Before the Shattered Gates of Heaven

by Bryan S. Glosemeyer

  “My life is a weapon. I am a Servant of the Divine Masters. Enforcer of Divine Will.”

  “What is a soldier with no army, Sabira? There are no masters and servants here. The Monarchy drove off the Theocracy two weeks ago. But now your food is getting cold. Will you let me feed you?”

  She murmured yes and ate in silence, one spoon-fed bite at a time. Maia must have felt content with silence as well, feeding her all the food she had brought without another word. Sabira felt grateful for the quiet. It helped suppress the urge to choke the last gasping breath out of her captor.

  She ate soft vegetables and brown bread, nuts and tangy fruits. All the tastes were not quite right, the flavors much stronger than anything she had tasted before. If she hadn’t been starving, she would’ve spit it out. But after a few mouthfuls of each dish, the tastes grew more palatable, even pleasurable, and she devoured everything Maia fed her.

  Maia, while lacking any tattoo glyphs on her head and face, bore designs along both arms. Strange, intertwining streaks of color like veins through marble. Maybe she was from a distant Unity world with different styles of glyphs? That could explain why Maia was only now learning Sabira’s language.

  “Are these your ownership marks?” asked Sabira. “The glyphs for your name?”

  “These?” Maia held up her hands, twisted her forearms back and forth to display the swirls in her skin. “These have been part of me since, oh, I do not know your word for it, since I grew from being a girl to a woman.”

  Maia smiled, and the patterns on her glowed with a soft bioluminescence. A pale radiance also shone through her thin, green wrap, as if the light woven into her arms also twined down her chest and belly as well. “It is a family trait going back many generations.”

  Sabira wondered if Maia was actually Trickster in disguise, tempting her with illusions of survival as she lay dying on an enemy rooftop, as if this was an elaborate test of faith to keep her from passing through the Shattered Gates. Tricking her out of Heaven, even in her last breath.

  Of course this stranger was no god in disguise, just an odd-looking woman with bioluminescent strips in her arms, yet Sabira couldn’t help but feel that Maia’s words were intentionally confusing.

  After Sabira finished off the last spoonful, Maia told her to rest. Someone would be checking in on her regularly. Said that if Sabira needed to relieve herself, not to worry. Personal aide drones would activate, assist her with a bedpan that was built into the bed, and clean her up. It sounded ridiculous, but since she was tied to the bed, there wasn’t going to be much of an option anyway. The thought of lying in her own filth disgusted her.

  “You do not believe me?” asked Maia.

  Damn. How under the rocks does she always know what I’m thinking?

  “There are no drones or aides in here,” answered Sabira. “Just that ugly plant.”

  “Almost everything at the Embassy, all the stuff, the matter, has been reformatted. We can program many of the objects here so that they can take on different shapes, different qualities. Something similar to what your guns do.”

  “Palukai,” Sabira said, bringing back the memory of it in her hands, the weight of it. Its palpable lethality. Maia must have them hidden somewhere. If they were going to escape, Sabira would need to find their sticks first.

  “Palukai. That is a very interesting word. Sounds old. Does it also mean stick?”

  “How did . . . ?”

  Maia stood from the stool. She ran her fingers over the surface of the seat in a complex swiping gesture. The stool vibrated until it shimmered and then collapsed upon itself. An undulating sphere stood in its place.

  “This is forma, matter that has been reformatted. It can be programmed not just for new shapes, but colors and textures, even physical properties. It can even be made intelligent, in a way. A type of drone. We call them lems.” Maia reached into a pocket hidden among the green folds of her wrap and pulled out a white ball about the size of her fist. She held it in her palm for Sabira to see clearly. Tiny green and yellow lights flickered across its otherwise featureless surface. “First you need one of these nodes.”

  She placed the node on the sphere, and it gently sank below the undulating surface. The ripples extended out from the sphere, becoming soft, rounded arms and short, sturdy legs. What was a stool, and then a blob, was now a short, vaguely man-shaped machine. Its small, round head twisted side to side as if scanning the room, then it went to the cart and started stacking the dirty dishes and serving ware.

