Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series

by Nicholas C. Rossis

  No.

  I’m not far from you,

  I’m just on the other side of the road.

  Wipe your tears and do not cry.

  If you love me.

  Marta trembled. The words were more than she could take, and for a moment she felt her head about to crack, her soul ready to jump out and devour everyone in blind fury. She wished she could be somewhere else, anywhere else. No, not anywhere: home, in bed, under the covers. She whimpered, ignoring the surprised sideways glances. Every fibre in her body wanted to escape, to run away from that place of death, yet somehow she managed to stand still, trying hard to breathe normally.

  The funeral finally over, the relatives presented her with a red packet as a sign of gratitude. She knew it contained money that would have to be spent on others. She chuckled, ignoring their surprised looks. How could she help others, when she could not even help herself? She pushed it into her handbag and thanked the baffled relatives with a bow.

  As soon as she arrived home, she hurried into her empty bedroom and tore off the black clothes. According to tradition, these should be burned. She did not care; that was Tang’s tradition, not hers. She left them in a pile on the floor and stepped into the bathroom. Thankfully, her children were nowhere to be seen; although she probably would not have noticed them if they yelled in her face. She turned on the tap and studied her face in the mirror while the bathtub filled up. A crone stared back at her, her face older than she remembered; as old as she felt inside. Her hair had turned white and the lines on her skin had deepened. She blinked a couple of times, then stepped into the hot water, enjoying the heat on her skin.

  She leaned back and closed her eyes, a deep sigh escaping her lips. Wouldn’t it be nice if you sank into the water and never came out again? She had no idea where the whispering voice, like the rustling of leaves, came from, but the more she considered it, the more the thought appealed to her. The memory of her last dialogue with her husband rushed to her mind. She had complained how life is but a fleeting moment in time. Parad had agreed, but had insisted that she was drawing the wrong conclusion. He had insisted that, with life being so short, one needs to savour every last bit of it. She had countered that everything we do is in vain. No one can really make a difference in the long run, therefore nothing matters.

  Reaching a sudden decision, she dove into the washstand and found the razor Parad had used so many times to shave. She slid a finger against the blade, her hand jerking as a drop of blood appeared. She licked her finger. Sharp as a razor, she thought and chuckled at her own pun. She calmly touched the blade on the inside of her left wrist and pressed it against her skin a couple of times in exploration. The third cut was deep, a single swift motion severing the artery. Her face twitched at the sharp pain, then she let the razor drop and leaned back. She watched in fascination the water turn red in a swirling, dancing motion.

  She expected to lose her consciousness, but when she opened her eyes again she found instead that everything had become more lucid than before, as if she had been dreaming all this time, now finally waking up. She could not remember her name or her native language, now thinking in a language she never realised she knew. The bathroom itself had changed. The colours seemed more vibrant, the shadows deeper. It was the same place as before, only seemed to vibrate in a different frequency.

  Her body jerked in sudden fear. One of the shadows in the room moved, its smoky tendrils caressing her temples. A wave of terror crashed over her as she stared at two ravenous eyes, the colour of the life flowing out of her body, and she tried to scream, but was too weak to do so. A violent twitch sent her head to sink under the water. She opened her mouth to breathe, gulping red water instead. Belated despair filled her as hunger for life filled her heart, and she tried to cough, to spit the copper-tasting water out, swallowing instead more of it.

  Falling into an endless, dark pit she heard Angel, her oldest daughter, tear the door open. Her screams sounded far away; coming from another place, another time. She never felt the hands drawing her from the bathtub, or the young girl’s fresh breath on her lips, trying vainly to bring her back to life.

  Army barracks, Jonia, Jonian Democracies

  Parad

  Their cell, located under the barracks, was larger than Parad expected: at least twice as large as his cell at the Capital. The courtesy and respect the guards had shown him was another welcome surprise. Perhaps Teo had kept his promise to treat him well if he did not try to escape. The journey to Jonia had been uneventful, but Parad had silently noted everything that had to do with its defences and military prowess. He might die there eventually, but he had seen enough ups and downs in his life to not lose hope.

