by Zen, Raeden
The rumblings didn’t last long before Isabelle called for decorum. “This concludes your first day of Harpoon instruction,” she said. “Be gone, study your Beimeni history and hone your use of the zeropoint field.”
The chatter picked up again, and as Oriana and Pasha tore a path to the exit portal, Nathan Storm tore a path to Oriana. “Hey, nice job today,” he said.
Oriana straightened, speechless. Was this him being clever? Was he insulting her?
He handed her a z-disk. “A bunch of us are getting together at the Candidate Café,” he said. “The instructions are in there. Just download them before you leave the classroom and you’ll have them in your neurochip when you get out.”
She stared at the z-disk in her hand. When she looked up, Nathan had already reunited with Desaray. They chatted with Duccio and Gaia on their way to the exit.
“What was that all about?” Pasha said.
“Not sure,” Oriana said.
“You did great today—”
“Not as good as you; you would’ve been able to reach the orb—”
“No I wouldn’t, but that doesn’t matter. Variscan candidates develop differently, but we’ll get there. We will. Together, and—”
“Don’t, Pash. I’m so mad at the Summersets right now, and—” Oriana hushed as a group of candidates weaved around her and her twin brother. When she and Pasha neared one of the exits, she said, “And I won’t let Falcon Torres get the first bid.”
ZPF Impulse Wave: Nero Silvana
Hydra Hollow
300 meters deep
“He saved my life and rescued my father. You will release him!”
The boy, Nero thought, must be. He heard the crank of alloy against rock outside. He leaned against the wall, his mouth as dry as stone. He’d thought himself victorious in his and his captain’s operation to rescue Jeremiah Selendia, the leader of the Liberation Front. One second, Nero had spied Gaia City with its geothermal vents rendered on the inside of the transport in which they traveled, the next, Aera’s palm. Now he enjoyed a view of his cell’s limestone walls. He didn’t know how long he’d slept. He’d lost track of time.
He still wore what remained of his striker synsuit, the side and leg plates torn by the Janzers in Permutation Crypt, his bodysuit ripped and encrusted with dried blood on his quadriceps, where the Janzer’s diamond sword had ripped into him. The wound was mostly healed, thanks to multiple uficilin injections on the way out. Nero limped to a limestone ledge, sat, and stared at a stream of blue-green bioluminescent water that trickled down from the ceiling.
He heard a tapping at his cell bars. A familiar face; it was Cornelius Selendia dressed in a dark green cape, hood up over his head, a sword sheathed across his back. Animated tattoos of starfish and seaweed undulated over his muscular forearms. He held chains in his hands.
“They didn’t tell me … about this …” Connor said. He dropped the chains.
Nero was glad to see the boy up and about again. During the raid into Permutation Crypt, Connor had connected to the ZPF in a way Nero had never experienced. He’d overwhelmed the Janzers’ telekinetic defenses, ripping apart more than three hundred of them: he’d saved the operation from ruin. Then he had collapsed from exhaustion, and Zorian, Connor’s older brother, had carried him out of the Crypt.
Presently, Nero’s anger over his imprisonment won out over his sense of gratitude. “We had an accord.”
“Aera acts alone. She doesn’t hold to the commonwealth’s rules or those that govern the BP—”
“Are these your rules?” Nero nodded to the cell walls. “You enlist a strike team captain and striker to your cause and turn on me—”
“Your captain’s the reason I’m here.” Connor leaned his hand against the side of the limestone cell, and Nero noted the uneasiness in his tone and in his stance, so unlike the boy’s confidence in the Crypt. “Something’s … happened …”
Nero sprang to his feet. He grimaced but limped to the bars. “The Bicentennial?” He could barely move from the pain that shot down his leg. While Nero had raided the Crypt with Connor, Murray, and Aera, his strike team captain, Broden Barão, had attended the two-hundred-year celebration of Chancellor Masimovian’s rule in Hammerton Hall. “What happened?” Nero reached for Connor through the bars and pulled him by his cape. A sensation struck his muscles, paralysis. He released Connor and dropped to the stone floor.
