Zein: The Homecoming

by Graham J. Wood

  He looked on the thrashing body in front of him, noticing the good muscle tone. He reached forward and place his hands either side of the creature’s head and concentrated. His magics flowed from his fingertips into the skull of the prisoner as he built the connection to his subject. The intensity increased until the body slowly stopped thrashing and lay still. He readied himself for the first rush of thoughts, which was a natural part of the “change”. Old memories, loved ones and details of a life that had once been calm and full of hope. Even now Zylar felt the pangs of regret as he wiped the creature’s memories from his brain…the little good inside him rebelling against the magics that had taken his soul away many, many years ago. The brief rebellion was quelled immediately, any pity was ruthlessly extinguished. The creature became a silent shadow of what it had been, its thoughts now a simple vessel for Zylar’s commands.

  ‘Death do us part,’ Zylar said, humourlessly, before he moved to the next victim and repeated the same process.

  The day went slowly as Leila waited for the early morning of the next day. She tried to pass the time playing with the children but time still dragged. She slept in the early evening as Rosanna was taken to Zylar’s room. Rosanna was Italian and a very beautiful girl from Milan. She was fortunate that Zylar paid her little attention as he seemed to prefer lighter haired girls, but tonight her fate was one with which Leila would not wish upon anyone. She gave her a quick hug, told her to be brave and she would see her in the morning. As Rosanna left, Leila vowed that she was going to free all of them as soon as she could.

  She again drifted off, warmed by the heat in the room and came to only when Clancy shook her awake. Leila looked at her watch and saw that it was early morning and groggily pulled her body from the chair she had dozed in.

  They made their way carefully through the corridors. They were on the tenth floor of the building and the communications room was on the fifteenth. The plan that Yi had devised was for one of the cleaners to set off a fire alarm so the room would be evacuated and the whole floor cleared. A door would be propped open allowing Leila to gain access to the room and Yi had provided one of his operators, a young Oneerion called Kian, to patch her into the communication link connected to the Aeria Cavern on Zein.

  She remembered his parting words as she left. ‘We can make the link but you need to understand there may be no one on the other side to take the message. It has been years since we sent any messages – Zein became lost to us.’ Leila had heard the words but struggled to take them in; with all this danger the prospect she may fail with the message was something she just could not accept.

  The corridors were quiet due to the time of the night. The few Xonians they did pass had grown used to her presence and since there was the intimidating figure of Clancy with her, the patrols had more pressing matters to progress. Leila noticed that a number of Ilsid were appearing more frequently as part of the patrols causing her forehead to wrinkle with concern. The training must be increasing at speed – yet another part of the critical message she needed to send.

  They entered a darkly lit corridor and at the end was a locked door with one of Clancy’s colleagues guarding it. What had happened to the fire alarm? Leila turned to Kian with a questioning look, who in return shook his head in confusion, he could only guess that the soldiers had prevented the cleaners entering the room and curtailed the ruse.

  ‘Stay here,’ Clancy ordered, taking charge. He sauntered up to the Malacca man, an unsavoury type with a sullen look about him whom Leila remembered as one the guards she had sent to tell Zylar of the birth of Hanna. They conversed briefly before the man stood to one side. As he walked past Leila and Kian, his eyes lingered over her, not hiding his desire or intention. Leila glared back at him and he simply smirked. She hurried past as Clancy opened the door.

  ‘What did you say to him? How can you trust that he will not go straight to Zylar?’ Leila whispered worriedly, still rattled by the loathsome look the soldier had given her.

  ‘We go back many years, joining the army at the same time. Believe me he has no love for authority and Zylar scares the living daylights out of him,’ said Clancy, leading them into the communication room.

  There were three people in the room, one operator and two more soldiers, all Malacca men. Clancy shook their hands, clapping them on their shoulders and gave them a knowing wink. All three laughed and left their positions, going into a room at the back which Leila glimpsed was a kitchen of some sorts.

