Solomon's Arrow

by J. Dalton Jennings

  As Richard and the rest of the group stood outside the shuttle discussing their surroundings, the colony’s wooden entrance began to lower, forming a medieval drawbridge that spanned the width of the moat. The moment it lowered in place, an unusual sight rolled through the colony entrance—a wooden carriage, large enough to hold them all. The shiny, black and red vehicle, which was built in a style reminiscent of the Victorian Age carriages frequented by royalty, was driverless. This meant that the colony was equipped with a rudimentary GPS system.

  When the carriage pulled up beside them, Richard noticed that the doors were inlaid with a gold-colored, stylized fish design that reminded him of a decal he’d seen on the window of a car.

  “Welcome, honored guests.” The voice sounded female and was coming from a small, round speaker near the door. “Climb aboard this vehicle, and it will transport you to the chancellor’s residence. She is eager to introduce you to the residents of our fair city.”

  Richard and the others complied and were soon traveling through the gate and into the heart of the city. While en route, a multitude of colorfully clad people stood in doorways watching as they passed by. Most of them wore smiles on their faces and many clapped, though some studied Richard’s group with suspicious eyes.

  Every so often, another speaker at the front of the carriage would blast out, “All hail the crew of Solomon’s Arrow!” at which point the applause would increase a few decibels.

  The deeper into the colony they traveled, the more Richard noticed something odd: there were many more women than men, and strangely enough the men he did see were all smaller and leaner than their female counterparts. The men were clean-shaven, long haired, and possessed a distinctly effeminate air about them. That in itself wasn’t that troublesome; he’d known many men who were gay or effeminate or both. He’d even been the best man at the wedding of a close college friend who was gay. What troubled him was that he wasn’t seeing any men who were built for construction work or any other blue-collar jobs. This made him wonder if what Albans had said in the ready room about evolutionary biology had been wrong after all, and that a civilized society could indeed continue to evolve. But would a smaller, weaker male be an evolutionary improvement? Richard decided to ask Albans about this observation later, after their meeting with the chancellor.

  There was one other observation that registered prominently in Richard’s mind: he noticed that an inordinate amount of religious iconography decorated their route. Engraved above every doorway was a bas-relief carving of a cross; in every courtyard stood finely detailed statues of angels, molded from what appeared to be charcoal-gray glass. The only thing missing was the image of Christ himself.

  Looking at the other members of the landing party, Richard realized that he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed these unusual attributes. Experiencing a rising sense of apprehension, Richard shifted his attention back to the city’s inhabitants. The smiles on their faces looked genuine. Even those who were studying the landing party with suspicious eyes didn’t seem to be harboring any ill-will. He was probably just imagining things. If the city’s inhabitants wanted to do them bodily harm, there would’ve been ample opportunity en route to the chancellor’s residence.

  Approximately ten minutes after entering the city, the carriage stopped in front of what could only be described as a palace, which looked remarkably similar to the United States Supreme Court building, only bigger. The imposing structure was the only building in the city that wasn’t constructed from red brick clay. Instead, a white material, akin to marble, graced its exterior.

  A throng of politely clapping onlookers lined the steps leading up to the building’s entrance. They stood on both sides of a five-foot-wide, bright-red carpet, which began beneath the carriage and climbed a long flight of steps, finally disappearing between a series of tall columns situated on either side of the building’s entrance.

  The carriage door opened automatically, and the landing party exited the vehicle. A delegation of four muscular women—all sporting short, black, spiky haircuts, and wearing navy-blue body stockings, which accentuated every curve—met them at the foot of the steps. Printed above the left breast of each outfit was the same stylized image of a fish that adorned the carriage doors. By the looks of them, Richard suspected the women were related. Judging by their lithe movements and athletic build, they must be members of New Terra’s security forces. Each woman carried a foot-long, nondescript, solid-black rod, a weapon of some sort, probably used to stun unruly colonists … or unknown visitors, such as themselves.

  “Follow us, please,” said one of the women firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

  Two of the women walked ahead of the group and two behind as they ascended the steps.

  The crowd lining the red carpet clapped and smiled politely, but Richard began to notice something: many of the intense stares were directed at him, though some were also directed at the other men. Very few in the crowd were studying the women of their group, which consisted of Axelrod, Albans, Muldoon, and a junior security officer named Janelle Mumbato—a strikingly beautiful Kenyan with whom Richard experienced a brief fling two months earlier.

  Janelle was of medium height with dark-brown skin and a pixie-cut hairdo. The sex had been great, but she’d broken off their relationship after a brief, passionate week, with the excuse that she wasn’t ready for a relationship involving four people. At first perplexed, Richard sadly realized that the other two people were his dead wife and son.

  It didn’t particularly bother him when she called it quits. If truth be told, he was relieved. After they stopped seeing each other, everything went back to normal, which was good, what with her holding six black belts in various martial arts disciplines.

  As he ascended the steps, Richard realized that Janelle was the only woman of their group to whom the surrounding crowd paid more than a passing interest. Richard tried to covertly read the emotions behind the welcoming crowd’s applause, and saw an undercurrent of fearfulness. This, along with his earlier observations, added to Richard’s unease.

