Branegate

by James C. Glass

  A car door slammed. Pressed up against Petyr, Trae peered over the edge of the ditch. A blue car was parked across the road, a man crossing over with a machine pistol in one hand. He went to the edge of the ditch, and looked down.

  “Hey, what’s taking so long? What’d you find?”

  Silence. The legs of his companion were visible to him, and didn’t move.

  “Gerson?” The man took something out of his coat pocket and did a shuffling slide down the side of the ditch, leaned over and looked closely from the rear of the car.

  “Awww,” he growled, then flipped the thumb of one hand with a sound liked a plucked string and tossed something round and black into the car.

  “Outlive that, you bastards,” he screamed, and sprinted away along the ditch. At that instant, Petyr grabbed Trae’s hand, jerked him up onto his feet and onto pavement. When they were halfway across the road there was a horrible explosion, and a ball of fire erupted from the ground behind them. The pavement shuddered, and they dove into heavy brush in the shade of large trees on the other side of the road.

  The ball of fire was gone, and now there was a column of thick, black smoke. In crossing the road Trae had seen another column of black smoke far back from where they’d come. There was a sudden, sustained chatter of machine pistol fire, and then the man came up out of the ditch. He went straight to his car and got in. Before the door was even closed, Petyr was moving like a hunting cat, hunched over and covering several yards to the back of the car without a sound. He waited there. Trae heard a faint voice; the man in the car was talking to someone. The conversation ended. The car’s engine coughed into life.

  Petyr leapt for the driver’s door, reaching inside with both hands. He slammed the driver’s head against the door three times, then dragged him out sprawling on the ground and shot him twice in the head at point-blank range. Trae’s face flushed in horror at what he saw.

  Petyr gestured at him. “In the car. We can still make it if we’re quick about it!”

  Trae got into the front seat with him, the car moving before his door was closed. Petyr twisted the wheel hard, turning them a hundred eighty degrees and accelerating hard in the direction they’d been traveling before the attack. “Whoever he reported to he said he thought we were dead, but he wouldn’t know for sure until the fire cooled down. We killed the rest of his people, but there might be more at the shuttleport,” said Petyr. “Anyway, the Emperor’s goons all have the same look. What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing. I’ve never seen anyone killed before. It’s horrible.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Petyr, “even when necessary. I’m taking a big risk here, Trae, instead of hiding out on our own. I’m assuming people are waiting to intercept us at the shuttle-port. If I can identify them, I should be able to—”

  A beeping interrupted him, coming from a radiophone hooked onto the dash of the car. “Uh, oh,” said Petyr, then put a finger to his lips and peered closely at the device. Picked it up. When he spoke his voice was rough, even gutteral. His forefinger tapped lightly in random beat on the receive button.

  “Jesse? Yeah, got ’em, but I’m hurt. Car’s a mess. I’m comin’ in.” Petyr tapped the receive button rapidly, then held it down and whacked the phone hard several times on the dash until it fell apart in pieces.

  “Maybe—just maybe,” said Petyr, and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The little car leapt beneath them.

  It was only fifteen minutes to the shuttle-port. They parked in the public garage and Petyr studied the terminal entrances for several minutes before making a move. There were four of them. Petyr sent Trae to the one nearest the garage while he entered two doors down. Trae was terrified, and fought not to show it, but his heart was pounding. The dark suit he wore was common enough, and he didn’t seem to attract any attention. Petyr strolled over to meet him inside by a small fountain around which tables were arranged, and there was a cubicle with vending machines for people to purchase snacks. Petyr bought a sandwich and shared it with Trae at a table. His eyes never stopped moving as he scanned the area, then suddenly—

  “There, by the entrance, three men, in coveralls. One’s talking. I bet he has a throat mike.”

  Trae saw them. Working men, but not working, and hard looking. One man talked, the other two looked bored. When the one finished talking he said something to the others, and they all left the building without looking back.

  “Now!” said Petyr. Trae followed him to the check-in counter. It was still three hours before their scheduled flight. Petyr smiled wonderfully at the woman who greeted them. “Do you have any seats on an earlier flight? If possible, we’d like to squeeze in a meeting before our connection time.”