  Clancy came back to his companions. ‘What are they doing?’ asked a confused Leila. Clancy looked a little embarrassed, which made Leila press her question.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, my lady, but I had to say something to give us a little time here. They are taking a little break.’ His face blushed red.

  ‘What did you say?’ said Leila.

  ‘I said that I was on a promise, of eh…some fun, if I could have the room for a few minutes, and that I had an operator just in case a message came in,’ said the squirming Malacca man. Leila then surprised him by laughing, which the guards and operator heard as the door was closing on them – they let out some raucous laughter. When the door was shut, Leila stopped laughing and became business like again. She tapped him on his tree trunk like forearms.

  ‘You did well, just thought I would give you some bragging rights later.’

  Clancy beamed his delight.

  Glancing at the closed door, with the laughter echoing from the kitchen still, Leila beckoned Kian to the controls. Kian moved fast. He took out the recorded message that Leila had given him and which he had converted to the necessary authentication security algorithm, allowing it to pass through the security firewall to the external connectivity drives that fed the Universe-recognised messaging services. His hands flew over the controls, pressing the many holograms of information. His two watchers behind his back, kept their attention on the main door and the door to the rest area. They didn’t have much time for her message to be uploaded.

  The soldiers’ rough tones and language echoed through the thin door to the rest area and it was apparent that they had waited long enough. Kian made his final inputs and then stood up abruptly and moved away from the main control and stood silently with his head bowed. Leila leaned her body into Clancy and wrapped her arms around him. Clancy, surprised and a little slow on the uptake, left his arms at the side of his body. Leila grabbed one of his arms and placed it around her.

  The returning soldiers took it all in as the couple came into their sight. They let out whoops and more bad language. Leila pushed away from Clancy with a suitable innocent look and Clancy, well Clancy just stood like a lump of wood, not sure what to do.

  The Malacca operator joined in the jocular puns and sat down at his console. His hands darted across the dials and he frowned slightly and turned his head to look at Kian who kept his head down, refusing any eye contact. The operator kept his gaze on the top of Kian’s golden forehead and then shrugged his shoulders and returned to his work.

  ‘Clancy, can we go back now…I would like to show you my appreciation of seeing such a great room,’ said Leila, shyly. The inevitable hoots followed and the two sentries again gave Clancy many pointers. Clancy decided enough was enough and he hurried Leila and Kian out of the room. The guard on the door gave another lecherous look at Leila, which she ignored. They hurried through the corridors with Kian, peeling off to go to his own quarters, only after Leila gave her thanks for his help. He bowed deeply on their parting.

  Back at the female quarters, Clancy took up his position on the door outside and Leila tired and worried that her message had not got through, fell onto her bed and into a restless sleep.

  The console cranked into life under the layer of thick dust. The room, a darkened bunker deep under the transportation room in the Aeria Cavern, was an unremarkable room, empty of furniture except for a large chair in front of a sleek black desk with four main screens, which until a moment ago, had remained dormant for many years.

&
nbsp; A wave of red dots flashed across one screen, the other screens began to emit a green code as the old system began to receive its first message for a long time. The noise increased until the room was filled with a whole range of whirrs and clicks. Then, as suddenly as the noise had started, the console switched off. Message received. The room returned to its quiet state, the console still covered in dust and no one the wiser for the noise. High above the room the Pod were scaling the barricades…the message lost within the unused console.

  Chapter 22: Rebellion

  Cronje blinked as the transportation from the Eastern Quadrant to the Core was completed. Although he and his team had been stripped of all their weapons they had not been shackled. When they were split up, with Cronje separated from his men, Reddash made to resist the move, and then caught his commander’s small shake of the head and he capitulated to his captors. Reddash joined the other men and was marched away. Cronje was taken down a few corridors when Colonel Travers turned into a room, the men escorting Cronje pushing the Malacca man in after him. It took the entire experienced soldier’s self-control not to kill them both.

