Aerie looked horrified. “What are you talking about?”
Merra stepped up. “I think it’s time we told them the truth, Victor.”
“I don’t think they’ll believe us,” he replied, keeping his focus on Exton. “We’ll have to earn their trust first.”
“Do you have something in mind?” Merra asked. “I’ve already done that.”
Aerie and Exton exchanged a knowing glance. From her expression, Exton knew that Aerie was skeptical of her mother; Merra was overplaying her confidence.
St. Cloud turned his attention to Exton. “I am asking for your protection,” he said.
“No.”
St. Cloud cocked an eyebrow at him. “I guess you’re smart not to trust me right away, but there are things you don’t know, and there are things you must be told. If we are going to protect this world from the URS, we’re going to have to work together.”
“No,” Exton repeated.
“Aerie,” St. Cloud said, “don’t you think Exton should at least listen to what your mother and I have to say?”
Aerie bit her lip, and Exton mentally cursed him. St. Cloud knew Aerie’s weakness, just as he did—she was already wondering what it was that they had to say.
“Aerie, go inside Petra,” Exton said. “You don’t need to be a part of this.”
“No,” Aerie said softly. “I stand with you, Exton. I won’t leave you with my parents.” She narrowed her eyes at the two of them. “For all of our sakes.”
Merra came up beside Exton. “Exton, you know me well enough. You know I wouldn’t jeopardize Petra for anything less than winning the war.”
But you would still put it in danger—if you could risk it and win.
“I need you to listen to Victor.”
“Why should I care about him?” Exton asked, the old, angry rage bursting out inside of him once more. “He killed my father!”
“Because he’s the only hope for freeing the world from the URS.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Victor and I are members of the Ecclesia. We are not exactly the peacemakers that Dennis would’ve liked, but there you have it. He was not happy when I decided to pursue this course, but he understood it.”
“What course?”
“Victor is a prestigious figure in the government. He’s been on the fast track to his position for years,” Merra continued. “When he and I met, we were both ambitious, and we wanted a real family. We thought we could get away with it because Osgood and St. Cloud were friends, and I had a good reputation in the horticulture industry.”
Aerie stepped up beside him, taking his hand. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“We’re double agents,” St. Cloud said. “We have been for years, since long before you were born.”
“I had my children, and I tried to raise them and keep my career,” Merra explained. “But it’s very hard to teach your children your values when the State is in charge of their education.”
“They would have had access to the earliest education resources,” Exton said. He knew what she was talking about. With St. Cloud and Merra both in top positions, they would have been in school from the very beginning.
“Yes. I met your mother through the gardening circle,” she said. “And she invited me into the Ecclesia, eventually, while I was pregnant with Aerie.”
“Dennis said you were one of theirs,” he said, glancing over to see the reverend had taken the opportunity to flee back to the campus.
“I am.” Merra smiled. “As much as Dennis would like to disown me for it, given all the trouble Victor and I have caused over the years.”
“The Ecclesia wants to be free, too,” Exton said.
Merra shook her head. “They can’t. They cannot be entirely free of this world, and it is sad that they are content to let it fall apart in the meantime,” she said. “They suffer, for what little they do, yes, but that is the calling we all embrace.”
“You suffer more than they do.”
Merra drew herself up proudly. “Of course. Victor and I began to work to overthrow the URS shortly before Aerie was born. I stepped down from my position to raise my children. But I remained involved in side projects.”
Exton recalled the battle at Chaya. “Such as the eco-bomb?”
“That’s just a new one. Years ago, I was also working on the Biovid with your mother. Victor and I both knew about Paradise. Everything was going well for a few years. But then, the previous dictator, under Osgood’s suggestion, began curving the birthrate by force. Each unit was given a limit, and measures were made to ensure those limits were kept.”
“But you got pregnant.”
“Do you know what it is like to worry about the safety of your child, even before it is born?”
Merra’s self-righteous indignation was wearying, but Exton knew she saw herself as doing what was right. And he couldn’t blame her for that. He thought of Emery’s child, and how he might have a family with Aerie one day, too. Exton commended Merra for her bravery in taking the risk she did to protect her child.
But even though he could understand her, he still wished she was more open to telling him the whole truth, not just bits and pieces when it suited her.
And that’s probably exactly why she does it in the first place.
“So you faked your own death,” Exton said. “To protect Marcus. And St. Cloud knew about everything.” He saw Aerie’s eyes widen.
“Yes.” Merra folded her arms across her chest.
“And you’ve been planning this war for many years now.” Exton said it, and he knew it was true. St. Cloud’s comments about his plans seemed more logical now.
“I had been planning to destroy Paradise, so the URS would be significantly set back.”
“Especially with Silas dead,” St. Cloud said.
Aerie gasped. “Stop it,” she shouted. “Stop talking about that. Exton already hates you enough.”
“And you, Aerie?” St. Cloud asked. “Do you hate me?”
Aerie clenched her fists, clearly shocked and torn apart by the question. “I’m tempted to! Especially when you don’t want to listen to me!”
