Branegate

by James C. Glass

  He tried to sleep again, but couldn’t and finally got up and went out to the living room where Petyr was just now closing up his briefcase. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  Trae told him what had happened, and his bodyguard-father frowned. “It has to be Myra, but others might know who you are, and we’ve been careful to hide that. I didn’t hear a thing, so whoever it is knows how to tune into you. That’s part of your profile. Only a few people know it: your parents, and the doctors who’ve worked on your enhancements. Nobody else. We might have a leak. If someone strange comes back again don’t give any indication of where you are or who you are. Deny everything, but try to get some clue to their identity. They don’t have to be close by. They could even be on another planet. It’s a field thing, Trae. We’re all connected by a special field, and nobody has measured its extent.

  “You’ll have to do it alone, Trae. I don’t dare listen in, even if I can. Nobody can be allowed to know who I am, not even Myra or the others you work with!”

  Trae went to bed with that command ringing in his ears. Sleep came slowly, and there was no sweet voice to tell him good night.

  He missed that voice.

  CHAPTER 19

  It was the longest night of their lives.

  Tatjana whimpered and growled in her sleep until it was nearly dawn, and Leonid didn’t sleep at all. By morning he felt groggy, for he’d not slept in forty-eight hours.

  Shortly after dawn a guard suddenly opened their door after checking them through the peephole. He brought in their breakfast on a tray and put it on the stone bed they hadn’t used the night before. “Eat it quickly,” he commanded. “I’ll come back for you in a few minutes.” He closed the door behind him, and locked it.

  The guard came back soon with two others. “On your feet; it’s time for court. Behave yourselves if you don’t want more trouble than you already have.”

  It was a hearing room, not a court. The room was paneled in dark wood. There was a raised dais with a heavy table, two other tables with chairs facing it, and a dozen benches for observers. The benches were empty, but a man stood by each of the two tables. One walked towards them as they entered and extended a hand not to Leonid, but Tatjana. She shook it. “Carl Osten, madam. Your family has hired me for your defense. I’ve considerable experience in matters related to immigration.”

  “We’re not immigrants, we’re citizens,” said Leonid.

  “I regret to say that’s no longer true. Officially you’re a member of a government that no longer exists. There’s no precedent for this, so anything can happen. I urge you to cooperate with the court as much as possible.”

  Leonid started to speak, but Tatjana squeezed his arm. “We appreciate your help, Mister Osten. Thank you,” she said.

  They sat down at a table. The man standing by the other one gave them an unfriendly look, and examined some papers in front of him. “Jan Herzel is our prosecutor. His skills aren’t so good, but he’s active in The Church. Please be civil to him,” said Carl.

  The judge entered the room, a man wearing the red robe and simple head covering of a priest. Leonid and Tatjana stood, following Carl’s lead, then sat again. The judge glared down at them as if displeased by something. “This is very early for a hearing, but it seems someone has considerable influence with the court. It had better be worth my time.”

  He leafed through the brief on his desk, looked over his glasses at the prosecutor. “This is a show cause hearing. What are the charges you wish to file?”

  Jan Herzel stood and pointed dramatically at Leonid and his wife. “We charge Leonid and Tatjana Zylak, two citizens of Elderon, with high treason to The Church by aiding and abetting a criminal state, your honor.”

  The judge looked at his briefing again. “By criminal state I presume you mean the Council of Red and Green.”

  “I do, your honor.”

  “That state has been dead for decades, counselor. How can these people have been at large for so long?”

  “They were on missions beyond the great portal, and have just returned.”

  “They did not realize the government they represented had been overturned, your honor,” said Carl Osten quickly.

  The judge smiled nastily. “How unfortunate for them. You’re their attorney?”

  “I am, your honor.”

  “Look, I’ve read the brief. The only important issue here is loyalty to the State, and that means loyalty to The Church. I will ask a question of your clients, counselor, and if their answer is what I want to hear then charges will not be made and they will be considered good citizens of Elderon. Good families or not, there are certain requirements of all citizens, don’t you agree?”

  “Of course, your honor. May I confer with my clients?”

  The judge only nodded. The prosecutor was sullen, had started to object, but then held himself back.

  “He will ask you about your religious beliefs. Tell him what he wants to hear, and you’ll be free,” whispered Carl.

  “We have no religious beliefs,” said Leonid.

  “That’s the worst thing you can say to him. He’s giving you a way out. Can’t you see that? The Church pushes on one side, and a very powerful family, your wife’s, pushes on the other. The whole family could be in danger if you throw away the opportunity he’s giving you.”

  Leonid looked at Tatjana, saw her mouth pressed to a thin line, her eyes narrowed defiantly. “So let him ask his questions.”

  “My clients will answer your questions, your honor,” said Carl, a bit relieved but nervous as his fingers tapped the point of an expensive stylus rapidly on the hard tabletop.

  “Good,” said the judge. “Here is the first. Do you believe that The Church of The Source is the one true church, and do you forsake all others?”

  Leonid and Tatjana both stood, and Leonid answered for them. “We’re not affiliated with any church, your honor, but we respect the beliefs of all people in this universe or others.”