Jeremiah Selendia rotated around his son, not at all how Nero remembered him—weak, withering, half-dead in the transport after they’d escaped the Crypt. Connor seemed tiny next to his father. A fur cape hung around Jeremiah’s broad shoulders. His head and face were shaved. His eyes looked clear and sharp, his power in the ZPF as effective as Brody’s.
How long was I out? Nero thought. A trimester must’ve passed for Jeremiah’s full recovery.
“Not that long,” Jeremiah said, “but long enough.”
“We saved you—”
“You betrayed me.”
“Lady Isabelle—”
“Killed my son because of you and your Jubilees and your adherence to Masimo’s backwardness.” Jeremiah knelt and rotated his fist clockwise. Spit flew out of Nero’s mouth, as if he were being squeezed for pulp. Nero twisted his brow, shivered, and his eyes closed, but he didn’t make a sound. “You know full well you’re sending those people to the surface without a cure—”
“We … had … accord …”
“Ah … the accord. I recall a similar agreement you and I and your captain shared in Palaestra. When our accord stated we’d work together to free the people from this underground inferno, an accord you and your captain and your strategist dismantled when you turned me in to Lady Isabelle!”
“We … didn’t—”
“The way of Reassortment with you—”
“Father!” Connor said as Nero bellowed. “He’s had enough! Please, let him go! He helped me, carried you out of the Crypt, and you wouldn’t be here now without him … and … he deserves to see …”
Jeremiah looked up to his son. “Yes, yes.” He stood and nodded. “Wise beyond your years.” He ruffled Connor’s hair beneath his hood and released Nero, who gasped for air as if emerging from under the sea. Jeremiah activated a Granville sphere, and the cell bars dropped into the floor. “He’s right, you do deserve to see.”
ZPF Impulse Wave: Cornelius Selendia
Hydra Hollow
300 meters deep
Connor watched Nero, still rocking back and forth like a submarine in the Gulf of Yeuron. Connor would ask his father, when the time was right, how he hurt the striker, how he induced the paralysis, how he controlled his telekinesis within the ZPF. Connor couldn’t use the ZPF like that, at least not since Permutation Crypt, when he’d lost control entirely.
His memory of the raid was a blur, the descent through the pit, the shifts, his broken leg, Murray’s death, the Janzers. He’d killed them to save his comrades, but he didn’t know how he killed them. To be sure, he’d connected to the ZPF, but so much anger, so much energy had flowed through him in the Crypt.
Since he’d awakened a few days ago, Connor couldn’t telekinetically lift a pebble.
He’d seen his eldest brother, Zorian, manipulate the quantum field to influence matter, breaking fishermen’s arms as easily as he would twigs. He’d seen his older brother Hans stun Janzers with telekinetic bursts in the Department of Peace. He’d seen his developer adjust matter atop Beimeni River, turning it semisolid so they could trot across it. But these uses of the ZPF displayed by his father were still mostly unknown to Connor, for the power to bend a man by mere thought, without killing him, seemed unfathomable—yet utterly desirable.
“Left leg, here,” Connor said.
He locked the chain clamp around Nero’s left ankle, then another on the right. The chain connected between his ankles, long enough for Nero to walk through the Hollow’s limestone tunnels to the Leadership’s chamber, a deep cavern with natural pillars, stalactites, and stala
gmites. Three Granville panels were angled ahead of a stone table.
Father paced the length of the table where the rest of the Hollow’s representation sat—Gage Voss, Executive of Hydra Hollow, his commonwealth liaison, Brooklyn Harper, and council members Lizbeth, Zoey, and Isaiah. Pirro, a council member from Blackeye Cavern, the Beimeni Polemon’s eastern stronghold, was absent, escorting Zorian to the Cavern on Father’s orders. Jeremiah had also ordered the once old man to take athanasia treatments, so he could be of more use to the group. Pirro resisted at first, his nonviolent form of protest threatened, but once his back straightened out and he began to walk without a cane, he stopped griping.
It was so good to have Father back. Connor couldn’t believe how fast he’d recovered, but then he hadn’t known how many healer synisms existed beyond uficilin. Synisms that specialized in repairing bone, tissue, the brain, the immune system, and more were all available in Hydra Hollow, the BP’s western stronghold.
