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

by Nicholas C. Rossis

  “I have no desire to kill you,” she said, panting. And probably couldn’t, even if I wanted to. “Yield.”

  His hateful gaze fixed at her, but he nodded. “I yield.”

  Her limbs suddenly felt leaden. She ground her teeth, trying to keep upright, and lowered her weapon. “Then go.”

  She expected him to run. Instead, he moved over to his brother and muttered something incomprehensible, leaning over the dead body. Faster than she thought possible, he spun around and flung another dagger at her.

  This one bit deep into her flesh.

  Part 2

  “Those who promise us paradise on earth

  never produced anything but hell.”

  Karl Popper

  The Architect

  Static crackled on the comm, then a woman’s voice sounded, thick with fear. “…sentient. You have to recall the terraformers. Empress Glory, do you read me?”

  The Architect waved his palm in front of the hologram of the planet that filled the control room. The static hissed and crackled for a moment before crystalizing into a clear voice.

  “This is Empress Glory,” he said, his flat voice hiding the sudden thumping in his chest. “Please repeat.”

  “Empress Glory?” The woman’s voice rose with hope. “You need to recall the terraformers. There is sentient life here. The lobster creatures, they have a civilization. They…” The voice paused. “You wouldn’t believe me. You have to come down here and see.”

  His hand froze in midair. Damn it! A sentient civilization on the biggest project of his career, and that foolish woman had stumbled upon it. As per protocol, all activities should cease immediately, until a team of exoplanet experts could travel all the way here for first contact. And who would get all the glory? That annoying woman and a bunch of professors from Earth, who hadn’t even heard of this place yet.

  He fought the urge to throw something at the holographic map. “Please stand by for confirmation,” he said in a robotic voice. He moved his hand until the hologram zoomed in to an obscure part of the planet. A glowing sphere pinpointed the location of the signal.

  He ground his teeth. His duty was clear. All terraformers should be recalled to the landing points for collection, before they did any further damage to the planet’s fragile ecosystem. Gone were his plans for completing the project in time for the Empress’s birthday. Gone was the inevitable promotion. Gone, the media frenzy. He spat out a curse and cleared his throat to issue the command.

  Unless… His gaze danced around the ship’s control center. No one was there at this late hour. Unable to sleep, he had relieved the ship’s comms officer and offered to take the late watch himself. The man had not protested. The project was as good as finished.

  What if I pretended the transmission never reached me?

  He shook his head, dismissing the thought. The woman would kick up such a fuss, the Ministry would never give him another commission. No, there was only one thing to do. Who knows, perhaps there’ll be another planet, he consoled himself. Besides, it’s an alien civilization. You don’t see those every day. As project leader, surely some recognition would come his way as well.

  With a resigned sigh, he cleared his throat to issue the command. “Empress—”

  Before he could finish the words, a shrill alarm cut him off. Red lights blinked on the map. The display zoomed out automatically to show a fast-moving object heading their way.

  “Empress Glory,” he barked. “Analysis.”

  Crimson markers zoomed in, highlighting the object’s trajectory.

  “A meteor has been detected,” a soft voice said.

  Probably just a remainder from that third moon. “Trajectory?” he asked.

  “The meteor is on a collision course with the planet.”

  Words flew out his mouth mechanically. “Suggested course of action.”

  “Meteor is within weapons range. Shall I engage forward battery?”

  He opened his mouth to confirm, when a line highlighting the object’s trajectory appeared on the map. The command froze on his lips. It will fall right where she is.

  “Impact analysis,” he said.

  Data hovered midair.

  “Should the meteor strike, how will it impact terraforming?” he heard himself say. He felt strangely detached, like watching the scene from a distance.

  “Terraforming can continue in forty-seven cycles.” An animation showed the impact and the resulting changes on the planet’s surface. The Long Lakes would disappear, an ugly scar taking their place instead. And a mere forty-seven days later, terraforming could resume. “Analytical data displayed now.”