  ‘Greetings, Vice-Chancellor, how are you?’ In front of him were Lord Fathom and Lord Southgate. Lord Fathom looked ill, paler than usual; he sat listlessly on a comfortable chair. Colonel Travers saluted Lord Southgate and left the room.

  ‘Drink?’ asked Lord Southgate, an offer that brought an icy look from Cronje. This was no time to drink.

  ‘What’s going on, Lord Southgate?’

  He didn’t answer but continued to pour the wine into his cup. Cronje noticed the flushness in his face and slurred speech indicating that this was not his first glass.

  By Tucan, what the hell was going on!

  Cronje maintained his inscrutable look, not sure what else to say, at least until he knew more.

  ‘Shocking turn of events in Emula, hey Cronje, what were your men thinking of?’ said Lord Southgate. Cronje didn’t answer. Lord Southgate waved away the lack of response. ‘Don’t worry, I spoke with the Inner Council and pointed out you could not have had anything to do with that madness,’ he reassured the army man.

  Cronje kept his own counsel. He was fine with the Blackstone brothers but he was more suspicious and less patient with the likes of Lords Fathom and Southgate, due to their longer relationship with what had happened within the quadrants. He had made his peace with Lord Fathom somewhat after Evelyn’s, his late daughter, bravery in fighting Zylar but he had very little to do with Lord Southgate. He was waiting for where this was all going.

  ‘They want blood though, Cronje, yes blood,’ said Lord Southgate, bringing his drink to his lips. His expression was one of regret and reluctance.

  Here it comes…thought Cronje.

  ‘The Inner Council would only agree to dropping the matter if we, I mean myself and you as members of the Council, agree to three proposals.’

  ‘And they are…?’ asked Cronje, finding his voice, trying to hide the sinking feeling in his stomach. This was not going to be good. He looked past Lord Southgate at the pale and ill looking Lord Fathom who was steadfastly ignoring the conversation.

  ‘What is the matter with Lord Fathom…Sir?’ said Cronje, belatedly adding the respectful title, the delay not missed by the wily politician.

  ‘We are not sure. He was fine up to two weeks ago and then became sicker and sicker. My only guess is that he is missing his daughter.’ Cronje could see that Lord Southgate generally cared for his fellow Lord’s health and Lord Fathom appeared to take little notice of their conversation.

  Cronje returned to the matter at hand. ‘So, Lord Southgate what did the Inner Council ask us to sign up to?’

  Lord Southgate pulled aside a chair to sit down. ‘The three things are that the Malacca army is stood down, weapons handed in and their duties undertaken by units of the human army, secondly that the officer in charge is taken into custody and finally that they instigate an act of martial law across the colonies.’

  ‘They are not having Reddash,’ said Cronje with feeling. Lord Southgate, expecting the pushback from the experienced soldier didn’t respond immediately but poured another glass and handed it to Cronje, who initially declined and then relented…a drink would do no harm. Lord Southgate relaxed slightly and swirled his wine round his glass as he considered the best way to proceed with this tough and capable man.

  ‘Reddash would have plenty of time to state his case and the Inner Council will make the judgment – which for his protection includes both you and I. Pretty sure we can play the politics correctly to make it a misdemeanour charge, or do you feel he is completely innocent?’

  Cronje averted his eyes. He knew from reading Reddash’s response when he gave his report that some fault should be proportioned to him. That didn’t mean he wanted him hung out to dry and he would fight that. Now with Lord Southgate’s help they had considerable influence in the Inner Council. The by-laws of the Inner Council meant that if the two nominated Zeinonian individuals voted together they could overrule a change in law over the quadrants. It was a safeguard negotiated by Lord Southgate and the Lord Chancellor in return for insight into the use of zinithium, a powerful lever in the negotiations.

  ‘What about the army standing down and martial law, don’t we open ourselves to becoming prisoners?’