The Leadership had tapped into the commonwealth’s live broadcast signal over the ZPF. Connor wondered how they did this without Marstone’s detection but didn’t interrupt the meeting. The three-dimensional scene showed Danforth Diamond, the Beimeni Press reporter in Hammerton Hall, or “the official crime scene,” as he described it, crawling with Janzers after the so-called “Midnight Murders.” Then the cameras shifted to Chief Justice Carmen, who entered the Judgment Center from backstage and waddled to his dais. His face rolled with more wrinkles than most of the elderly Connor encountered in the Hollow, and his long, curly silver hair drooped around his cashmere robes. The rest of the justices, who looked as old as Carmen, sat beside him, four to the left, four to the right.
“They’re about to begin,” Brooklyn said.
Nero’s chains rattled on the ground when he and Connor rounded the table. They stood ahead of the table and watched.
Beimenians streamed into the public portion of the Judgment Center and crowded into the stadium seating. Danforth explained that guests were arriving from all over the thirty territories, from Gaia and Dunamis in the West, Vivo and Portage in Central, Piscator and Yeuron in the South, and Peanowera, Navita, and Marshlands in the East. Two divisions of Janzers guarded Captain Broden Barão. Two divisions! They must’ve suspected a BP strike, but Father wasn’t about to send anyone to this hearing. He had made that clear the day before yesterday.
Captain Barão now appeared near the right panel, the Judgment Center near the left one, and Danforth in the middle. The Janzers moved methodically, in perfect sync, their knees lifting nearly to their chests, their diamond armor glistening under the lights. They ushered Captain Barão through the bright tunnel. He wore a glowing green collar around his neck, similar to the ones Connor had first encountered in Gaia when Lady Isabelle had clamped them on him, Hans, and Murray. A Converse Collar, designed to block Captain Barão’s telepathy.
He wondered if the captain was as skilled as his father with the ZPF.
“What is this … madness?” Nero said.
Captain Barão’s wrists bled from where the cuffs dug into his skin. His face was emotionless, mouth drooping, his hair messy. The chains that bound his wrists rattled when he lifted his hands to block the flashes from the holo-producers. Blood dripped down his forearm.
Nero opened his mouth, then shut it without speaking.
Father poured glasses of wine for the Leadership, then sat down and sipped.
Hands clawed for Captain Barão when the Janzers forced him forward near the crowd. Some screamed, but it was impossible to understand what they said.
Father leaned forward. “What’s Xylia doing there?” He didn’t sound happy.
Connor tilted his head and squinted. Sure enough, he recognized Xylia’s freckled face, her crooked stance, her curled, fiery hair and golden headband. They’d met during Connor’s stay with Minister Kaspasparon in Portage Citadel, when he had first escaped Lady Isabelle and her tenehounds and Janzers in Phanes.
“I ordered that no one go to this hearing. Someone will find out why she went.”
“Xylia?” Nero said. “Xylia,” he said again and paused. “As in, Brody’s … Xylia?”
No one answered.
“Atticus Masimovian,” General Norrod began, “Supreme Chancellor of the Great Commonwealth of Beimeni, overseer of the thirty territories within North America, he who will always serve, has sent by his office and the Office of the Judiciary the following charges.”
The attendees hushed.
“Conduct unbecoming an officer of the strike teams—”
The crowd gasped.
“Murder in the first degree.”
Chants of “Barão, Barão, Barão,” rose up from the crowd. Chief Justice Carmen silenced them with his gavel.
“Disturbance of the peace.”
“This is bullshit!” Nero said.
A group of Beimenians, Portagens by the looks of them, in their brown lab coats and leather bodysuits, heckled Norrod and the judge, one shouting, “Let him go!” and another, “He’s done more for the commonwealth than anyone!” Several from the group chanted, “BARÃO! BARÃO! BARÃO!”
The Janzers swooped down upon the hecklers with a swiftness and elegance that Connor knew well. The disturbance was soon quelled.