  The judge scowled and paused, steepled his fingers in front of his face. “Choose your words carefully, sir. This is your second and last chance. Do you accept The Source as the one true power that rules the universe, and do you live your life according to His rules as set forth by The Church of His Faithful?”

  Leonid paused, looked at his wife. Her gaze was fierce. She shook her head slightly.

  “We believe in a spiritual power that brings order to the universe, your honor. We don’t know its name; it’s called by many different names by different people. Whatever the power is, we believe it’s in all of us.”

  The judge leaned back in his chair, and sighed. “Very well. You’ve made your choice, not I.” He turned to the prosecuting attorney for the state. “I’ve studied your brief, and witnessed the attitude of the defendants. The charge of High Treason to The Church is not sustainable, but evidence is sufficient to support charges of aiding and abetting a criminal government. You may file such charges, but be warned the court calendar is crowded over the coming year.”

  The prosecutor looked pleased. “I understand, your honor. The state is prepared to proceed at any time.”

  “We request a determination of bail, your honor,” said Carl.

  The judge glared at him. “I don’t have to tell you there will be no bail, counselor. This is a capital crime against the state, and the defendants will be confined until trial.”

  “I will file a protest, your honor. This is not a capital crime by law.”

  “The Church will see otherwise. File your protest. This hearing is over. Guards, take charge of the prisoners.”

  The judge stood up, the rest of them with him. Leonid and Tatjana were both stunned. “I’ll make calls. There will be more than protests. Even The Church can’t get away with this,” said Carl.

  Guards came to get them. Their hands were shackled behind their backs, and they were led away. The guards marched them past the holding cell they’d spent the night in, and into another wing of the building. The cells
there were even smaller, but windows to the outside were larger, the barred doors more open, and there were mattresses and blankets on the stone slab beds. The guards unshackled them, and pushed them into adjacent cells.

  “Can’t we be together?” protested Tatjana, as the doors clanged shut.

  “Cells are for one person,” said a guard. “Is better. You might be here for months, or years. The court can be slow. I think in your case it will be very slow.” He locked their doors, and went away.

  There was a long silence. Leonid sat down on the hard bed, and thought he heard a sob from Tatjana. “Well, I certainly didn’t expect this. When we heard the government was in crisis, there was no mention of The Church being the problem.”

  “I’ve never been so humiliated,” said Tatjana, and there was quiet fury in her voice. “Church or not, there will be repercussions for this.”

  “You really think your family can do something?”

  “You have no idea what they can or might do. And there is nothing that money can’t buy.”

  Leonid was heartened by his wife’s fighting attitude, but quietly wondered why her family hadn’t contacted them directly if they really had so much influence with the court.

  CHAPTER 20

  There are turning points in a life, beginnings and endings, and sudden.

  Trae awoke refreshed after a good night of sleep laced with productive dreams about the day’s work. The new simulations had needed tweaking, and designs had been coming out of the machines for weeks. Most had already gone to the manufacturing floor. An SRX-80 shuttle was being modified to accept the power torus amidships, and would now fly from orbit rather than ground. Once the prototype was static-tested its sister ships would be assembled in orbit about Elderon for full-burn runs and first attempts at short-pinch-spacetime folding. One year, perhaps two, was the current projection. Calculations for powering up a branegate were just beginning, using the SRX-80 and the much larger ST-40 freighter as models. Engineers estimated ten years to prototype development. Trae’s estimate was three years, for there were things he’d held back from them, to release when he saw fit.

  He awoke refreshed and eager for the day. Another visit last night; Myra was still playing her games, living out a kind of clandestine double life with an alter-ego that was sexy and fun and not so businesslike as when she was physically with him. She still wouldn’t admit her double identity, but Trae was certain of it, or nearly certain. He hoped he wasn’t misinterpreting the coy looks she gave him when they were working together.

  The other voice that had warned him of danger hadn’t returned. Perhaps it had been Myra in another disguise. For the past week, Petyr had seemed especially alert, following him to and from work, his eyes constantly roving the streets. It was still hard for Trae to think of Petyr as his father, but a part of him wanted desperately to do so. Only when they were alone in their suite, making small talk or when Petyr was kidding him about something did it seem real. The rest of the time he was still the bodyguard, the Soldier of The Church, and dangerous.

  Though Trae was in good spirits, Petyr was sullen that morning. Few words passed between them at breakfast. The conversation was one-sided, Trae enthusiastic about the last step in his simulation, Petyr half-listening and distracted by something.

  When the limousine came for Trae, Petyr was hovering over him. When they arrived at the lab Petyr was so close behind that Trae could feel his breath on his neck. The man followed him all the way upstairs to his cubicle, his hand darting inside his coat to his hip when Wallace suddenly came out of his office, startling them.

  “Whoa,” said Wallace, and held up his hands.

  When Trae was settled in his cubicle, Petyr stayed right there. When he entered Wallace’s office the man stood guard by the door, and watched them.

  “What’s going on?” asked Wallace. “For one second there this morning I thought he was going to shoot me.”

  “I don’t know,” said Trae. “He’s been jumpy for a while. Any reason he should be?”

