan Alistair Kane?”
Hector leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning beneath his muscled bulk. “So that was a lie too? His death?”
A silent nod from his grandfather.
“What would you have me do?” Hector asked.
The food was brought in then, and the two men remained quiet as it was served.
“Thank you, Alfred,” Caius said as the man finished up. The servant left, and Hector didn’t move to touch his food. Caius continued, ignoring his food as well. “The Ascendant has asked me to call a meeting with the Propraetors. All of them. We’re meeting with him in a week. We’re going to start preparing then, but until that time, I need you to read up on this Titan Kane.”
“Yes, of course, Grandfather,” the young man said.
The old man continued, “I want you to be at the meeting. I’d like you to take a new position in our family, Hector. You will be my Consillarius if you’ll take the title?”
Most families had the position, and it was an important one. An advisor, a counselor—someone fully trusted who knew all the business of their family’s head.
Hector stood from the chair, then dropped to one knee.
“It would be my honor, Grandfather. The greatest of my life.”
Caius touched the young man’s head. “Your father would be proud of you, Hector. I know I am. In a week, we will have our coming-out party, and then we will decide what to do about this troublesome Titan.”
Chapter Three
Fifty years after Aurelius de Finita, the First Imperial Ascendant, rose to power
Nine hundred and fifty years in the past
Aurelius de Finita was a man who understood risk and knew eternal vigilance was the necessary price of power. Someone would always try to take the top spot away. It was human nature and could not be helped. When he thought about the future, it wasn’t three months or three years forward. He thought about things in terms of generations. That was why he had started the artificial intelligence project.
He understood he had to worry about his progeny.
Both those who had escaped his grasp and Earth years previously and the young son he had fathered after they left.
He had no optimistic belief that his children wouldn’t one day return to Earth and bring peace when they came. Nor did he think his current son would be ready to rule when the time came. Aurelius was much too old, and someone would try to steal the child’s birthright.
That was why he had begun the project, which many had called impossible. They said the science wasn’t ready, and it wouldn’t be ready until long after he was dead. Aurelius wasn’t a man who listened to other's limitations, and he hadn’t when he started this project either.
He’d ignored them all.
Now it was nearly at fruition. The artificial intelligence program would be powered on within the next forty-eight hours. In early tests, they’d shown it was possible to upload a human mind without harm to either the AI programming or the mind.
Of course, as with all things great men tried to do, there was now a problem. Aurelius hadn’t seen this one coming, though. The people who worked on the project had all been thoroughly vetted—psychologically, physically, in every possible way—and then approved.
At least, that was what was supposed to have happened. If it had, Aurelius wouldn’t be standing in front of this locked door, ready to enter and talk to the man threatening to fuck up the entire endeavor. Aurelius was much older now than when his children had abandoned him and the Commonwealth. Twenty years had passed, and he could no longer deny that he was an old man. He still had some of the strength he had once possessed, but much had left him. The only thing that had not left was his will. It was still iron, unbreakable, despite how old he grew.
Aurelius gave a knock and waited for a minute, knowing that the man was inside. When no answer came, he sighed, took a keycard out of his coat pocket, and flashed it across the panel to the right of the door.
The door opened, and Aurelius saw the man he’d come here to talk to sitting in a wooden chair three meters from the door. He was sweating profusely, and he held a weapon of some kind in his hand. Aurelius thought it might be one of the StarBeams that had become so popular lately. His deceased wife had shot him with one two decades previously, before they’d started to be mass-produced.
Aurelius stepped into the apartment, and the door swiftly shut behind him. “Do you know who I am?”
The man’s eyes were bloodshot. He was younger than Aurelius by many years and had most likely seen little of this world, let alone the universe. He nodded at the Ascendant.
“Good.” Aurelius stepped farther into the room, looking at the furnishings. The young man’s name was Renyard, and from what Aurelius had recently learned, he was a genius. The kid had a bright future ahead of him in the Commonwealth. He could have made a contribution.
No longer.
“You have something of mine,” Aurelius said. “You stole it from me, and I want it back.”
The StarBeam shook in the young man’s hand, though the barrel remained pointed at Aurelius. The Ascendant paid it no mind.
“Where’s the algorithm?” Aurelius asked the silent Renyard. “Is it here?”
“You’re too late.”
Aurelius smiled at that and turned to look out the window on his right. “You can put the weapon down, Renyard. The building has been evacuated. Right now there are at least
five weapons aimed at your head, and the moment your finger contracts the tiniest bit, your head will be cracked open like a nut.”
He walked over to a small table in front of the window. A picture of an older woman sat on it. The Ascendant knew it was Reynard’s mother; he knew everything about the young man. Aurelius picked it up and looked at it for a second before placing it gently back on the table. “There’s not much I can do for you, Renyard. Your fate was sealed the moment you decided to take the algorithm, but you’re not thinking about the other people you care about. Your mother is still alive and lives only twenty kilometers from here, am I right? You see her every Sunday. She used to make lunch for you, but now you’re making it for her because she’s not as young as she used to be.”
The Ascendant turned and looked at the young man. His face was pale, his hand shaking.
“You ought to be careful with that weapon, the way your hands are shaking. You might accidentally flex your trigger finger a bit too hard, and that’ll be the end of everything.”
He stepped across the room and took a seat on another chair, this one having much more cushion and a leather back instead of wood.
“Where’s the algorithm, Renyard?”
The young man stared at him. A drop of sweat hit his eye, causing him to blink. He quickly reached up and wiped it away. “I don’t have it.”
Alistair gave a chuckle, more of disbelief than laughter. “We know you copied it. We know you took it. We know it’s here. The longer you make me ask these questions, the worse it’s going to be for your mom, your sister Andrea, and your cousins. Renyard, I know about them all. I know where they live, and I know where they eat lunch. I might look old and feeble, but looks can be deceiving. Tell me where it is and save them a lot of pain.”