  “A machine slave,” whispered Sabira.

  “Only living beings can be slaves,” said Maia. “Not machines. However, the debate on whether or not lems are alive has been argued about for centuries. I am curious what you will have to say about it.”

  “Are you insulting me?”

  “No, I am quite serious. I have never spoken with a slave soldier—”

  “Servant.”

  “I have never spoken with a servant of the Theocracy before. I am very curious to learn more about you, Sabira. What you think. How you, hmm, how you see the universe and how you find meaning. Honest truth.”

  Sabira wanted to tell her she saw the universe according to Divine Will, that her life was crafted by the Divine Masters for the purpose of spreading Will throughout the stars, unifying all life. But her throat felt tight, and the words wouldn’t come.

  After Maia left, the lem took a position quietly next to the flowering plant, and Sabira lay alone with her thoughts. Her belly felt satisfied at last, but the rest of her felt dizzy and uncomfortably warm. None of this was right. None of this was supposed to happen. They were supposed to complete their mission or die in the attempt, that was a Servant’s place in Divine Will. Not captured. Not this.

  If the Gods see us surrounded by sin and heresy, they’ll never let us through the Gates. Better to die than to live with these infidels. I should have died. Everyone else . . .

  Gods, oh Gods, Grandfather . . .

  Cannon. Arrow.

  I should have too.

  I’m sorry. I should have too.

  Tears were streaming down her cheeks when movement at the doorway drew her attention. The boy with the forbidden name, Cal, walked into the room and stood with his face looming over hers. No one else followed him in.

  “Don’t you dare,” he said. “Don’t you dare hurt anyone here. You hurt anyone, and I’m going to kill you. See me? Kill you, kill you, kill you. I know what you servants are like. There’s no hope for you. But don’t you dare hurt anyone.”

  “You would have made a deep fine servant in a few years,” she said. “It’s too bad Trickster saw you first.”

  “Stupid, the Gods don’t see us. We only see each other.”

  23.

  STRAPPED TO HER bed, Sabira squirmed against the grasp of adaptive bonds, alone with her unrelenting mind. She had adhered to Will. She had made the infiltration crew her brood. She had fought and bled for the right to craft a personhood for herself. She had done everything right.

  But it meant nothing.

  Righteousness didn’t shield her from seeing her crew slagged and vaporized. Adherence to Will didn’t prevent her from falling into the clutches of her enemies.

  If Maia was telling the truth and Daggeira had survived as well, maybe some small blessing could be found there. Sabira couldn’t help but wonder if Daggs was clinging to life somewhere nearby. Maybe just on the other side of the wall?

  Sabira gritted her teeth, desperate to twist a hand free. She needed out of this bed and out of this tiny, yellow room. Needed to find Daggeira, find their armor and weapons, find a way to breathe, find a way to communicate with Unity forces, find a way to survive. Find a way to find a way.

  But what right do I have to survive when better servants than me have already . . .

  Shame and frustration transmuted into anger. Anger for Rain and Cal, walking free, called by name. Anger for Maia, with her obscene amounts of hair and
smug set of chin. Anger for the Gods, turning Their sight from the faithful.

  Yet, even through that squirming fury, Sabira found she couldn’t truly blame Maia for binding her to the bed. It’s the least Sabira would have done if the roles were reversed. And Cal was right. Sabira was dangerous.

  She felt like a penned grank, biding time until she could finally charge into her enemies, unstoppable and merciless. Even if—especially if—there was no hope, it was best to struggle until the final, messy end.

  The hours passed. Sometimes, a murky sleep crept over her, and she’d awaken to find her arms churning against the straps. Sometimes, she struggled to breathe, reliving the hours of desperately gasping for air on the roof above her head. When it passed, she would often collapse back into a fitful sleep. At least in here she could breathe easily and freely without a mask or breather pill.

  After feeling like most of the day had passed, Sabira awoke from an anxious half sleep and saw Maia sitting next to her bed again. The window had grown dimmer, the colored walls less bright.

