by Neal Jones
Generith had been born and raised in Osth, and he remembered a time when this community had been little more than a village. But during the war, when the Federation was attacking the outer colonies, many Chrisarii fled to homeworld, and the large pockets of agricultural open spaces - like the kind that surrounded Osth – suddenly shrank. Now, a decade after the war, many of those "refugees" were returning to their colonies, although Osth's population hadn't shrunk all that much in the last few years. Generith liked to believe that many had found a refreshing solace in this small community, and he had welcomed all into his church, regardless of their past or their beliefs. He, in turn, was welcome in every home, at every birth naming, marriage ritual, Pak'Ti'Faar ceremony and funeral service. There were many other rites and celebrations in the canon of Chrisarii tradition, and Tah'Mor had performed all of them in his four decades of service. It was his calling, and he took pleasure in it.
The shil'ra glanced out the window above the sink as he entered the kitchen. A thick bank of clouds that had begun rolling in at dusk hid the stars. The window was open, and a stiff breeze warned Generith that the storm would be arriving soon. He latched the pane, and then set about preparing dinner. He was feeling more fatigued than usual, and he probably shouldn't have taken such a long walk after his nap. But he hadn't been to the country in awhile, and he enjoyed a good hike along the huss fields, the scent of freshly tilled soil riding on a warm breeze. He settled into his easy chair after supper and decided to catch up on his reading. He would go until his eyes could stay open no longer.
He was asleep before he finished the second page.
( 4 )
Tah'Mor jerked upright, disoriented by the flash of lightning, and for several frightening moments he couldn't remember where he was. But after rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he recognized his sitting room, and when he stood, his book dropped to the floor with a dull thud. The shil'ra bent to pick it up, and then walked to the window to see how bad the storm was. The global weather service had labeled it a number three: lightning, thunder, plenty of rain, and moderate winds. This was another reason that Tah'Mor enjoyed living in this region. The thunderstorms were a magnificent spectacle, and they kept the farmlands lush and fertile. The beauty of the Varashok's creation never ceased to awe the shil'ra.
He was about to turn away when something caught his eye. He stepped closer to the pane and was startled to see movement in the courtyard below. Someone – or something – was in his garden. Generith started for the door, certain that the neighbor's pet orrt had escaped again. This would be the fourth time in as many days, and while the shil'ra knew that patience was a virtue, his had run out where this particular nuisance was concerned. He was going to capture the animal and let the constable handle the matter this time. He tugged on his rain cloak, secured the hood, and marched down the stairs.
The back door of the church opened directly into the courtyard, and Generith charged out into the storm. He stopped short when he realized that something bigger than an orrt was standing in the midst of the vegetable patch. The figure was tall, covered completely in a cloak as dark as the sky that resonated thunder far above them.
"Show yourself!" Tah'Mor demanded with a muster that he did not feel. His only weapon was the leash in his right hand that he'd been planning to use to restrain the orrt.
The stranger reached up slowly and removed his hood.
Generith gasped. It can't be!
"Shil'Ra Generith." The intruder's voice was soft and calm, yet Tah'Mor heard it clearly over the clap of thunder. "The Daughter of Tor'Ahl is about to be born. She will need your protection."
Generith was still in shock, trying to comprehend how a man who had been dead for three thousand years could be standing in his garden just now. "Wh-what?"
"Be at peace, Tah'Mor. Your devotion has earned you favor with the Varashok. The End of Time and Days is nigh, and we must all walk very carefully through these dark times."
The hood was lifted back into place, and a bolt of lightning suddenly struck the messenger. A blaze of light exploded outwards like a nova, bathing the shil'ra who was forced to bow his head to keep his eyes from being burned by the brilliance. When he lifted his head the stranger was gone, and there was no sign on the ground that he had been there at all.
Generith realized he was kneeling, and he stood as he pondered the words of the messenger, and then he began to laugh. It was not from the absurdity of the experience, but rather from joy. He began to weep. The first of Tor'Ahl's prophecies was going to be fulfilled at last! Tah'Mor lifted his face to the sky and stretched out his arms.
Lightning flashed, and thunder roared. Shil'Ra Generith laughed and laughed, and his tears mingled with the rain.
Part One
"Born Again"
Chapter 1
____________________
( 1 )
"Can you hear me, commodore?"
"No ... please!" He's crying again. He always cries, sobbing like a child, and some small part of him is grateful for the darkness. No one can see his tears.
"Is this how you believed it would end?"
"Fuck you!" But his voice is cracked, raw from screaming, and the expletive sounds weak and childish.
Serehl laughs. As always, his voice is in Gabriel's right ear. There is no sound of praying in his left. The priestess' voice is silent.
"Goodnight, commodore."
The pain blooms in his stomach, in his gut where the dagger stabbed first. Then in his chest. The blood is hot, sticky, like spilled syrup. The darkness is pressing so close now that Gabriel can almost taste it. He tries to scream one last time, but the blood is now welling in his throat, and all that comes out is a gasp and a gargle. He is drowning in his own blood –
- Gabriel sat upright with such force that he nearly toppled over the edge of the bed. He reached up to feel his cheeks and was embarrassed to the point of fury at the wetness he felt there. He wiped his eyes, rubbing them nearly raw, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
"Computer, what’s the time?"