  “Not that I know of,” said Wallace, and they went back to work. Myra soon joined them, and frowned at Petyr as she entered the office.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked, and looked right at Trae. Are you in danger?

  Got you, thought Trae. I don’t know, but Petyr is worried about something.

  Myra blushed red, but Wallace didn’t seem to notice and Trae said nothing more about it.

  They worked on the simulation, changing one parameter, and three iterations later had the solution they wanted. The field generated by the torus made a wedge-shaped fold in the fabric of spacetime that was stable for twelve seconds before snapping back to flatness. Barely enough area for the ship to jump through, but a deep distortion nontheless, and a ten light-year jump within the nominal power limit of the torus. Remaining power at twenty percent max, so recharge was necessary again, but at cruising speed the MHD generator was enough until they were within range of a microwave beaming station. Theory was finished; the only task left was to build the thing. And that was out of Trae’s hands. Even as he watched the simulation recycling on his screen, the dimple appearing, shaping, edges coming together, then fading slowly to blackness, his mind was already wandering to the problem of forming a branegate with a similar-sized ship. A much more difficult problem, since the geometry of the extra dimensions beyond spacetime was poorly understood, and also subject to local time dependent effects due to gravity.

  He talked to Myra about it after Wallace went away to a meeting with people who pulled the purse strings for company research. “If all points in space are brane-connected to another universe and we have multiple gates on both sides of the brane there must be a connective geometry such that transits back and forth across the brane are equivalent to a huge spacetime jump in one universe,” said Trae in one breath.

  They tried to imagine it, Trae relying on Myra for geometrical support, and they spent the rest of the day drawing amoebic-shaped universes multiply connected by one brane or two. But by the end of the day they were totally befuddled by the problem, and Trae knew what directions his dreams would take that night.

  He said goodbye to Myra, and she gave him a wonderful smile, and then Petyr took his elbow and propelled him out of the office. “What is wrong with you?” he said in an irritated whisper.

  “Just move. Don’t stop for anything,” said Petyr. “Get right into the car.”

  They went down the escalator to the lobby. Others were already headed to the big, double doors leading to the street. Petyr’s arm was hooked in his and he was being pushed along. They went out the door. It was bright. The car was waiting for them at the curb, and the driver in his black livery was holding the rear door open for them.

  Things happened very fast at that instant, all of it lost to memory.

  There was movement to Trae’s right. He saw two men in dark business suits step away from the front entrance of the building and draw guns from inside their coats. They dropped into a crouch and brought the guns up, aiming directly at him.

  Petyr pushed him hard towards the car, turned and opened fire on the men, a staccato of fire scattering brass cartridge cases on the sidewalk. Both of his targets crashed to the ground before firing a shot.

  There was an explosion, high pitched, that echoed in the street as Trae stumbled, looked back and saw the back of Petyr’s head erupt in a shower of blood and white bone.

  He didn’t hear the second explosion, only felt the terrible concussion of the killing bullet that struck him in the chest.

  And then he was gone.

  CHAPTER 21

  Away from the eyes of the common people, the election was decided before campaigning began.

  In the days after the assassination of the Emperor of Gan things happened so quickly even news-people could not agree on what had happened or who was responsible. At first report the killing of Osman had been a terrorist act committed by the underground church, but new rumors quickly followed. Soldiers had been see
n lowering the Emperor’s colors fluttering beneath the flag of Gan, so they were also involved and it was a military coup. Strategic information was leaked. Agents of Galena in the uniforms of Gan secret police had participated in the assault of the palace, so it was an interplanetary conspiracy between Galena and the military establishment of Gan. It was also said that Osman had been blown up by a suicidal priest of an outlawed church, or had been shot by his own police. The news was flashed, and those who controlled the news waited for public reactions. There was only one: everyone could now openly agree that Khalid Osman had been a despised, self-seeking tyrant, and they were glad he was dead. The hope now was that he wouldn’t be replaced by someone even worse.

  They were pleasantly surprised.

  The shakers and movers of Gan, those who built the industrial empires and created the jobs for the common people, the self-made men who drove the economy of the planet, all of them had come to a decision. The days of dictatorships inherited from one generation to the next had come to an end. There would be a new form of government on Gan, and it would be a government freely elected by the people.

  In underground cells of The Church all over Gan there was cheering, and hope for religious freedom. The reaction of the general public was more subdued, but receptive. Any governmental system was fine with them as long as there were jobs, food on the table and a comfortable quality of life for everyone and not just a few. At least the industrialists had shared their wealth generously with their workers. The Emperor of Gan had only taken from them, and given nothing in return.

  The ten wealthiest men on Gan formed a committee to suggest forms the new government might take. They elected a chairman whose wisdom they held in high esteem, and his name was Azar Khalil. The name was familiar to the everyday citizen. The companies within his conglomerate employed tens of thousands, and he’d funded a vast network of charities to help the poor. There was even a rumor he’d funded the underground church and was, in fact, a spiritual man who often meditated, and believed in a power greater than himself or any emperor. A humble man, yet wise and successful at anything he attempted to do.