  Lord Southgate stroked the top of his hair and paced across to the window where you could look across Lower Town.

  ‘Not sure we have much option, Cronje – if we don’t then we lose their trust and if we do then we lose our freedom of movement,’ said Lord Southgate. ‘I like neither of them too much.’ He turned back to face Cronje. ‘I will back you on what you feel is the right move. I think we have to accept Reddash has to face questioning for his part in this mess but I am with you, we can’t allow for the Malacca army standing down and I completely feel the implementation of martial law is over the top.’

  Cronje felt an element of relief, he hated these political games. ‘When is the next Inner Council meeting?’

  ‘In two days’ time and we are expected to attend and support the amendments.’

  ‘I don’t like how this is playing out Lord Southgate,’ said Cronje, frustration clear to see. ‘How do we ensure Reddash obtains a fair trial?’ Cronje remembered all the difficult times they had faced and he owed his life a number of times to the big Malacca man.

  Lord Southgate shrugged and held out his hands. ‘They need us to mine the zinithium and more importantly make use of it,’ he reasoned, ‘They will not jeopardise that!’

  The conversation continued in a similar vein until Cronje threw up his arms and agreed there was no way round it. He was free to go, all the soldiers were free to move freely around the Core, except, of course, Reddash who was placed in one of the Fathom’s Palace dungeons.

  Cronje decided to take a walk down to the Lower Town. In the Fathom Palace there were a few Fathom guards and Southgate militia amongst the heavy presence of the United States and British armies. On the levels down to the Lower Town, the care for the lawns continued but he saw the fearful looks of the Fathom population under the human forces. He marvelled at the extension to the original Core with the Outer Perimeter Barrier now set well back from the Fathom Palace and with the new buildings under construction nearly doubling the size of the community. The streets were bustling with street hawkers selling their wares amongst the heavy patrols. The humans were taking no chances. He was walking through one particular market and stopped to buy an orange. He hadn’t eaten since he had left his homestead.

  ‘Don’t turn around my friend, you are being followed,’ said a deep voice, which was kept artificially low. Cronje continued to look at the fruit, picking up an orange and tossing it up in the air and catching it easily on its downward journey. He half turned to reach for a bunch of bananas and out of his peripheral vision he saw another man buying fruit.

  Remo.

  Cronje was pleased to see and hear from a trustworthy friend; matters were beco
ming extremely weird.

  Remo walked off indicating to Cronje to follow him. They both entered an adjacent alleyway. Remo glanced left then right, his face worn by strain and stress.

  ‘What happened in Emula?’

  Cronje told him the full story, including the proposals to be voted upon by the Inner Council. He shouldn’t share such confidences but he was worried and he needed to share what he thought was an out of control situation. Remo listened quietly and when Cronje had subsided into silence he shook his head.

  ‘It is what I feared.’

  ‘What?’ Cronje’s fears had just multiplied as he monitored the wave of expressions on Remo’s face, which was usually so resolute.

  ‘Over the last month they have moved a considerable number of troops down here, nothing noticeable in any one movement but the aggregate number is a concern.’

  ‘What are they doing?’ asked Cronje. There was a noise from the street and they peered out to the main street and a Fathom man was arrested by two US Marines and hauled off.

  ‘That’s what has been happening,’ said Remo, with a grim expression. ‘They make arrests for public order or terrorist offences at will. It looks like it is not coordinated but each arrest focuses on Fathom clan members who have extensive knowledge of our systems, zinithium usage or our history.’

  ‘What do Lord Fathom and Lord Southgate do?’

  ‘Lord Southgate is rarely here and I spoke with Lord Fathom only a week ago but it didn’t seem to register, he looked ill,’ said Remo.

  ‘Yes, just seen him, looks like Princess Evelyn’s death has hit him hard.’ They both fell silent as they remembered the fateful battle when she was killed by Zylar. Then, realising they were suspiciously hanging around in the alleyway, Remo carried on with his assessment.