The Star Mother

by J D Huffman

  Cylence laughed. “Kellen Khazour knew and loved the thrill of combat. He was a man who tasted blood in his mouth and felt the bodies of his enemies become lifeless in his hands. His passing was a true shame, a loss to us all. The Order have no doubt felt emboldened since his feckless whelp took the reins of power. All Aman Khazour is skilled at is sending others to die on his behalf. All I desire from him is that he uphold our contract and increase the slave shipments, as stipulated given our circumstances. If he will not do this, I will ensure he regrets it.”

  Martan stood quietly, unmoved by Cylence’s bluster. Sasha found that curious. Cylence must make speeches like this a lot. I wonder what Martan really thinks of his leader.

  “Is there a particular punishment you wish to suggest?” Martan inquired.

  “Yes. What was the planet involved in that civil war several years back? There was the girl, the one who tried to challenge Kellen for his title.”

  “Analise Achim,” Martan recalled from memory. “The planet was Mercer. It is not far from the boundaries of the Fortress.”

  Cylence snapped his fingers. “That’s the one.”

  “Mercer has been in trusteeship since Achim’s death,” Martan noted. “Carey Vendor, her one-time paramour, now manages the planet in her stead.”

  “I don’t care about the vagaries of Hegemony succession,” Cylence chided. “Do we have any numbers on their population? How many lowborn?”

  “At least fifty thousand, according to the last census,” Martan said.

  How does he know all this? Sasha couldn’t help wondering.

  “I want half of them,” Cylence said simply. “Tell Khazour he has a month to produce 25,000 lowborn from Mercer and deliver them to me. He shouldn’t care about the fates of people whose countess or baroness or whatever absurd title she held tried to make war against his father. He should be happy to be rid of them. Send the demand, and remind him of his obligations.”

  “It will be done, Your Magnificence,” Martan said. “Will there be anything else?”

  “Yes. Bring me the Chronicle,” he said with a sneer, leaning forward in his throne.

  “Sir, I do not believe that a wise idea, given your current company.”

  “Are you arguing with me?” Cylence barked, incredulous. “Do as I told you! It’s in my office.”

  Sasha knew Cylence could have gotten it himself, but making Martan scurry must have been one of his petty exercises of power. Has Martan ever thought about killing his master? Is he Totality, himself? He must be. I can’t imagine Cylence would entrust a mere human to run things for him.

  Martan soon returned with a thick book whose bindings had clearly deteriorated somewhat with time. The cover had the texture of animal hide, brown and worn, and the book as a whole looked heavy and a bit challenging to carry and manipulate, as books went. Emerging from behind the dais, he ascended the steps and handed the book to his master, then returned to the floor. He stared up at Cylence, apparently waiting for further orders.

  “You can go,” Cylence waved him off. “I’ll return the book when I’m finished.”

  “What do you intend, Your Magnif—”

  Cylence cut him off, no longer willing to entertain his questioning. “I told you to go!” his voice boomed, echoing through the throne room with such volume that Sasha winced. She could scarcely believe his voice was the result of purely human capabilities. She thought it likely that this was some peculiar Totality ability she’d not experienced before.

  Martan hurried away, and once he was gone, Cylence approached with the book in hand. He knelt next to Sasha’s cage and presented it to her, facing the cover toward her. “Do you recognize this?”

  She didn’t believe she did, at first. Fixing her eyes on it for several seconds, she came to realize it looked very much like the new Chronicle Fred had given her, in which he’d first described her as the Star Mother, and wherein she began enumerating those who died in her name. It was the same, but somehow not the same: this one looked older, very worn, the pages clearly wrinkled and tinted with the passage of time. She said nothing, and did her best not to indicate anything specific to Cylence, either.

  “It’s okay to tell me you recognize it,” he grinned. He opened it to a random page and again faced it so she could see. She saw her own handwriting there, but they were things she had not written—events that had not transpired.

  “What is this?” she asked, almost with a gasp.

  “A good question,” he nodded, quickly slamming the book shut and blasting a puff of musty air into her face. He carried the tome back to his throne and sat down, then turned through some of the pages again. “It’s your Chronicle, of course. Things you’ve done. Things you’ve yet to do. Your expression was the confirmation I needed that it wasn’t some simple forgery.”

  “I didn’t say anything about it,” she protested. “I didn’t write any of that,” she said truthfully.

  “Oh, I know. You haven’t written it yet. But do you know what fascinates me? What is written in the early parts hews very closely to actual events, and yet this book has been in my possession for many years. It foretold your rebellion on Actis. It discussed your attack on the weapons depot—a daring effort, I must admit, and entirely too costly for you, if we’re to make an objective military analysis of it. What I find even more curious are the events that don’t match. There were more ships in this book, a group of five that successfully left Actis, and they stayed together. But, as you and I have discussed, only two made it off of Actis, and you parted ways immediately. Of course, there is also nothing here about you becoming my prisoner. What am I to make of it? I certainly have my ideas.”

  “Oh?” she cooed, hoping his excitement would get the better of him and he would tell her too much.