  Maia sat with her hands clasped on her lap, rubbing her thumbs together in slow circles. “I thought you might need some time to yourself. I know what it is like to be far from home. Confused. Believe it or not, I am farther away from home than you.”

  “I want to see Daggeira. I want to see her now.”

  “I know. Soon. I promise. She had lost a lot of blood and was starved for oxygen. You both were, but your friend was very near death. Our medicine will heal her, you will see, but Daggeira needs rest.

  “As for you, there are others who want to meet you. Besides Rain and Cal, there are six other humans liberated from the Theocracy. And two other Embassy founders from the Constellation, including our official Emissary. They are all—what is that word in Khvaziz?—anxious to meet you.”

  Maia picked up a small box sitting on the table beside her and pulled out a thin, white sheet only a few centimeters square. She laid the sheet on Sabira’s right bicep. “Sorry, but I must. For safety. When you wake again, you will be dressed and in a wheelchair.”

  Maia’s voice faded into echoes, and the blackness began creeping over Sabira once again. Just before sinking into a blank sleep, she saw four blurry nodes glide through the air, circling Maia’s head.

  When Sabira awoke, it was just as Maia said. She was dressed in a loose-fitting gown of soft fabric and sitting in a wheelchair. Realizing she was no longer in bed, Sabira tried to stand. But her wrists and ankles remained shackled, this time to the chair, and the binds squeezed tighter as she tried to pull free.

  Maia stood beside her. Four spherical, white nodes floated above her head. She said something in a language Sabira didn’t understand, and the nodes drifted single file out of the room.

  Maia placed her hand on Sabira’s. “When you are strong enough, I will invite you to be purged. Then we can see about your binds. But for now . . .” She tugged at the reactive cloth holding Sabira’s wrist to the chair’s padded arm.

  “I know you never expected anything like us. You never had any way to know that we, other humans, existed.

  “When I was growing up, I had many plans. Certain what my life would be. One thing I have learned, no matter where you are in the galaxy, life never goes as planned. You think you know your destiny. Then one day everything changes, and before you know it, well . . .” She lifted her palm and gestured vaguely. “This.”

  There was a knock at the door and a low male voice, “May I join you?”

  “That is the companion I mentioned, the Emissary,” said Maia. “Yes, please join us.”

  A tall, human male entered. The Emissary had a deep ebony complexion. His eyes gleamed silver and gold. His dark purple uniform emphasized his broad shoulders. The official ornateness of his clothes contrasted with the shimmering green and brown Maia wrapped around herself.

  Masses of hair hung from his scalp in long, black ropes. Dark curls grew from all around his mouth and cheeks. Even for all the hair, his handsomeness stunned her.

  The Emissary’s stature and presence filled Sabira’s little room, his voice even more so. “I’m grateful to meet you, lost sister. My name is Gabriel Mbala va Babylonia, Emissary of the Constellation.” He spoke Sabira’s language with more confidence and a faster pace than Maia, but with a very different accent. “Please, though, call me Gabriel. Or Emissary if you prefer formality.”

  Sabira remained wide-eyed and silent.

  “Gabriel, this is Sabira, formerly of the Theocratic Unity,” said Maia.

  “Holy Unity,” Sabira corrected.

  “There is one more founder of our Embassy for you to meet, but he is away right now.” Maia pointed vaguely upwards. “Mapping the Av System.”

  Gabriel squatted onto the balls of his toes to look Sabira in the face. His voice was deep, warm, resonate. “Peaceful greetings, lost sister Sabira. May I ask, what is the world of your birth?”

  “Nahgohn-Za.”

  “Then, in the Constellation we would call you Sabira va Nahgohn-Za.”

  He studied her glyphs. “I’ve never seen any other lost brothers or sisters with so many facial tattoos. I’ve been told that signifies your rank and name. I’ve also been told you’re one of the human soldiers of the Theocracy, is that right?”

  “I am a Servant of the Divine Masters. When the Unity returns to slaughter the infidels, I will lay your skulls at the feet of the Warseers, and they will cover me in glyphs of conquest.” Even as she spoke, Sabira wondered if hollow desperation came through in her voice.