"Zero-three-hundred-fourteen," the calm, soothing, gender-neutral voice replied.
"Fuck!" the commodore muttered. Pain throbbed in his chest and stomach, and he scrambled out of bed, hurling the covers in a tangled heap in the corner on his way to the bathroom.
It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the harsh glare, and he examined himself in the mirror. There was no stab wounds, only the faintest scars where the blade had penetrated three months before. In another couple weeks, not even the scars would show. It would be as if the incident never happened.
Marc sighed as he shut off the light and stood in the darkness of his bedroom, naked. Just the thought of returning to bed made him nauseous, and he reached for his robe. When he entered the kitchen, he instructed the computer to adjust the lighting to level three; just enough to see, but dim enough that the glare wouldn't bother his eyes. He opened the cupboard and pulled out the half empty bottle of Scotch and a tumbler. He set them on the table and then sat down and stared at them for twenty minutes. He could feel the thirst in the back of his throat, a scratchy hunger that worked its way into his mouth, and all he wanted at that moment was to drink straight from the bottle. He could still get three hours of sleep if he just drank enough, and there was a liquor store open on the promenade - even at this hour - if he needed more.
After another ten minutes, when he could stand it no longer, he gave in and filled the tumbler halfway. He gulped it down and filled it again. Another gulp. He grabbed the bottle and returned to the living room, plopping down on the sofa and activating the HT. There was always a good movie on somewhere, or something interesting and gaudy on one of the five hundred shopping channels. Maybe he could find his brother a birthday present. Something tacky and totally useless that would remind Jason that he was too old for petty sibling rivalry.
It was another sleepless night for the commanding officer of Exxar-One.
( 2 )
Ilka
ra opened he/r eyes. S/he looked around for several moments before sitting up. The dream...what was the dream? Had there even been one this time? Ilkara could never be sure. Among the myriad of tests that Doctor Rosenberg and Doctor Burke had conducted on he/r, a sleep diagnosis had revealed something unusual about he/r REM cycle, though neither could say exactly what, only that her brain wave patterns didn't match those of a standard humanoid. The doctors chalked it up to the technological portions of Ilkara's unique physiology, and because s/he only required two hours of sleep per night, there was plenty of time in the day for tests.
The Erayan stood and walked to the closet at the far end of the room. She'd been transferred to the quarantine facilities on Exxar-One two months ago, a month after the attack on the station by Colonel Serehl's fleet. The Dauntless was currently mapping the sector that was home to gateway prime, the planet where Ilkara had been discovered, and Doctor Burke had reluctantly turned over custody of Ilkara to Rosenberg.
Ilkara's presence was still a secret to Federation CMC and almost the entire crew of Exxar-One. Only the senior staff and a few medical personnel knew that quarantine room three was occupied, and while it was spacious and several accommodations and amenities had been provided for he/r, s/he was anxious to be assigned normal quarters and be free to explore the station. S/he understood the reasons for the quarantine - and the secrecy - but seeing only the same four, gray walls day after day was wearing on he/r sanity.
S/he chose a mustard colored tunic and black pants, then sat back on the bed to put on he/r socks and shoes. The door opened and Doctor Rosenberg entered, but this time he wasn't wearing an EVA suit. Ilkara stood to meet him.
"I have good news."
"Since you're without a protective suit, may I assume that you've concluded that I'm not a biological threat to the station's general population?"
"You assume correctly." The doctor smiled. "I'm sorry for keeping you here for so long, but I wanted to be absolutely certain. You'll also be glad to know that I have no more tests to run. I've exhausted every possibility and run every test in the book, and you're free to go. You've supplied me with enough samples to continue my research for several months."
"Thank you, doctor. But what about my presence here on the station? If I start wandering about, word of my existence is going to spread to your authorities back home."
"Captain Gabriel and I have already dealt with that. We've sent communiqués to Federation Medical and CMC. A team of specialists is already on their way, but they won't be here for another five days. Gabriel and I have made it clear to everyone that your rights come first, and because Doctor Burke and I have already conducted the initial battery of tests - as well as storing several of your blood and tissue samples - your presence won't even be needed. The team will want to meet you, of course, at some point, but that can be arranged around your schedule."
Ilkara nodded. "Thank you. Again. I can't wait to begin exploring."
Rosenberg nodded as he walked to the door and keyed in the command to open it. "Exxar-One is a place of many nooks and crannies. Try not to get lost." He cracked another smile as he stood back to let her go first. "I would give you the hundred credit tour, but Jennifer and Emalie are coming home today."
"Congratulations!" Ilkara waited for Rosenberg to input his code to open the second door, and s/he noticed his expression. "You don't seem very excited."
They stepped into the quarantine foyer, a large room that served as a central hub for all six chambers, and Rosenberg opened the last door. "It's complicated." His tone made it clear that he didn't want to discuss it any further.
He led Ilkara into the primary laboratory where a handful of officers were seated at different stations. Long counters littered with all shapes and sizes of equipment lined the walls, and the pair continued into the corridor beyond the lab. Lieutenant Commander Navarr was waiting for them.
