by Trisha Telep
Captured by gunmen . . .
But what good did seeing do when he was light years away, forced to watch and wait, helpless to get her off the Homeworld that wanted her dead—
An assailant struck a blow to her side, a rib cracked in searing pain—
Brodin slammed his fist against the glass, and the cavernous vault of the Dark Nest cathedral of a ship echoed his furious cry. He didn’t know when these flashes timed with her reality, or when he could know she was safe.
She could not feel him as he did her. Her mental fields were too tightly sealed as she did her best to mitigate the crashing waves of psychic screams transmitted as her students were murdered. But because she was unable to wholly block them, Brodin in turn was accosted by the dying emotions of children he considered his own, though they were not. Gunned down or bombed, the children faced the shock of death with the question: Why, what did we do? on their terrified lips.
Brodin rallied as his mind’s eye watched—
A swift, psychic blow brings the gunmen to their knees. She sends what students she can onto a ship, but she couldn’t get to all the survivors, so she stays behind . . .
As she watches them go, Brodin catches her stern, terse prayer, though she’d have no idea he was listening or alive:
Brodin, you and that Nest better be up there, and you better be ready . . .
“I’m ready,” Brodin cried aloud. Hearing his words bounce back to him in the cool steel vault of the ship that had seen many miracles, he knew he meant it. In every way. He had to break through and tell her that he was waiting for her, in the Dark Nest, with a new planet at the ready. He had to contact her lest she sacrifice herself when there was so much to live for.
Every action heroic and selfless; that was the essence of Professor Saire.
The only woman he had ever loved.
The woman he’d not been allowed to love.
Whether she was confident in his sentiment, or what he’d done to ensure she’d stay alive, was another matter entirely. A matter that might yet cost him his own life. If she died, she would take him with her. This was no metaphor or exaggeration, it was simple fact.
Two
It had happened at last. The genocide they had prayed would never come. Their intel was wrong. Saire had been given a tip that there would be an attack the next month. But then her source was shot. There were contingency plans, of course, but as elders of the Psychically Augmented population of newly evolved humans, she and Brodin knew there would be inevitable casualties. The issue was how many.
I will count and mourn the dead later, Saire promised herself, hoping against hope that the attacks didn’t extend to their brethren in space. She couldn’t count on hope – she could only try to survive.
Racing back to where a few of the children had hidden themselves, she did her best to stay out of sight, but there was a hundred-yard dash she had to make out in the open. Though she might be an elder, her young physique was a contrast to the glimmering silver of her long hair and the crease of worries around her eyes. The newly evolved humans were proud that they aged beautifully, like the finest wine. So, her sprint was impressive. Especially nursing a broken rib. But it was not enough to outrun a drone.
“They won’t even kill us themselves, but send robotics to do it for them? Devils and cowards,” she spat through clenched teeth as the ground exploded behind her. She expanded her psychic shields. Concentric, iridescent circles of color unseen by the untrained eye bubbled up around her in a protective field that didn’t keep all the shrapnel out, but blocked life-threatening bits. It was a power she was still perfecting.
Thrown against the steel door, a new shock wave of agony overtook her body. She could hear whimpers from the other side of the door. She was sure if she placed her hand somewhere on her torso it would come away bloodied from scratches and gouges. It was hard to pinpoint one injury amidst the general sea of pain. The next thing she knew the door was open. She tumbled inside, many small hands upon her.
Little blonde Franca, eight years old, was first in her face. “Lady Saire,” she cried, cradling her head. A similarly small, dark-skinned boy rushed to shut the door as another drone caused an explosion outside. The room shook and the metal of the door bent in its grooves.
All four children hovered over their teacher, whom they’d taken to calling “Lady Saire”. Franca had gotten it in her head that Saire had to have earned a title at some point in her life. They’d been studying ancient royal history. Saire hadn’t the heart to tell them that the Homeworld would bestow no such honors on people like them.
Dizzy, she sat up and tried to clear the fog of pain. If the door to the unventilated storage space was as jammed as it looked – all Homeworld doors had sealed shut due to the searing temperatures of the planet – it meant they only had a few hours of air. She had to calm the children down.
“Ducklings,” she said fondly. “I’m all right—”
Questions came in a torrent, about the school, about those aboard the Nests, and simply why.
“We are powerful beings,” she responded, as to why they had been attacked. “More powerful than you even know. Watch.”