  Since they had placed Annoush in his custody, they shared the same cell. The young soldier’s eyes glistened with the fear that they would share the same fate as well. The boy could not be any older than twenty, roughly the same age his Cyrus would have been. Was that why he could not bring himself to hate him? All he knew was that every time he looked at Annoush, a deep-seated pity filled him.

  He insisted that the boy take over Tang’s responsibilities. Annoush had been surprised at first, finding the request pointless, but Parad wanted to teach him to respect life, even if he had but limited time to do so. Perhaps that time would prove enough for him to learn that strange fact that no one is irreplaceable, yet everyone is unique. For a second he felt a hypocrite; how could he teach Annoush such a thing with so much blood on his own hands? Then he reminded himself that every one of the men he had killed would have killed him first, given half a chance. Tang might also have killed Annoush if things were different. Do I have the right to punish the boy for protecting his master? he wondered for the hundredth time. Perhaps that was another reason he did not hate Annoush—he could not be certain he would not have done the same in his place.

  He watched the sullen boy clean his boots. He seemed lost in his thoughts, making Parad wonder what they might be. Perhaps someone back home, someone he would probably never see again? A mother, a friend, a girl?

  Parad wondered who he should be thinking of. Styx had promised to keep Marta and the girls safe. He believed her. Despite her duplicitous nature, she took an unexpected pride in keeping her word. Marta worried him, though. She needed more than an easy life in order to escape the dark place she had put herself into. He really hoped she would; the children needed her to be strong now more than ever. He closed his eyes and leaned back, drawing a deep breath; he could do nothing for them from this cell.

  Then, there was Gella. He had never had an affair before. Was it normal to have such strong feelings for her? He expected them to forget each other after their return to the Capital. Instead, his feelings had grown stronger than before. Perhaps if things were different they might have a future together. He had to discuss this with Marta first, but could not bear burdening her further in her current condition. Oh, and of course I need to find a way to escape first.

  He had been studying the door, the dirty windows and the guards’ routine to find an opportunity to do so. He would not just sit back and wait for them to execute him, regardless of what he had promised Teo. He knew people in Jonia, friends who owed him favours, allies who would surely help him. Or would they? He realised he had not seen these people in years, when things were very different. He would probably struggle to recognise them on the street.

  Despair choked him. He cleared his throat, trying to hide the sudden anguish that swelled in his chest. “Annoush, do you have anyone back home?”

  “Nope. Most everyone I know there are jerks.”

  Parad had insisted Annoush call him ‘sir’ despite the circumstances. It was one of the things he wanted to teach the boy, how to be proper.

  “Nope, sir. Always be polite; no situation warrants rudeness. Take any crime, any war, dig deep enough and you know what you’ll find?”

  Annoush rolled his eyes. “No, sir.”

  Parad ignored him. “An insult. Every evil in the world is born from a
n insult. Now, let’s talk about you. You said you’re an orphan?”

  “Yeah. I never knew me parents. I was brought up in the Capital by some friends of me dad, ran away when I was twelve.”

  “Surely you didn’t enlist that young?”

  “Nah, I lived on the streets doing the… erm… odd job.”

  Parad surmised the odd job must have been thieving, but made no comment. “Isn’t Annoush a Persian name?” he asked, bemused.

  “I was told me dad was Persian. How’d you know?”

  “My wife is Persian as well.”

  When the Pearseus’ survivors first arrived on the planet, the need to survive had diminished old distinctions, nationalities becoming a mere matter of family history and pride. Persistent lack of education, however, meant that few remembered their countries of origins and respective histories. As an unexpected side benefit, old animosities were forgotten as well. Funny how quickly we made up new ones, Parad thought bitterly. Why is it that mankind always has to make up enemies?