  He beamed, gleefully turning the pages. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? For me to share every detail I’ve learned, every piece of the future I hold in my hands, right here. I will tell you this: I acquired the book from a source I consider highly trustworthy, insofar as I do not imagine he would have fabricated something of this nature. And I believe he brought it with him from another time and place—from a world like ours, but not ours, and carried through space and time until it came to be in my possession. But my knowledge of events changes them, does it not? After all, you are here with me, whereas before you were not. What impact does that have on the future, now? Who can say? It’s like a map that I can read, but cannot follow unless I intend to redraw it. And redraw it, I shall.”

  She shuddered at the ominous way he said it. “What do you mean? What are you going to ‘redraw’?”

  He laughed, standing up from his throne again, resting the book on his seat. He came closer with every word, until he knelt in front of her again. “You don’t understand at all, do you? Your rebellion only happened because I allowed it. You were able to attack that depot because I allowed it. You only made it to Arkady’s world because I allowed it. I captured you because I knew where you would be, and when. Your every move was preordained by you—not the Sasha kneeling before me, but a version of you nonetheless—and yes, it foretells other things. There is mention of a great fall, of the Totality brought low and defeated. I have already taken the first steps to thwarting those events, and I can remain one step ahead of any who would challenge me, as a result. And even if you do somehow defeat me, do you realize what you leave in my place? Do you think the Totality are the gravest threat in this universe? Child, you have no idea. The Hegemony? The Order? They’re nothing in the face of the darkest possibilities of existence. You don’t know until you’ve stared into its eyes, and seen the face of pure destruction, felt its breath on you, felt its rage and hatred for all that is, was, and ever will be. To destroy me is to destroy yourself. I can say this, and I know you will not believe it, because I have said it to you before, and you struck me down without a thought.”

  Sasha thought he
was raving like a madman. She had no interest in trying to comprehend the nonsense he vomited. Where she expected he would give away specifics that could possibly help her, instead he spoke in hypotheticals, in portents and prophecies—and she did not believe in the latter.

  “It’s fine for you to think me insane,” he whispered, leaning in closer, almost to where she could reach his face with her hands. “We’ll all wish we were simply mad if you do what you intend to do. Kill me, Star Mother. Kill me, if you can, and embrace the unraveling of everything you’ll ever know.”

  Chapter 36

  Family Legacy

  Before agreeing to leave the cargo ship, William insisted upon investigating the welfare of the children on the upper level. He found them frightened but otherwise in good condition, being comforted by Katerine. Some had taken minor cuts and bruises, but Katerine assured him that none had been vaporized by the Order energy beam which had blown a hole in the floor. Evidently, the weapon that so effectively disintegrated skin and bone was much less proficient at obliterating the skeletal materials of a Totality transport ship. He was relieved by that, and also that Katerine seemed well-equipped to look after the little ones despite their very recent acquaintance. He was reminded of the times he had to meet with children while a Militiaman, to interview them when they were traumatized, inform them of some terrible disaster—likely a gang-related killing—that had befallen their parents, or some other tragic circumstance that had made him come to dread interacting with kids at all. The good fortune of this situation, at least, put his mind a bit more at ease. Satisfied that the children were in good hands, he left everyone with their orders—mostly, to take no action until they heard from him again, and certainly to do nothing that would antagonize the Order. He had no way to enforce them, of course, and could rely only on their mutual trust, which he had to assume in good faith rather than know with certainty.

  He placed Fred in overall command, advising him to set to work patching the hole in the upper quarters as soon as possible, and to maintain calm on the ship. “If the Order try to board this ship again without approval, I want you to blow it up,” William told him in a grim tone. “Whether I’m a hostage or not, they will never take the rest of us alive.” Unspoken, though, was Fred’s own immortality, and William tried not to let himself be distracted too much by thoughts of Fred floating aimlessly through the void, condemned to drift eternally in nothingness, perhaps landing on a planet or moon someday, or falling into the gravity well of a star. He had the curious mental image of Fred plunging into the chromosphere of a star and finding himself pulled into the impossibly hot center, trapped there for all time, a living corpse with a sun as his coffin.

  He thought Elena must have found him crazy with the odd look on his face as he approached her, his mind finally putting aside the nonsense about Fred. “I assume you heard what I told Fred. The Order will not get their hands on you or your people. I’m leaving you in charge of all of them.”

  “Forget that,” Elena said. “They just slaughtered several of my kin. What are you going to do about that?”

  William sighed, wishing he had a good answer. “I don’t know yet. I’ll figure something out.”

  This was still on his mind as the ship which delivered the Order troops unmoored from the cargo vessel and made its journey to the Relentless. William noticed the interior was much like the ferry ship he’d once possessed, but certainly newer, in better shape, and with superior technology. From his vantage point on a bench in the rear section of the ship, he could see one of the pilots in the front manipulate the controls, and the interface looked much more responsive and detailed. I probably could have flown better against the Totality on Actis with that kind of interface, he lamented. No point worrying about it now, I suppose. Via the front window, he saw an object grow larger in the distance. As it drew closer, he made out a shape reminiscent of Transcendence of Light, and felt a pang of regret for that, as well. Like Transcendence, it resembled a cylinder laid on its side, flattened, swept back, and curved into something sleek and mean.