  The woman looked. There were several seats open on a shuttle boarding in fifteen minutes. “You’ll have to hurry,” she said.

  They walked leisurely to the hub leading to individual shuttle births, then ran the rest of the way. In minutes they were on board, and the door was closed. They were not sitting together, but were only four rows apart. Trae buried himself in a magazine, waiting for something nasty to happen, but it didn’t. Still, after takeoff, and they were skimming the tops of high clouds, something was bothering him, something left undone. And suddenly, two things popped into his mind as if he’d just heard them.

  Evan Reesus. 1793-1624-4. Trae remembered the first name, and then he knew what had to be done. He unbuckled himself, went to Petyr, leaned over to speak softly to him. Two businessmen, one quite young-looking, discussing something. The older woman seated next to Petyr looked up at Trae and smiled when he spoke.

  “We’re going to be early. We have to call Evan and tell him when to meet us.”

  Petyr’s eyes glazed over for just an instant, then cleared. “Do you have his number handy?”

  “It’s 1793-1624-4. Better call now. Tell him Trae says hi.”

  Trae went back to his seat, watched Petyr make the call from the phone mounted on the seat in front of him. He spoke for only seconds, hung up the phone, turned and smiled coyly at Trae.

  “Hearing things?” he mouthed.

  Not really, but where had it come from? Out of the blue, and yet Petyr had acted immediately on what he’d been told. And now there was the vision of a man’s face in Trae’s mind. It was a cruel-looking face, hawkish, with a beak of a nose, small dark eyes set closely together, and topped with a mound of snow-white hair. A shiver ran along Trae’s spine; he felt fear of the man, but at the same time knew him as an ally. He was a man like Petyr. He was a soldier of The Church. And Trae’s life would soon be in his hands.

  Half an hour later they were descending to the spaceport on a high plateau dotted with scrub brush, a hundred miles from the nearest city. The plateau rose in shear sandstone cliffs a thousand feet above a valley of rolling red sand dunes. There were no roads leading to it. The spaceport gleamed in bright sunlight, a series of four concentric circles with a hub at the center and four radial spokes. V-shaped lifting bodies were parked just beyond the outer circle and near the ten-mile-long runways forming a concrete square around the entire complex.

  They slowed to a horizontal stop and made a five hundred foot vertical descent to the third terminal out from the hub, coming down on a concrete pad surrounded by buses and a single, black limousine. Petyr and Trae were last off the shuttle. The other passengers headed straight to the buses for transportation to the hub and ticketing for connecting flights both on and off planet.

  The back door of the limousine opened, and a man got out. His hair was brilliant white in the sunlight. Petyr dropped back and followed Trae by half a step. The man left the car door open and stood by it. The windows were black, so Trae couldn’t see the car’s interior, but he walked right up to the man and smiled. “Sorry about the short notice, Evan,” he said. “We had a problem.”

  “So I understand. We also had a similar problem, but solved it,” said Evan. He put his hand on the door. “Please. It’s a short drive, and there’s a lounge we ca
n use until your flight is ready.”

  They got into the back of the car. There was plush, black leather, and a bar. Another man was sitting there. He extended his hand to Petyr as Evan climbed in and shut the door behind him.

  “I’m Darian. We met a long time ago. I was a novice precept when you were in third year.”

  Petyr shook the man’s hand. “Sorry, I don’t recall you.”

  “You probably don’t remember me either,” said Evan. “I was a year ahead of you, but my hair was red, then. I managed to change the color by spending two years as a special guest of the Emperor.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Petyr, as the car began to move.

  “Don’t be. It gave me a clear vision of what we’re fighting against.”

  Evan turned to Trae, examining him. “You’re quite young for one who’s supposed to give us hope. You knew how to contact me. That’s known to only a few.”

  “Someone gave us your name, said you’d meet us. After we were attacked your radio number came to me, and a vision of your face. I won’t try to explain it.”