  More numbers hovered before him. I can live with that. The map zoomed out again to show the meteor. As he watched the object crawl toward the planet, a trickle of sweat inched its way down his neck.

  “Meteor will be out of range in thirty seconds,” the ship’s soft voice warned, startling him.

  Once again he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He swallowed to wet his dry throat.

  “Fire,” he croaked, just as multiple warnings signified the meteor slipping out of range.

  “Unable to comply,” the ship informed him in its calm, measured tone. “Meteor is out of weapons’ range.”

  He blinked to clear his vision as the map zoomed in to the impact area. His legs gave way under him and he slumped into a soft chair, running his fingers through hair wet with sweat.

  Goddess, what have I done?

  March 308

  March 2, Caria

  Gella

  Gella moaned.

  “Dad! She’s waking up.”

  A girl’s voice tore through Gella’s slumber. She tried in vain to pry open leaden eyelids. The first thing her gaze met was wood paneling. “Where…” The word came out a groan. Her dry tongue got unstuck from the top of her mouth with a soft plop. She shut her eyes again, the light sending throbbing pangs of pain into her skull.

  “Dad!”

  A hand raised her head. Someone poured a warm, sweet liquid into her mouth. She swallowed most of it, then coughed. Drops dripped between her lips and onto her jaw. Calloused fingers touched her brow.

  “Good,” a man’s voice said. “The fever’s broken.”

  Her body twitched. Burning pain shot through her back. She ground her teeth and forced her eyes open. Her gaze met two kind eyes that mesmerized her, more ice than blue. Below them, a long white beard with gray flecks. Long shadows covered half the man’s face.

  “More tea,” he told someone behind him.

  As he turned his head to speak, a shaft of sunlight illuminated the rest of his face. It looked like a melted candle, with faded red scars that ran from the side of his head down his thick neck before disappearing into his heavy tunic.

  She took in the surroundings. Wooden walls, wooden ceiling, wooden floor. When her bed rocked, it hit her. The barge.

  The hand that was holding her head let it down gently onto a soft pillow. “Do you remember your name?”

  “Gella.” The voice was hoarse, but clearer.

  “Good, good.” The man lifted her head again and pressed a clay cup against her lips.

  More warm tea flowed down, clearing her head of the fog. “What happened?” she asked after a few sips.

  “Do you remember the attack?”

  Memories trickled back. The Caria alley. Her assailants. “I killed one of them. The other one surprised me.”

  “Yes. Then I surprised him.”

  “I was coming to meet you,” she said, guessing this was the captain of the vessel waiting for her.

  “That was the plan. But I couldn’t wait. I don’t know how to explain it. I felt like I needed to find you.”

  “It’s the voices,” the girl’s voice said.

  Gella craned her head. A girl with long, sable hair was playing in the corner with a straw doll. She couldn’t be any older than ten. “Your daughter?” Gella asked.

  “Yes.” He glanced at the girl and his ga
ze softened. “My student, actually. Her family died. She had no one, so I look after her. And she looks after me. We’ve been together since Ephia.”

  The name made Gella’s mouth twitch. “You were there.”

  “Most of Caria is refugees from the war. What a waste.”

  A pang of fear shot through her heart. Can I trust him? “Then you know who I am,” she said cautiously.

  He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “This is not the time for that conversation. You must rest.” He let her head down again, wiped her lips and jaw with a soft towel and stood up.

  She grabbed his arm in a feeble grip. “I must know. Those men… They wanted to kill me. If you were in Ephia, why save me?”

  His forehead creased with concern as he stared at her for a long moment, then he sat down beside her again and took her hand. “You’re scared. You want to know if you’re safe. Guess I can’t blame you.”

  His touch felt reassuring, comforting. She bore her gaze into his eyes but found nothing except compassion.

  “It took me a week to mend you,” he said softly. “Why would I wish you harm?”

  “‘Cause they call me the Butcher of Ephia.” Her hoarse voice did not hide her bitterness.