  With it taking up more and more of his view, he began to make out other details—snakelike protrusions that emerged from one part of the ship and curved their way to other parts. Lights adorned those tubes and William wondered their purpose, if they were related to weaponry or defense or scientific study or something he couldn’t even conceive.

  No one on the ferry ship said anything as they neared the Relentless, apart from one of the pilots chattering back and forth with the traffic control officer, exchanging jargon that William hardly understood.

  He worked to divert himself, to think about what he would demand as compensation for the senseless killing of Elena’s people, or what would happen if Fred did self-destruct the ship with everyone aboard. What he did not want to think about was his mother. He vacillated between anger, desperation, and a muted joy. It was the sort of occasion he never believed would come—a reunion with a living member of his family. He had no recollections of his grandparents, nor any aunts or uncles, vaguely aware that his mother had some falling out with her relations as a result of marrying his father, whom he did not remember at all. And once his father had vanished—suicide, the rumors went—it was clearly not enough to heal the rift between them. When he was left alone to look after Josie, he had no idea how to contact any other surviving relatives, no way to be sure they even knew he and his sister existed. And then he lost her, too, and that comprised the source of his greatest anger. If their mother had been present, maybe Josie wouldn’t have died. She was their mother—she would have known what to do. William did not, and when that early morning raid took her life in a twisted act of fate, there was nothing for William to do but resign to the reality that he was alone in the world. Even his relationship with Linda never seemed to adequately quell that feeling, and now, as he neared an encounter with someone he had been certain was dead, he chastised himself for feeling anger above all else.

  He did his best to contain it, affecting a cool demeanor to the extent he was capable. Once the ferry ship entered Relentless‘ massive bay and landed, the troops exited first, forming two lines so William would have to walk between rows them of them on his way out. At the end of these rows waited a woman both familiar and strange. What was once shimmering, light-brown hair had turned gray and silver. Her youthful, smiling face had long since given way to many wrinkles and a permanent scowl etched into what used to be dimples. Her body remained trim, hugged by a light blue uniform outlined in gold and with a treasury of medals affixed over her right breast. Her stance was not natural, but militarized: formal, precise. He knew her face, but he did not know this person who presented herself as his mother.

  He stopped a few meters short of her and nodded.

  “Welcome aboard,” she said, offering him a salute not entirely dissimilar from the one Militiamen used on Lexin.

  He ignored her gesture. “Mother,” he said formally. “Mom” just didn’t seem appropriate, under the circumstances.

  “Admiral,” another voice corrected, stepping out from behind the line of soldiers. Unexpectedly, this one was not a stranger. William took a step back when he connected the face and voice to his memory.

  “Demeter?!” he blurted. “What the fuck are you doing here?” It came out with much more hostility than he truly meant. Already off his guard due to his mother’s presence, the abrupt appearance of another person he assumed to be dead broke down any pretense of self-control.

  “William, please,” his mother said calmly. “I can explain everything in due course.” She traced her eyes over his body, and he wondered what she searched for. “Are you well? You look like you’re in pain.”

  “I am in pain, thank you,” he said coldly. “Not that this whole mess has helped.”

  “I will see to it that our ship’s doctor offers you whatever care you need,” she promised. “But first, please accompany me to my cabin.” She turned in a me
chanical fashion and began to walk away. Soldiers flanked her and William followed, quite aware that Demeter was right behind him. Making sure I don’t stray from the group, no doubt.

  The cavernous bay put to shame Transcendence‘s offering, which William couldn’t help admiring as he traversed the interior. The entourage soon reached a doorway which led to a corridor, and that one led to another, which came to an elevator. The styling of the ship’s innards were not entirely alien, given his past experiences. Relentless was, after all, called the flagship, and William knew it made no sense to put on anything but the best display possible for such a vessel. Silently, they rode the elevator to another level, where William was led through a few more walkways and finally to a set of doors, which slid open at his mother’s approach. She gestured for him to enter first, and he warily obliged.

  She came in after him, and once the door closed, the two of them were alone. William barely noticed his surroundings, now acutely aware that it was just the two of them, preparing to do combat of one sort or another, his nerves on edge.

  “I know you’re angry,” she began, not shying from his gaze. “And I know you’ve been through a lot. I know I should have been there. I know you have questions. I can spare a little time to answer some of them, but you must know that there are greater priorities involved here, and time is of the essence. Now, I suppose you’d like some answers.”

  “Yeah. Let’s start with, where have you been all this time? Running around with the Order? Why?“

  “It wasn’t my choice,” she claimed. “The day I went missing—the day you and Josie must have assumed I simply abandoned you—I was abducted by the Order. They had questions about your father. They interrogated me, and they were none too kind about it. When they were done, and satisfied that I had answered all I could, they were unwilling to return me to Lexin—to you. Instead, they took me to Earth.”