"I have to get back to work," the doctor said. "Commander Navarr is going to escort you the rest of the way. I'll have a crew from quartermasters deliver your clothes and things later this afternoon. Anything else I can help you with?"
"No. Thank you, doctor. It's been a pleasure living under your microscope."
Rosenberg smiled. "Call me Ben." He retreated to his lab.
Ilkara turned to the chief of security. "Commander Navarr. A pleasure to meet you."
"You as well. I've heard many things about you." She started walking, and Ilkara fell in step beside her.
The Erayan smiled. "Yes. I imagine that Doctor Rosenberg and Doctor Burke haven't been able to stop talking about me." Navarr nodded. "I'm curious about something, though," Ilkara continued. "If your rank is lieutenant commander, why did Ben refer to you as commander?"
"It's an informal tradition," the security officer replied. "Lieutenant commander is a mouthful, and sometimes it's easier just to say commander." They arrived at a PTL and she pressed the button to summon a lift. "The quarters that I assigned you are pretty spacious, and if you decide it's too much room then I can reassign you. But I figured since you're going to be here awhile, then you might as well be comfortable."
"Thank you." S/he followed Navarr into the lift.
"DS-five, section nine," Navarr told the computer. She turned to Ilkara. "So how does it feel being awake after such a long cryo-sleep?"
"It was a little...rough, at first."
"It'll be much better now that you're not cooped up in a lab all day. There's a lot to see and do on Exxar-One."
"Yes, I'm looking forward to it."
Navarr was right. Ilkara's quarters had more than enough space for one person. The living room alone was twice the size of the one she'd spent the last two months in, and the double size bed in the master bedroom was much more comfortable than the one she'd slept on in the lab.
"I'm not sure what your dietary needs are," Navarr said as they entered the kitchen, "but the food processor is programmed with every delicacy from every world in the Federation."
"I think I've had at least one dish from half the member worlds in the last three months. I'm especially partial to the delch pasta from DrayH'M." Ilkara returned to the living room and walked to the viewport where s/he stood for several moments in awed silence. "I haven't seen this view for a very, very long time," s/he murmured. S/he reached out to place her palm against the glass. A freighter was coming in to dock at one of the ports above DS-five. Ilkara watched until it disappeared from view. S/he turned to Navarr.
"What's the matter?" the security chief asked. "You look a little frightened."
"Anxious, actually." Then s/he admitted, "Well, maybe I am a little frightened too." S/he paced to the easy chair and perched herself on one arm. "I'm not sure what comes next. I've been reading the protocols of first contact, and my species is new to this quadrant. I suppose I'm going to have to apply for citizenship, but after that ... I don't know."
"Do you want to stay here on Exxar-One?"
Ilkara nodded. "For a little while anyway. Ben says he has enough genetic samples from me to last for several months, but I'm sure that a situation will arise where he might need me back in the lab sooner than that." S/he frowned. "I don't think I have a choice but to remain here. Central Military Command is going to want to know things about The Erayans that I haven't included in my reports to Commodore Gabriel and Major Saveck. My connection to the hypergates has just made me an extremely valuable security asset."
"True. You're about to become a galactic celebrity."
Ilkara smiled ruefully and looked around the sparsely furnished room one more time. "I'm definitely going to need an interior decorator. This place needs some color."
( 3 )
Major Saveck finished his Kali'Fhan workout and sheathed his sword before walking to the bench. He mopped his forehead and chest with a towel, then turned to the viewscreen on the far wall that was displaying the latest news feeds from around the quadrant. A column on the left side of screen was filled with bulleted summaries of the latest headlines, and one of th
em caught Saveck's eye. He pressed the item to highlight it and then muted the INC anchor. A three-paragraph report filled the screen, and Saveck scowled as he read it.
OSTH, SLAIR PROVINCE, CHRISARII HOMEWORLD.
Shil'Ra Tah'Mor Generith has continued his claims that the Daughter of Tor'Ahl will soon be born, in accordance with the first of Tor'Ahl's six prophecies. The shil'ra says that he was visited several nights ago by Oraeko, an emissary of Tor'Ahl and one of the authors of The Holy Covenant, and that the man warned him that the Daughter of Tor'Ahl was about to be born.
The Conclave of Thardane has refused to release any statements regarding this. Many followers from around the globe, as well as from Slair Province, have been flocking to Generith's temple to hear his words for themselves, and it appears that most of them believe what he's saying.
Last night was the first in which a vigil was held outside the temple, and when many of the faithful demanded to know the date of this long-awaited second coming, Generith replied that he didn't know, that "...he was only supposed to spread the gospel and prepare the people for her coming..."
Saveck made a noise of disgust as he shut off the screen and reached for his shirt. It was all nonsense. The whole religion of the Varashok was nothing more than a collection of myths, stories that had sprung up from the primitive and violent history that predated the First Age. A man named Tor'Ahl had existed, but he was no prophet. He was only a king who had united several warring provinces and ended a five hundred year reign of blood and terror that had threatened to wipe out the Chrisarii race forever.