  Leaving the crowd behind, he and the others entered the building and were escorted down a long hallway lined with portraits of past chancellors—most of whom held a striking resemblance to Lorna Threman.

  Women of all shapes and sizes and hairstyles were scurrying up and down the hall or popping in one door and out another. Scattered throughout the mix, Richard noticed a few of the effeminate looking men—most of whom, after seeing him, stopped in their tracks and stared, even more fascinated by his appearance than their female counterparts. It was enough to give a person the willies, not understanding why they found him so captivating.

  Then it hit him: Richard had yet to spot a single black person. What’s more, he’d not seen any Latinos or Orientals. Every person in the colony appeared to be white.

  •

  After entering through a large archway into Chancellor Threman’s audience chamber, Bram stood beside Gloria Muldoon, feeling terribly uneasy. Aside from sensing vague, emotional undercurrents, he’d failed to sense any thought patterns from the New Terrans he encountered thus far. It was like being surrounded by robots disguised as humans. For someone whose psychic abilities required constant vigilance, this chilling anomaly was causing him a substantial amount of apprehension.

  Though his fellow landing party members were unaware of their hosts’ unprecedented lack of mental output, Bram could sense they knew something was out of place, nonetheless.

  There was no getting around it. To keep from becoming a liability, he needed to find out how his abilities were being blocked. This meant that, despite his longtime vow to respect the privacy of others, he must read another person’s mind. Merely contemplating such a violation repulsed him, but Bram also knew it was necessary … and he might as well start with the chancellor herself.

  Upon entering the audience chamber, Bram and the others encountered a domed ceiling with a mural depicting what must have been significant
events in New Terran history. The mural reminded Bram of the Sistine Chapel and even included an alternate portrait of the famous image of Adam and God touching fingers … only this time, a gorgeous, semi-nude woman (who looked remarkably like the chancellor) was touching the finger of a much larger, silver-haired woman of indeterminate age, whose naked body was partly obscured by strategically placed clouds.

  Bram studied other sections of the mural but, lacking context, he was unable to understand their meaning. One depicted the silver-haired woman handing a newborn baby to a redhead wearing light-green hospital scrubs. Another painting depicted a heated battle on a glacier between three of the muscular, spiky-haired, warrior women and two long-haired beasts that looked vaguely like the legendary Sasquatch from Earth’s past. Bram thought this scene odd, having been briefed that the planet couldn’t possibly harbor mammals larger than a mouse.

  The ceiling was painted in a photo-realistic style. Being a lover of art, Bram would’ve enjoyed nothing more than to spend all day examining the other murals—but that wasn’t his mission.

  When the doors closed behind him and the others, the two rear guards came to attention on either side of the entrance. The two remaining guards escorted the landing party to a row of tan chairs that faced a high-backed, ornate, wooden throne, fashioned from what could easily pass for ebony. The empty throne sat on a half-oval dais at the rear of the room. Floor-to-ceiling maroon and gold curtains hung behind it, giving the throne an appearance of supreme importance.

  “You will remain standing until Chancellor Threman enters the hall and gives you permission to sit,” announced one of the spiky haired women, after which she and her fellow guard took up a watchful position on either side of the dais.

  The group stopped in front of their respective chairs and did as they were told, though Bram noticed a few members of the landing party appeared somewhat annoyed by the order, especially Admiral Axelrod, who was more accustomed to giving orders than taking them.

  Bram stood beside Floyd Sullivant, who leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Have you noticed, this colony is a gay man’s nightmare?”

  Bram tried to suppress his laughter, but failed. He received more than a few disapproving looks. Biting his lip, he focused on the floor, which was made of the same smooth material as the building’s façade, only a light, powder-blue instead of white.

  When he no longer felt scrutinized, Bram leaned over to tell Floyd he’d have better luck once the colonists were decanted. But before he could speak, in walked Lorna Threman, chancellor of New Terra, her blonde locks falling over bare shoulders, her indescribably perfect body clothed in a sheer-white, calf-length dress, cinched at the waist with a half-inch wide, gold-colored belt; her dainty feet sporting four-inch high, gold-colored heels; her smile radiant.

  The guard to her right spoke in a commanding voice, “All ye in attendance kneel before our exalted chancellor, Lorna Threman!”

  Bram and the others were taken aback by this order. Many of them turned their heads in the admiral’s direction, unsure how to respond. By the look on her face, she had no intention of kneeling before anyone.

  The chancellor stopped in front of her chair and faced the group. Seeing that everyone was still on their feet, she said, “There’s no need for such formalities. A simple bow will suffice.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Admiral Axelrod nodded to the others. They all bowed, though none of them bent their torsos beyond a forty-five degree angle.

  Bram didn’t need psychic powers to pick up on the fact that, despite her smile, the chancellor was annoyed by the landing party’s response. She was probably accustomed to being treated like a queen.