She spread out her psychic fields, layers expanding and shimmering in the dim light cast by battery-powered lanterns. They breathed a sigh of wonder. She shifted an inner field outward with a subtle wave of her hand. It was all mental, but the physical gesture helped demonstrate the effect, and the children felt a cool breeze blow calmly through their agitated minds and lower their pulse rate.
“We use more of our brain than other humans. Our mental abilities as newly evolved means we are feared. Each of you came from a home that didn’t know what to do with you. Abandoned, cast off, we are not welcome there any more.”
“What are we going to do, then?” the smallest boy, Tynne, asked. “Where are we going to go?”
“We’re going to find a new home,” Saire replied.
“We’re going to the Nests?” Simm asked hopefully, his dark skin glistening with nervous sweat.
“I hope so.”
If there are even Nests to land in.
It was their only option, and Saire’s sole goal; to get the children off the Homeworld and onto the Dark Nest. Beyond that, the hope was to find a new home for their kind. This had been the contingency plan. But the best-laid plans . . .
What sort of new home would welcome her? She had done her best to try to keep peace between Homeworld powers and the Psychically Augmented population, or PA for short. And still it had come to this. She’d sacrificed everything. For what? And what would take the shape of home if she lived to see it?
“Children, I’m going to give you something that will help you sleep.”
There were protests – how could they possibly sleep? – but despite the outcry, Saire opened the medical pack slung over her shoulder and produced small disks from a metal container. “I need you sharp. So now I need you to rest. We can do nothing until the offensive cools. Then we make a plan.” She sounded more hopeful than she was, but the children gave her their arms. She stuck the adhesive bandages filled with sedatives onto the crooks of their arms.
The reality was that they were in a small cave with no rear exit. So unless someone friendly broke down that door, they weren’t going anywhere.
Once the four were sedated and piled together like corpses, breathing so shallowly Saire had to strain to be sure they still were doing it, it occurred to her that the children would have longer to live, a better fighting chance, if she were one less large body competing with them for oxygen.
Hadn’t part of her known, in those recesses that were a part of her burgeoning powers, that it might come to this? That she’d sacrifice herself in the event of a full attack? Long ago, before they’d abandoned what they’d once meant to one another, Brodin had teased her for having a martyr’s prerogative. But beneath his teasing they both knew she’d readily die for her people. After all, he’d met her when she had been standing on a ledge . . .
Three
Brodin glanced around the Dark Nest. It was a ridiculous flight of fancy in air, a Gothic cathedral floating through space, a beautiful feat of engineering and imagination. Its denizens were all PA, two ships having consolidated into one after a Homeworld-contrived attack. Brodin felt his people grieving collectively, a shuddering mass. They kept focus by trying to shield their remaining ship, rescue PA children, and perhaps wield a little psychic revenge.
The majority of the PA population had been sent into space to seek a new planet for the Homeworld to colonize, as their own dried to a crisp due to unmitigated environmental destruction. The Nests had found a few suitable planets along the way and had ferried the research home, secretly withholding information about one likely planet. Soon after, the Homeworld found the PA population expendable, and elimination began. The Homeworld leaders decided there was no room in the new future for cohabitation with another strain of human. The PA were seen as a threat.
Brodin always knew they were feared. He and Saire had dedicated their adult lives to trying to make peace, and mitigate the persecution of their people. At the cost of their own happiness.
As two of the first PA to be known, and Saire the first to be tested on, it was very clear that the High Council expected Brodin and Saire to be solely business associates. Not mother and father to a whole new strain. Not a family. Breeding would be discouraged. Possibly by force. If Saire and Brodin wanted a school, then it was only by the grace of the High Council and their parameters that they would get one. The alternative was that they could go back to being marginalized lab animals.
And so the training school, the unfolding understanding of their powers. The basic needs of their people always came first. The two of them were friendly. Civil. They lived separately. They did not dare discuss marriage. They did not touch.
Brodin had convinced himself that their separation was good. That way they couldn’t be used against one another. They couldn’t be tortured for information or bartered for ransom as husbands and wives might be.
And yet, he knew when they were in a room together, everyone felt the unmitigated tension between them. It was impossible to hide.
“Brodin,” called a soft voice. He turned as a lovely, tired woman approached. Ariadne, a chief counsel, the foremost empath of her day, was in charge of ship-wide mental health. She had recently saved the minds of the entire crew during the attack. She’d have died if not for the skills of her lover, Kristov, once Brodin’s star pupil.