  “Do you know where you’re going from here?”

  “No.”

  “You’re going to Ariel II. Your flight leaves this evening.”

  “That’s not a planet,” said Petyr.

  Again something clouded Trae’s mind for just an instant, a brief lapse of consciousness that made him startle awake. “It’s—it’s a station, an orbiting satellite. Someone will meet us there, a man in white.”

  Evan frowned. “I only know the destination from here. What else do you see?”

  “I don’t see anything. I just know it.”

  “It’s not for me to ask questions. You have Petyr to protect you and I’m only a brief guide, but I’m naturally curious, and I’ve never been in the presence of an Immortal before. You look normal to me.”

  “I am normal; at least I feel normal,” said Trae.

  “Then you have no idea how you can free us from the rule of a psychotic Emperor, you, a boy of what—sixteen?”

  “I don’t know.” Trae leaned against Petyr as the car turned a corner.

  “Think about it, Trae,” said Petyr. “Be aware of anything that comes into your head.”

  It suddenly occurred to Trae that both men were pressing him, and then the other man, Darian, said, “I think what he senses is keyed by certain words spoken to him. It could also be sights and other sounds.”

  “His last treatment was only two days ago,” said Petyr.

  “It seems an unreliable way to program a mind, and we’re not told what’s being done, even those of us who put our lives at risk.” Evan’s voice rose in pitch as he spoke. “All this subtrafuge, after waiting for years. Why don’t The Immortals just come down and drive the Emperor out?”

  Darian put a hand on his arm. “It’s not our place to question anything, but you must understand our frustration. So many people in our cell have spent time with the rats in the bowels of the Emperor’s palace. Their parents and grandparents served with The Source himself, and then He abandoned them. Now we’re presented with the reincarnation of His son, said to be our savior, and it’s difficult to believe, especially for those of us who are young. Our duties end when you leave the planet, and we wonder if you’ll abandon us like your father did.”

  Trae didn’t know what to say, and pressed against Petyr, who remained mute but seemed to be listening seriously to the two men.

  Evan’s face flushed. “We’ve been loyal for over a generation, but our waiting will end soon. The Lyraen underground, even in the caverns, is riddled with spies. Our own people are defecting every week. In a few years we’ll be helpless, but our cell and many others will not wait for that. We’ll bring terror to the streets, and to the Emperor’s palace, even his family, knowing full well that without the help your father promised us we’ll all die, and the Lyraen way will be gone forever.”

  “What do you want him to say?” asked Petyr. “The boy is as ignorant of what will happen beyond today as I am.”

  “Then how can he help us? By finding his father? I don’t think we’re being unreasonable when we ask for some assurance our fight can succeed and that The Immortals will keep an old promise to us.”

  “I will not forget you,” said Trae. “I just can’t tell you if I’ll find my father again, or have any contact with The Immortals. The treatments I’ve been getting are supposed to help me do whatever it is I’m supposed to do. Finding you might have been the first thing. We were nearly killed, and suddenly I knew your face and how to contact you, and here we are. I wish I could tell you more.” Trae looked at Petyr for assurance, but the man was glaring stonily at Evan, and the man glared back at him.

  “It has been nearly two generations,” said Evan.

  “And I can tell you nothing will happen until we’ve escaped from Gan,” returned Petyr.

  Evan nodded curtly, but then Darian leaned forward and said, “You’ll be in space by this evening. We don’t know your final destination, or how to contact you. How will you tell us what you’ve found, and if we can count on off-world support to fight the Emperor?”

  “I don’t know,” said Petyr, and Trae shook his head.

  Now Evan leaned forward, his face an angry mask. “Two years is what you have, and likely less than that. We’ve tolerated the Emperor’s spies and our own defectors beyond reason. Expulsions from our ranks will cease. The killings will begin within the month, and our enemy is sure to retaliate in kind. There will be war in the streets, with or without your help. Tell this to your father, or any other Immortals you meet. The Lyraens on Gan will live free, or they will all die.”

  Darian, the man with the gentle eyes, nodded somberly in agreement with Evan.