“And finally,” Norrod said, “treachery against the Office of the Chancellor.”
“Norrod!” Nero said. “How could you!”
General Norrod’s turned against the People’s Captain, Connor thought. He’d learned from Murray and Arturo, his deceased foster father, that the strike teams were once fully autonomous from the commonwealth, led by the commander Vastar Alalia, who maintained a steady alliance with Chancellor Masimovian. Vastar died during a surface excursion to the Island of Reverie in 273 AR, and the rank of commander was decommissioned, with General Norrod taking over as the unofficial leader of the strike teams.
He should’ve helped Captain Barão. Connor dared not speak his mind, not given his father’s complicated past with the captain. Connor knew his father had been outbid by Vastar at Captain Barão’s Harpoon Auction in 260 AR. What he didn’t know was whether or not his father had killed Vastar the way the strike teams accused him, or if the commonwealth had without his father’s knowledge.
Now Minister Charles, clad in the traditional ministry garb—a green silk turtleneck shirt with silver cufflinks, silver pants, and a dark gray wool cape laced with synisms that projected Palaestran landmarks—joined Captain Barão behind the desk as his representative. Chief Justice Carmen recited the evidence, showed the replay from the Dream Forest atop Hammerton Hall, Verne’s and Damy’s kiss, her coughing, him seemingly strangling her, Captain Barão arriving and breaking Verne’s neck.
Nero puked.
The Leadership turned.
“This can’t … this can’t … be …” Nero bobbed like a bird. He wiped his mouth with the synsuit glove that still covered his hand. “Water,” he said. “Please … water …”
Connor brought him a canteen despite the obvious displeasure of the Leadership. Even his father scowled. Connor ignored them and also fetched a towel for Nero.
“What about due process?” Charles said. “Isn’t a Beimeni captain entitled to defend himself—”
“I can assure the people that this court’s reasoning is based on the evidence,” Carmen said, “and the evidence is unmistakable—”
“This man achieved more proper conversions than any captain before him. He holds the Mark of Masimovian inside his skin. He would die for anyone in this commonwealth.” Charles turned to the audience. “He doesn’t remember anything that happened the night of the Bicentennial, what does that say—”
“He’s a liar!” a man said, an obvious Navitan trader with golden suspenders.
“Order!” Carmen said.
Charles nodded. “I want you all to take a close look at this man, your People’s Captain.” Charles paused, and the camera shifted over the crowd, many with glossy eyes.
“Minister Ch
arles risks much speaking for your captain,” Connor said to Nero.
“My captain saved his daughter from the Lower Level, bidding for her when no one else did during her Harpoon Auction. Tethys understands how much the crowd’s psyche means to Chancellor Masimovian, and so he will appeal to them directly now.” Nero turned to Connor. “He will push so far as he knows Masimovian will allow, but no further. The chancellor understands this.” Nero looked at Jeremiah, who met his gaze. “And the chancellor knows the Palaestran minister hates the BP for all the scientists you’ve killed.”
The look Father gave Nero could’ve cut through diamond. Connor feared he might truly kill the striker, until he sipped his wine and turned back to the holograms.
“Captain Broden Barão,” Charles was saying, “he who swore to uphold the integrity of the commonwealth, he who achieved more conversions than any captain before him, who gave his life to his chancellor and served the commonwealth with a dignity, pride, and enthusiasm unprecedented in all my one two hundred eight years in this phantom Earth.”
He turned back to the judges.
“Can you sentence him to punishment undeserving of a noble man?
“Can you sentence him to serve in the Lower Level?
“Can you sentence him to death?
“I should hope not, for we must realize that we all return to the gods in the afterlife. Our medicines and Fountain of Youth provide eternal life, but make no mistake, transhumans—”
“That’s enough!” Carmen said.
Charles shifted his gaze and pointed to a man in the audience. The camera shifted with him to a muscular man with black-and-silver hair and a damaged eye. “The only way this act of violence occurred is if an outsider influenced the captain. And that outsider sits in this room. You know him well. He sat on this side of the court some fifteen years ago after his actions led to the deaths of countless RDD scientists—”