  Perhaps it hasn’t been able to recognise its real enemy, whispered a voice in his head, startling him. Annoush spoke again, drawing back his attention. “Then, a priestess took me under her wing.”

  “Priestess?”

  He nodded. “Tie. She lives in the Capital. Looks after the Themis temple. She had me help there, then had me join the army.”

  “How old are you now?”

  “’Bout twenty, I reckon.”

  “Do you know how to read and write?”

  “Some. Tie taught me a little, the army the rest.”

  “Have you ever seen an e-lib?”

  Annoush’ eyes widened. “A rich man’s toy. Do I look rich to you, sir?”

  “Maybe someday I’ll show you one.”

  Annoush stared at him, his eyes two narrow slits. “Why you being nice to me?” he asked, sitting up. He grimaced as he did, placing a hand over his side. The guards had probably broken a rib or two during his beating.

  “Why, what would you have me do?”

  Annoush shrugged. “I’d kill me back there.”

  The reply did not surprise Parad. “Why?” he asked again.

  “What, you daft old man?” the boy snapped.

  Parad casually punched him in the ribs, making sure he avoided the wounded area. Even so, Annoush yelled in pain and rolled back.

  “Sir,” said Parad with a calm voice. Annoush could not speak, so Parad repeated it, just as calmly as the first time, only louder.

  “Sir,” said Annoush through clenched teeth, his arms wrapped around him.

  Parad gently helped him back on his feet, then lifted his shirt. There was hot tea on the table, which he poured on a towel. He pressed it lightly on Annoush’ side.

  “I’ll ask them for a doctor. Maybe this will help take off a little of the pain in the meantime.”

  Annoush lunged at him without warning. Years of training had informed Parad of his intention even as it formed in the boy’s mind, so he lifted his right arm to block the attack, spinning his body. He pushed Annoush away with his left arm. This sent him flying across the room. He let out a loud cry as he crashed against the wall. Parad heard the guards outside laughing. They probably believed Parad was beating up Annoush; the thought that they were accurate saddened him.

  He calmly picked up the warm towel and approached the stunned boy. He motioned for him to lift his shirt and knelt down to tend his wound, now a nasty purple colour.

  “Does it hurt?”

  Annoush waved no, but his white face and clenched teeth told another story. “Why you helping me?”

  “‘Treat your men as you would your own sons. And they’ll follow you into the deepest valley,’ ” Parad murmured.

  Annoush turned his head away. “I ain’t your son and I ain’t your men.”

  Parad rose to his feet and banged the door with his fist. “No, you’re not,” he said calmly. “But you took one of my men from me. Now you must replace him.”

  A burly guard opened the door. “Everything alright in there?”

  “Could you please send for a doctor? We have need of his services.”

  The guard took one look at the boy and nodded. “Sure thing, General.”

  Parad returned to Annoush.

  “He shouldn’t be too long. Now, you wanted to ask me something?”

  “Yeah. Why not kill me? You get weak in your old age?”

  “There’s strength in weakness.”

  Annoush lifted his head defiantly. “Weak is weak.”

  “Is it? There’s nothing as weak and soft as water, yet it will eat away the hardest stone. Weak overcomes strong and soft overcomes hard every time.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  Parad shook his head. He needed another approach.

  “Have you killed many men?”

  The boy flashed his teeth in a contemptuous grin. “Haven’t you?”

  “Yes, and I remember all their faces.”

  “That’s bull. You’re a general. You tell armies to kill. What, you think the only blood on your hands is what you spilled yourself?”

  “No, you’re right. Which answers your own question; how can I kill you for something I’ve done myself? Still, Tang’s death could’ve been prevented, and you have to make amends.”

  Then Parad closed his eyes and recited:

  “‘Weapons are the tools of violence; wise men detest them.

  They’re the tools of fear; wise men avoid them

  If compelled, they’ll only use them with restraint.

  His enemies are not demons, but humans.