“I’m going to make this easy on you,” St. Cloud said. He held out his wrists to Exton. “If you can’t take me as a dissenter or a political refugee, take me as a prisoner.”
Exton hardened his gaze. “We don’t take prisoners.”
“You’re at war now. You have to.”
“I could just kill you,” he said softly.
While Aerie’s eyes widened in fear, and Merra scowled at him disapprovingly, St. Cloud laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Exton growled.
“I doubt you’ll do that,” St. Cloud said.
“Why?”
“Because if you do, you’ll never know the real reason I killed your father.”
At his words, Exton felt his body act of its own accord, as he lunged forward and punched St. Cloud, his fist landing square across the General’s face.
“Exton,” Aerie muttered.
Merra came forward and stepped between them. “That’s enough,” she commanded, as blood began to spurt from St. Cloud’s nose.
“It is,” Exton said, trying to breathe properly. He hated how terrible he felt. He had been hoping that in striking the man who took his father away, he would have gained a sense of satisfaction, or even a feeling of peace.
But St. Cloud was smart, Exton realized. He didn’t just want him to pay for his crimes now. Exton wanted an explanation for them.
He flexed his fingers, trying to stimulate relief in his fist. It ached from hitting the General’s face. Exton turned away and headed back toward Petra. “Fine. Have it your way. I will accept your deal. For now.”
“You will?” St. Cloud asked.
“You will?” Aerie echoed.
“Yes. You can be our prisoner. But it will be on my terms,” Exton said, continuing to walk away. “Now, I’m going to go make the arrangements for y
our incarceration.”
St. Cloud sniffed. “I hope you’re satisfied, Aerie. It doesn’t look like your marriage is getting off to a good start.”
Exton gritted his teeth, determined to keep moving forward. He didn’t want to see Aerie’s crestfallen face, he didn’t want to wonder if she was already regretting the promises she’d made to him, and he didn’t want to look back at the Memory Tree as it stood proud and tall against the smoking horizon. Seeing it now, planted firmly in the ground, able to withstand so much trouble, would only convict him, as his thoughts turned away from wedded bliss, back to the familiar darkness of revenge.
C. S. Johnson is the author of several sci-fi and fantasy novels, including The Starlight Chronicles series, the Once Upon a Princess saga, and the Divine Space Pirates trilogy. She currently lives in Atlanta with her family. Follow her on Twitter at @C_S_Johnson13.
AUTHOR’S NOTE AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Dear Reader,
As I write, I am always amazed at the complexity of the world around us as well as the world within us. Space has been called the Last Frontier, but it is my ardent belief that the human soul will still call to seekers long after every star is mapped and every world is under watch.
That is part of the reason I believe in everlasting love, that it is possible to fall in love more than once with the same person. And, on the more unfortunate side, I think that’s also why there’s usually a large number of times when we doubt such things.
I struggle with doubt. As a writer, as a mother, as a wife, as a Christian, as pretty much everything else I am or everything else I do. I am very familiar with doubt, and how it can be very crippling to not only the creative process, but the living experience. I hope you have better fortitude in this matter than I do.
Part of the reason I enjoyed writing this book was because my characters are left with little choice but to be brave. I’m somewhat laughing as I write this, because when I was in college, I asked a professor to write me a letter of recommendation. She didn’t seem to like me very much, and I swear, she had to dig to the bottom of the barrel to find things she could recommend me for. One of them was “philosophical reflection.” I’m not sure what this is code for yet, but I am pretty sure it means something between “obsessive” and “overanalyzes things.” Sad to say, but it is true that I enjoy getting to think about how brave (or not brave) I would be in some of these situations in my novels. It’s a weird combination of fun and therapy and possibly life coaching for me, I guess.
The Breadth of Creation picks up where some of my more amusing musings left off from The Heights of Perdition. I still wanted to focus on love and trust, moving toward complementary themes of doubt and fear, while still keeping true to the spirit of The Divine Comedy and its themes of Purgatorio, in which Dante Alighieri presents the idea that all sin comes from love used in the wrong way.
I appreciate his theme, even though I think I am oversimplifying it. I like to think evil is still less creative than goodness, even if evil changes and adapts more easily (goodness does not need to adapt, but only goodness can truly create things).
Aerie and Exton are still young, and even though they are able to perceive a good deal of love’s uniqueness and the power it holds, I know well how hard it can be to articulate the sensation of knowing to someone else, to someone who hasn’t experienced it. It is one thing to be taught philosophy, and another to live through a life that shows it to you.
Once more, I must ask for your patience, as I work through the next, and final, book in this series, The Price of Paradise (The Divine Space Pirates, Book 3). I’m looking forward to seeing you there!
Until We Meet Again,
C. S. Johnson
P. S. Read on for a sample of Slumbering, the first book in my Starlight Chronicles series.
AUTHOR’S ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
EDITOR
Jennifer C. Sell
Jennifer Clark Sell is a professional book editor and proofreader. She works from her home in Southern California. With her years of professional and personal experience, she offers several quality packages for authors. Find her at https://www.facebook.com/JenniferSe llEditingService.