  The chancellor sat and crossed her shapely legs. “You may sit, honored guests. You doubtless have many questions of me. While your accommodations are being arranged, I will endeavor to answer those questions to the best of my ability, though certainly you will concede that not all of them will be answered during this initial meeting. First, however, introductions are in order.”

  Bram noticed that her eyes had stopped on Commander Allison.

  “As you know, my name is Lorna Threman, Chancellor of New Terra,” she said, tearing her gaze from the commander and shifting it to Admiral Axelrod. “The women who escorted you here are my security forces and are called Minders. I’m very interested in learning about each and every one of you. However, before we begin, I must ask you a question, Admiral. I see that the majority of your group is composed of men. Is it true that the human male once held a prominent role in ancient Earth society?”

  •

  At first, Katherine wasn’t sure what the chancellor meant when she asked about the role of men in Earth’s society. Being uninterested in the opposite sex, to her men were useful in battle and for an occasional laugh, but little else. However, like many commanding officers throughout the centuries, her first responsibility was to her ship and its crew; therefore, the chancellor’s question gave Katherine pause to think. She suddenly realized that the few men she’d paid attention to while en route through the city had looked more like prepubescent boys than full-grown men. This unusual detail deserved further study.

  “In our time, the men of Earth were valued members of society,” she answered. “How are they regarded here in New Terra, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  The chancellor smiled uncomfortably. “Our men are … useful, in their own right,” she said. “Yours, however, are altogether different … in a way that pleases me.”

  The chancellor glanced at Richard Allison. She then suddenly stopped talking and her eyes lost focus. Cocking her head slightly to one side, she appeared to be listening to something only she could hear. Before anyone had time to ponder her strange behavior, the chancellor refocused, shifted her attention back to the admiral, and resumed speaking: “I look forward to learning much more about you, and your valiant crew, during the coming days, while you assimilate into New Terran society. Perhaps we should retire to—”

  “Excuse me, Chancellor,” Katherine interrupted. “I believe you’re getting ahead of yourself. We’ve not yet decided to join your society. We may end up starting our own colony as originally planned, and then initiate trade talks with yours.”

  Once again, the chancellor’s eyes lost focus, and she appeared to be listening to something unheard by anyone else in the room. “The Lord finds your attitude unacceptable,” she declared, refocusing her hard, steely attention back on Katherine. “We, the inhabitants of New Terra, have waited for over two thousand years for Solomon’s Arrow to appear. The Lord has planned for your arrival and her plans will be obeyed.”

  A cold chill raced up Katherine’s spine. The Lord finds?! All of a sudden the chancellor’s strange behavior made perfect, gut-wrenching sense. The woman was hearing voices in her head, which meant one thing and one thing only … Lorna Threman was barking mad!

  13

  These are not your people, Lorna. You cannot order them around like a common serving lad. You must convince them to stay … without using heavy-handed tactics.

  The silky-sweet voice in Lorna Threman’s mind sounded calm, reasonable, even soothing, but then again, She always did. How can I salvage the situation, Lord? she thought. Apologize for your conduct … and then have Doric take them on a tour of the city. Once they see the comforts you enjoy, they will realize there is no need for a separate colony.

  Lorna refocused and examined her guests. Most of them were staring at her with looks of concern on their faces. “Forgive me, my friends,” she said, sounding contrite. “In the eight and a half standard years that I’ve been chancellor of New Terra, I suppose I’ve grown accustomed to the people of this colony following my instructions. I forget that you are new here and are under no obligation to do as I say. I apologize.”

  She noticed that most of the landing party looked visibly relieved to hear her say this. “Before my rudeness sways you into building a colony elsewhere—when there’s a perfectly good one right here—I’d l
ike to arrange for you to take a tour of New Terra. If, after seeing the colony, you still want to go through the trouble of building a separate colony … well, the citizens of this fair city will help you, in any way possible, to hasten that transition.”

  As she finished speaking, in walked a young woman wearing a cream-colored, floor-length dress, styled similarly to hers. The young woman’s physical appearance was also similar, both being the same height, same eye color, same skin tone, same facial shape—except for one thing: instead of the same long, blonde tresses, she was completely bald. Surprisingly, her baldness did not detract from her beauty.

  Everyone but Lorna glanced over at the young woman as she crossed the room and came to a stop beside the dais. Still studying the landing party, Lorna gestured toward the new arrival. “I’d like to introduce you to Doric Sardis, who serves as vice-chancellor of New Terra and, of course, my assistant. She will provide you with a comprehensive tour of the city.”

  “I appreciate your hospitality, Chancellor,” the admiral said. “However, perhaps tomorrow would be a better time to accept that tour. Today, it would be more informative for us to speak with a delegation of historians and scientists. I’d like to learn as much as possible about the history of this colony and how you managed to arrive here ahead of us.”

  Lorna nodded, keeping a smile on her lips by sheer force of will alone. “As you wish. I’ll have my assistant arrange a meeting with those particular divisions of the Keeper class.” Seeing the puzzled look on the admiral’s face, she elaborated. “What you call scientists and historians, we call the Keepers of Knowledge. They are very powerful, in and of themselves, and serve as a check on power to those in the political class, such as myself.”