  He doesn’t wish them harm, nor does he rejoice in victory.

  How could he rejoice in victory and delight in the slaughter of men?

  He enters a battle gravely, with sorrow and great compassion,

  as if attending a funeral.’ ”

  Annoush cocked his head. “What’s that?”

  “A text Tang showed me long ago. What do you think of it?”

  Annoush shuffled his feet, then sat down. “Tie said things like that. You know more?”

  He tried to sound indifferent, but Parad heard the interest in his voice. “I don’t know how much time we have, but I’ll be happy to teach you as much as I can.”

  Someone knocked on the door, and a guard walked in, escorting a doctor.

  “Let’s have a look at your wound first, shall we?”

  Scorpio, Western Democracies

  March 23, Teo

  Lycus, the Scorpion secretary, looked formidable in her uniform, despite sitting on a short chair only a few inches taller than his. Behind her, the open windows let the spring sun in, bathing everything in the sparse room in a rich gold light that bounced off the shields adorning the plain walls of the audition room. They belonged to the bravest of fallen enemies, and were polished enough to reflect the light like mirrors. A small table before them held strawberries, oranges and a couple of early apricots inside a plain dish. These would be too sour for Teo; having a sweet tooth, he hated unripe fruit. Two guards seemed to impersonate statues, standing tall behind the secretary.

  The room was empty save for the shields and chairs. Scorpions loathed any signs of excess almost as much as they hated weakness. The secretary, a young woman with a hard face, olive skin and dark cropped hair, wore a simple khaki uniform with nothing but three gold stars on the chest to denote her standing as one of the two most powerful people on Scorpio. Since Scorpio fought its neighbours almost constantly, it was ruled jointly by two secretaries, a man and a woman. That way, one of them could be at war, while the second defended and ran the city. They both bore the same rank and it was considered equally honourable to serve in either position. Which one, they chose by draw.

  Teo took a deep breath, taking in the spring scents. He had left Jonia in the winter, then spent a month in Scorpio, waiting for the secretary to return from a short but brutally effective campaign against Argon. This had been his work. He had handed out a small fortune in Jonian gold t
rying to convince Scorpio of the need to attack Argon. Its location between Scorpio and Anthea made it dangerous, as the city was in annoyingly friendly terms with the justices. This made it a possible liability if Scorpio and Anthea were to fight against the Capital; a liability he had to neutralise before either city could be convinced to help Jonia. The easiest way for this would be for its military capabilities to be reduced to nothing. The Scorpions had just made sure of that.

  Teo could not help but admire the ruthless campaign. First, the Scorpion army had invaded the outskirts of Argon. They had been deployed along a small valley to the city’s west. The Argonites had deployed their army and held their position, waiting for the Scorpions to attack. For days, nothing happened and the two armies simply hurled insults at each other every morning, only to withdraw at night. The Argonites mirrored the Scorpion army’s movements to the point of using Scorpion signals for their movements. When the Scorpions called for military councils, so did the Argonites; when they called for supper, so did they.

  On the final night, Lycus called for the army to break formation and withdraw. The Argonites followed suit. She then gave a silent order to regroup and advance. The surprised Argonites proved unable to regroup fast enough and were swiftly routed.

  A few survivors of the onslaught withdrew to a forest around a nearby Joined temple. Since it was sacrilegious to charge a temple, the Scorpions asked their prisoners for the names of any Argonites hiding in the forest. She then sent messengers to shout out those names, claiming that their families had ransomed safe passage for them. As soon as they came out of the forest, they were killed.

  It is typical for Scorpions that they did accept ransom—and deliver safely—any Argonites that had surrendered on the battlefield. When Teo had asked Lycus about that, she had shrugged. “They’re weak. This way, our children will have someone to train them.”

  Now Argon had been crushed for at least a generation, and gold filled Scorpio’s coffers. Even better, Scorpio stood once again as the undisputed ruler of the area. Not bad for a month’s war.