Photo Credit: Savannah Sell
AUTHOR’S NOTE AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
BOOK COVER ARTIST
Reiseei, Manga Illustrator
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Check out her online portfolio at http://reiseeiworks.wixsite.com/r eiseei.
THE DIVINE SPACE PIRATES
SAMPLE READING
Chapter 1from
SLUMBERING
BOOK ONE OF THE STARLIGHT CHRONICLES
C. S. Johnson
☼1☼
Normalcy
Three Months Before
I was thinking about the intricacies of life, and how simple it was to control them, if handled with efficiency and precision, how there could be no surprises, no mistakes.
But I knew there wouldn’t be any mistakes; after all, there was no true right and wrong. Everything was relative, and relativity only called for adaptation. I knew this as sure as I knew the sky was blue, and Taco Tuesday at my school cafeteria was invented by cannibals. It was as real as the game device in my hands, or the air in my lungs.
Anticipation mounted, and my heart started to skip. The last piece of the puzzle was seconds from touchdown when—
“Dinger! Put that game away!”
I nearly flew out of my seat at the sudden interruption of my Tetris game. I luckily (skillfully) remained cool, merely snapping my eyes up to meet the discerning stare of my tenth grade AP American History teacher, Mrs. Smithe.
I had to grin, because her darkened eyes were burning over the top of her thick, black-framed glasses, and I knew she was annoyed. This was not the first time, today or otherwise, she had stopped, mid-lecture, to remind me to pay attention. In her world, no matter how addictive the game was, it was supposed to come second to her teaching. “Supposed to” being the operative phrase.
“Aw, but I’m so close to beating this level.” I smirked good-naturedly.
The silent, deadly expression I received told me it was clearly not one of her good days, so I shrugged carelessly, smiled brilliantly, and tucked away my Game Pac. I even decided to graciously wait ten more minutes before pulling it out again. Mrs. Smithe seemed reassured by this illusion of obedience, and went back to teaching. She was always a bit of a control freak, but I’ve never really met a good teacher who wasn’t.
And for all her trouble, Mrs. Smithe—Martha—was probably my favorite teacher at Apollo Central High School. She was middle-aged, with short curly hair that almost stood on end when her teacher-senses were tingling. I supposed it was her glasses that really gave her an authoritative demeanor, since her short height and tiny bone structure did not. And she always had coffee nearby. I once figured out while I was bored in her class that she could support a small company stock all by herself. You have to admit that’s impressive. If I had any problems with her, it was that she just didn’t seem to understand that Tetris was the ultimate meaning in my life.
I’d played the game for years, and it was the key to unlocking the secrets of all life—that we were all just players, some of us winners, a lot more of us losers. That there was nothing more to life than filling it with fun, and working to fit all of the pieces together cohesively, in order to claim glory and the right to brag. It was a beautiful, meaningless thing, the epitome of my preferred existence.
Plus having the title of Tetris King was a nice touch—I’d thought “Tetris Emperor” was a bit much.
“Psst, Dinger.”
I turned toward my friend, Evan von Ponce—whom I nicknamed “Poncey” awhile back and everyone, of course, universally accepted—to see he was wearing a pair of glasses he’d no doubt pilfered from a nearby nerd. “What is it, Poncey?” I grinned. I knew what was coming.
&
nbsp; “Put that game away—now!” Poncey mimicked Martha almost exactly, with his own bit of dramatic flair added for effect.
I attempted to keep my chuckles in, but to no avail. A matter of seconds later, the inevitable reprimand came.
“Dinger! Ponce! Do I need to separate you?” Martha scowled at us, reminding me of a time when my mother actually used to act like a mother to me. All the other students in the class glanced over at us, and I played it cool, but the tension was thick. A few of my classmates wore smiles of smug superiority, while others tried not to be the next ones to giggle.
It was really nothing different from the norm. Every day it was something else. Class stopped because of someone talking or playing games, and the intellectual lecture was traded in for a behavioral one.
But there was never a day when Martha punished me or any of my friends with a detention. Which, in all fairness, she was supposed to do. She’d always been fond of me and my cronies.
Despite that, however, Martha tightened her lips in irritation; she had to put on some show of authority. “May I continue?”
“Sure, Mrs. Smithe,” I assured her, though my laughter was still trying to poke its way out of my mouth. “What was that about the American colonies?”
“That was ten minutes ago. We’re discussing the new country disputes now. Pay attention, Hamilton Dinger!”
Ugh. I hated it—and still hate it—when people use my full name. Or even my first. Trust my parents to come up with the weirdest name in all of history and give it to me. I was a victim of bad parenting and awkward social trends. My name said it all.
Martha turned with a militaristic air toward the front of the room, continuing with her presentation. “Okay, then...In his farewell address, President Washington clearly advocated for the unification of political parties and a policy of isolationism ... ”
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