  Gabriel smiled, his white teeth perfectly even, and stood up beside Maia. “Just as Cal was saying, I see.”

  “Sabira, the local star, Av, is setting soon,” said Maia. “Have you ever seen a sunset?”

  “I don’t want to see any stars. I want to see Daggeira.”

  Please be alive. Please. I need you more than the stars.

  “We’ll take you to see your companion afterward, I promise,” answered Gabriel. “She’s still recovering and unconscious. She’s not going anywhere. Come with us now. See the sunset. Meet the others. And before we bring you back, we’ll show you to Daggeira. Agreed?”

  Sabira didn’t want to be making deals with anyone who allied themselves with vermin, whether they claimed to also be Humans or not. But a lifetime without choice taught her to accept power with silent acquiescence.

  She suddenly understood why Maia and Gabriel felt so different from her. Their uncanny foreignness was something more than just their hair or accents. It was how tall they stood, how they walked. The set of their shoulders. Chins up and eyes bright. The tones of voice when they spoke. Every breath and every gesture a show of fearlessness.

  These two had never felt an overseer’s prod on their spines. Never saw godseers slice free a dripping, red heart right before their eyes, so close they could hear it, smell it. Had never spent every moment of every day, an entire life, living in subjugation.

  These two had never been property.

  “I’ll take silence as agreement, for now.” Gabriel positioned himself behind her chair and wheeled her out of the room. The four floating nodes joined them in the hallway and drifted along in front. The corridor opened into a spacious common room.

  The common room was hexagon-shaped. The hallway ended where two walls met diagonally. Small couches encircled the center of the room. Sitting cushions were scattered across the floor. Pots of blue-green plants and flowering vines stood in corners and hung from the ceiling in baskets. The air was warm and fragrant.

  To her left, a large, floor-to-ceiling window made up one wall of the room. The translucent curtain draped across it was aglow and filling the room with diffuse, golden light. The wall opposite the window had three openings. The middle appeared to be a lift. On either side, three-planed archways opened to vertical shafts. Poles shaped like vine ropes stood in their centers.

  Our way out. Even if Daggeira is still weak, we can take the lift.


  Sabira counted seven stolen khvazol gathered in the room, all old enough to bear shaft markings on their cheeks. They all wore the same style of plain-cut tunics, pants, and sandals, but in a variety of bright and muted colors. Most lounged or stood around the room watching display screens in the walls. She didn’t see Cal among them.

  As Gabriel wheeled her in, one by one they turned to face her. Seven pairs of ice-blue eyes appraised her warily. Though unfamiliar, at least their faces weren’t so alien. And Sabira felt some relief to see scalps covered in glyphs of ownership and bloodline instead of ropes of dark hair.

  “Here, girl, let me see you.” A round-faced ahno with a Medics glyph approached her first and kneeled beside the wheelchair. Small creases around ahns eyes and mouth hinted the hermaphrodite was likely twice her age. “My name is Coraz.”

  Another claiming a name. Trickster’s seeds have taken root all around me.

  Coraz pressed soft fingers to her wrist and throat. Asked her about pain when ahn pressed the pink spot on her leg. Had her breathe deeply while ahn rested a hand flat on her scarred chest.

  Sabira had been poked and probed by medics all her life. There was a strange comfort to the diagnosis ritual, something she could recognize and have a context for. The examination also gave her a chance to observe the escapees. They remained silhouettes against fuzzy, yellow light, skittish as tunnel lizards ready to dart away.

  Did they fear her, Sabira wondered, even when tied up like an animal?

  A girl close to Sabira’s age hung the farthest back, her face down and to the side, stealing glances out of the corner of her eye. Sabira couldn’t make out the girl’s shaft.

  Also near the back, a pregnant hen remained seated, tense hands covering her womb. She kept pivoting in her seat and craning her neck to glimpse Sabira from behind the others. She was the only one of the khvazol without wisps of hair on her scalp. A stout man with the Aggie glyph stood behind the hen, regarding Sabira through tight, narrowed eyes.

  Two young and pretty pillows sat on floor cushions, holding hands and whispering to each other between glances at Sabira.