  The man shook his head, as if to chase away awful memories. “I was there. I know it was Altman who brought in the monstrosity that destroyed Ephia.”

  “The canon.” She let out a relieved sigh and turned her gaze away to study the wood stains on the paneling. “You’re the only one, it seems.”

  “It’s easier to blame you than the Regent,” he said, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug. “Cursing your name doesn’t come with the price of treason.”

  The contempt in his voice told her everything she needed to know. “You don’t like him.”

  He let out a sneer. “There’s two kinds of people in the world. Those who see that we’re all the same, and those who don’t. The latter will always divide people into us and them.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

  He gave her a hard look. “The point is, we came to this planet on a single boat. All of us. United. Then, we started fighting each other. Why?”

  She waited for an answer, then realized it wasn’t a rhetorical question. “Human nature?”

  “Fear. People have always used fear to control us. Fear is evil’s gateway. One war is barely over. Now Altman says we must fight again. Because the bad Antheans hate us. Because they’ll destroy us if we don’t destroy them first.” Anger flashed in his voice. “What a load of crap.” His eyes darkened. “My daughter says there’s evil in the Capital. If so, that’s what’s gotten to him. I’ve been to Anthea. Studied there. Know how they think. I don’t know why Altman wants us to fight, but it’s not because Anthea has it in for us.”

  She let her eyelids slip closed, the struggle of keeping them open too hard for her. “That’s why you’re helping me,” she murmured.

  “I’ve seen war,” he said after a brief pause.

  “Not a fan, then?”

  Half his mouth twitched in a half-chuckle, half-grin. “What’s its point?”

  “Depends who you ask. To some, war means opportunity. To others, loss. For some, it’s a mother—of all inventions. For others, it’s the father who eats his children. Personally, I’d rather not fight another battle. As a soldier, though—”

  “War is the absolute evil,” he growled, interrupting her. “You hear songs about it, and it’s all very…heroic. Then you live it and you see it for what it really is: madness.” His voice caught. “I lost my wife. My children. My life.” He nodded at the girl, who was purring a soft song to her doll, and lowered his voice. “She lost everything.” Then his voice flared up again. “That’s war. It’s misery, and it’s refugees, and it’s chaos. It’s pain, and hunger, and loss. It’s unbridled evil unleashed onto the world.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re our last chance for peace. How could I not help you?” He stayed silent for a while, staring into the half-empty cup in his hands, then he raised himself to his feet with a groan. “Now, you rest.”

  Gella wanted to ask him more questions, but her eyes felt heavier with each passing moment. She nodded. Seconds later, she was asleep.

  The Marshes

  Seventeen

  “The borders are closed.” The words spread like wildfire among the hundreds of exhausted people squatting in the drizzle.

  Seventeen let out a curse. He had slipped out of the woods to join the long stream of souls that flowed toward the border with the Capital, in the hope of slipping through unnoticed. With a jerking motion, he pulled the cowl farther up, hiding his shaved head. His action seemed all the more natural thanks to the light rain. In what little light remained in the sky, he passed as just another refugee.

  A nearby woman’s eyes bulged. “What will we do now?” There was panic in her voice. She clutched her big belly. Seventeen guessed she probably had a couple of months before delivering her child.

  The urgency of his mission made his heart throb. You’re late, a whisper echoed in his ear. He pushed it away, an idea forming in his mind. He cupped the woman’s hands with his. “Have no fear,” he said in a calming voice. “Where’s your husband?”

  Her face twitched. Despite the pregnancy puffiness, she was a beautiful young woman, tall with high cheekbones and red-gold hair that licked her shoulders like a flame. Her kind green eyes looked away and she placed a hand over her belly, shielding the baby from the world’s ugliness. “When the monsters came, he stayed behind to give us time to escape. I…” Her voice broke. “I haven’t seen him since.” She freed one hand to wipe her eyes, then pushed a stray strand of her hair from her brow.