  “We understand,” said Petyr, and his body became rigid as stone.

  They were taken to a small lounge apparently reserved for them in the outer ring of the complex and only a few steps from their departure tunnel. There were plush, leather chairs and lounges, and a bar with bottled water and juices. “Your luggage has been checked in for you,” said Evan, and handed them their pass cards.

  “We have no luggage. It was destroyed in the car,” said Petyr.

  Evan only blinked. “There are four suitcases, black, two for each of you. Each has a short strip of yellow tape on one end. Be sure to pick them up on Ariel right away. Use your diplomatic papers to bypass any search. This is important.”

  “We presume someone will contact you there about your final destination,” said Darian. “You have our number. We don’t expect you to tell us where you’re going, but you should contact us when you have information we need to know.”

  “Yes,” said Petyr. “Thanks for getting us this far.”

  “Your thanks will come when you bring an army to fight with us. All our hopes go with you. Please don’t desert us.”

  “We won’t,” said Trae.

  “I’m sure you mean that. We’re leaving two men by the door to see you to your departure lounge. Diplomatic servants such as you are accorded such a service. Have a safe trip.”

  They shook hands. Darian’s eyes made him look sad, while Evan’s were hard, like his grip. Evan leaned forward at the last second, and whispered into Trae’s ear.

  “Two years, maximum. We’ll be waiting.” The men left the room, and shut the door behind them.

  There was a long silence. Petyr went to the bar, poured juice into two glasses and handed one to Trae. “Evan is an impatient man, but he’s a good soldier for The Church, and he’s right about one thing. Time is getting short for the Lyraens on Gan. I wish I could give them some hope.”

  “They seem to think the hope should be coming from me, and I don’t even know where I’m going.”

  “You’ll know how to do it. The method just isn’t conscious yet.

  “We know little about what’s going on inside you, and your father isn’t here to tell us about it.”

  “Because he ran away to save himself. That’s what they think,�
�� said Trae bitterly.

  “Maybe,” said Petyr, and put a hand on Trae’s shoulder. “Maybe not. I think your father has gone away to prepare for the freedom of all his people, not just the Lyraens on Gan, but other planets as well. Our Emperor Osman is certainly not the only tyrant in the universe, and I think we’re being sent to discover that. Your father has left you a mission to accomplish before our release can come, and you’ll know in time what it is. I can’t tell you, and neither can anyone else.”

  “We’ve never talked about other planets,” said Trae. “I thought all Lyraens were here on Gan.”

  “It’s our newest world, the one your father came to build. There could be many others, dozens, even thousands.”

  “You’re speculating. you don’t know that for sure.”

  “It’s logical. The Immortals have come from far away, and the Lyraen philosophy goes back before our history. My whole life has been on Gan, Trae. I’m speculating, but if I’m right the problem is much larger than that of a single planet.”

  “In hours we head to Ariel II, Petyr. It goes around Bode, a ball of cold gases, no civilization, so we can eliminate that one.”

  “Nobody told you that,” said Petyr, and raised an eyebrow at him.

  It was the first time he’d experienced space flight, and Trae was thrilled by it: the explosive acceleration, ground dropping away, then the lesser yet steady acceleration at high angle until the sky outside was black and the great sea on Gan was shining blue far below him. In two hours they made rendezvous with Han, the interplanetary vessel with open framework and cylindrical living pods pushed by eight mammoth thermonuclear engines. There was a slight bump at docking; a young woman gave them their compartment assignment and showed them to a tunnel leading to it. Their luggage was being transferred as they spoke.

  The accommodations were small, but luxurious: two beds, gimbaled to accommodate directional acceleration, pneumatic bath, a bar stocked with snacks and drinks, a television with a grand library of entertainment programs and books in core, and two chairs. Meals were taken in the central dining room at the hub of the living module array twice a day. There was a gym, and two courts for a game called Carrom, played with a hard rubber ball in a small, cubic space. Petyr played well with his cat-like reflexes, but Trae had several bruises to show for his efforts before the trip was over.