  So, my brothers got him. “What’s your name?”

  “Anna.”

  “Anna, I can help you. Come with me.” After a moment’s hesitation, she stood on swollen feet and clumped behind him, still holding her belly.

  He made his way to the front, pulling her behind him. “Excuse me, my wife’s not feeling well.” He lowered his head and made sure to paint his voice with a hint of despair. “We must see a doctor.”

  People parted to let them through. Fools. They reached a narrow river with a stone bridge. On the near side stood a post with a wooden barrier cutting off the road. A dozen soldiers and priests loitered around it, their faces reflecting a range of emotions, from indifference to disgust. Tents lined the road beyond the bridge. In the distance, clay tiles shielded a village’s elegant houses from the rain. A tall, wooden wall shielded it from the rest of the world.

  Seventeen spotted a short man with a heavy, golden amulet standing among the guards behind the barrier. His pudgy face was only partially hidden by the cowl protecting him from the rain. Perhaps a priest will be more sympathetic.

  “Excuse me, my wife needs to see a doctor.” Seventeen squeezed her hand to stop her from speaking. She nodded and groaned, clutching her belly in pain. Smart girl.

  The priest shot them an annoyed glance and spun around without a word, disappearing across the bridge. The guards chuckled. Bastards.

  “No one can help you, mate,” a guard said. His leather insignia identified him as a sergeant. “Just go back where you came from.”

  “But my wife—” While protesting, Seventeen scanned the area. An open field lay between them and the village. A woods lay to the east. Once there, he should be safe. The question was, how to reach it unseen?

  The man crossed his arms. “Should ‘ave thought of that before knocking ‘er up, shouldn’t you?” He guffawed. His men gathered around, mimicking him.

  Seventeen studied them, considering his options. I can kill them in seconds. But then what? Someone might escape and alert the rest. No, violence is not the answer here.

  His lips crawled upward as an idea hit him. Seventeen whirled around and addressed the crowd. “Did you hear that, my friends? We’re nothing but vermin to them.”

  “What?” the sergeant said. “I never said—”

&n
bsp; “They want us to return home,” Seventeen continued, ignoring the man’s protests. “Where the monsters are still waiting for us.”

  Murmurs of disapproval rose from the crowd.

  “Where our dead lie, waiting for us to join them.”

  The murmurs grew like a rising wave. He reveled in the sensation.

  “Where our houses and farms are burned to the ground.”

  “Stop that, now,” the sergeant yelled behind him.

  “Nothing will grow in the North for generations, but they want us to go back. Back to die, so they don’t have to deal with us. And why would they? It’s not like we toiled day and night so that the Capital had all the ore it needed. It’s not like we fought back the First so that the Capital had all the wheat we could grow. No, it’s not like they owe us anything.”

  The crowd clamored in anger before him. “Down with the Capital,” someone yelled.

  Seventeen hid a grin and pointed at the nervous guards, who had huddled closer to the barrier. “These men are all that’s standing between you and safety. They are armed. You are not. They should be behind you, watching for monsters. Protecting you from them. Instead, they’re hiding from you like cowards.”

  “Cowards!” someone shouted. It rapidly became a chant. “Cowards! Cowards!”

  The sergeant crossed over and pointed an angry finger at Seventeen. “That’s it. You come with me.” He pulled at Seventeen’s arm, hauling him behind the barrier.

  The pregnant woman started screaming. “Not my husband. Let go of him!”

  The crowd inched closer to them, their faces contorted into furious masks.

  Seventeen dropped on all fours, his arm hooking the sergeant’s, trapping him. “Help me,” he shrieked. “He’s killing me.”

  The sergeant tried to free himself, until a bullish man flew over the barrier and threw a punch. It caught the sergeant square in the jaw. More guards rushed their way. A horn blasted. Swords slithered from their scabbards. Angry shouts and pained roars echoed all around. As dusk fell, it was fast becoming impossible to tell refugee from guard.