Her selflessness and talents reminded him of Saire’s, and he ached looking at this younger version. An ageless beauty of golden skin and gray-violet eyes, she resembled Saire closely, save that Saire’s long, silken hair was silver with wisdom. The fact that Ariadne had been saved by love made Brodin ache all the more to be that same force of nature for Saire.
Ariadne broached the dreaded question. Perhaps sensing Brodin’s pain had brought her here. “Is she . . . ?”
Brodin swallowed. “Alive? As far as I can tell. But wounded. The rescue team must go quickly to find them. Ariadne, I need you to understand. I’m sure you, like all your peers, wondered about Saire and me . . .”
Ariadne looked away, uncomfortable. “Well, you were never outwardly open or affectionate. But it was assumed there was something between you. We really couldn’t figure it. You two are, without question, the king and queen to us all. I suppose we just wondered why you weren’t . . . official.”
“We couldn’t be. From the first dealings with the government in regards to the training school, it was clear Saire and I could set no example of family, love or togetherness. They dictated everything,” Brodin spat. “But the school was our mission. And you well know that business and duty often come before affection,” he added pointedly. Ariadne blushed. She understood. Brodin continued gently, not bothering to hide his vulnerability from Ariadne’s searching mind. “I’m not sure I understood my priorities until I came aboard this ship.”
Both Brodin and Kristov had faked their deaths to rid themselves of Homeworld interference before fleeing to the Nests.
“Did Saire forgive you for your death and resurrection?” Ariadne asked sharply. “I’m not entirely sure I’ve forgiven Kristov,” she muttered.
“She understood. But it’s been a year. A year without contact, save for echoes of our thoughts.”
“Why does the Homeworld think they can tear us all apart?” Ariadne growled.
“They’ve no right, and they won’t win. They can’t oppress us anymore. We are on our own, and good riddance.”
The fury they felt was palpable, the desperate desire to get beyond survival and towards healing.
“I need to go, Professor. The rescue vessel is about to leave. I came because I sensed—”
Brodin grabbed Ariadne by the arms. “There is so much left unsaid. So many things she didn’t know. Things I’d saved for emergencies, things I’d taken for granted . . .”
He tore at his robes. He revealed the scar over his heart. It pulsed with a thin line of blood. “Her pulse, I grafted it from her DNA so I could have something of her. Aboard this ship, I had the doctors add something else, attach a mechanism onto my heart.”
Ariadne’s mouth opened in slow realization. “So if she dies . . . she . . .”
“Takes me with her.”
“Brodin . . . Why would you do that? That isn’t what she would want—”
“I know that. But she, like you, would so easily sacrifice herself for others. If I ensure she lives by saving me, then our population keeps its queen, its goddess, the matriarch to us all. She doesn’t understand how vital she is, how important she is—”
“You’d best let her know.” Ariadne tapped the glass of the crypt, looking out at the stars. “Try to break through to her. If anyone can, you can. Use the ship to magnify your own signal. Tell her what you’ve done. She’ll be angry,” Ariadne said, walking back to the lifts just as the command for the rescue party to meet at the docks was issued.
Brodin grinned suddenly, holding back tears. “She’s beautiful when she’s angry.”
Four
“Son of a bitch . . .” Saire muttered, trying to reroute the circuit to open the door. It wouldn’t budge.
She glanced back at the peaceful children. If they died here, at least they’d simply slide off into unconsciousness, never to wake again. Painless. Silent. Much better than all the other deaths. She turned on a tracker with PA-only frequency in hopes a rescue crew would sweep for them.
Saire dosed herself with a powerful chemical for concentration, knowing she had one chance to try the impossible; a mental SOS relaying that they only had a few hours to live. And then she’d sedate herself with a needle on a timer to conserve more oxygen. If, by a certain time, they had not yet been rescued, a medical cocktail would allow her to slide on toward some great beyond and ensure the children a bit more time to breathe.
She closed her eyes and cast her psychic fields wide.
Saire, she heard his whisper in her mind. He was reaching out to her. Somewhere between space and time their thoughts connected. Just like the first time . . .
Brodin? Are you there? Are the Nests—
The Dark Nest is all that’s left, he replied bitterly. Where are you?
Storage tunnel, south-west quadrant. Door jammed. Only a few hours of oxygen.
The ship won’t make it to you in time. We have to work on the door. Together.
Saire rose and stood at the door. I’m here.
In secret, their top talents had been working on expanding their powers: telekinesis, levitation, defense and offensive strategies. But Saire doubted Brodin could do much from so far, unless the Dark Nest transmitters had truly been revolutionized. Still, she stood at the door, palms out, prepared to field whatever he could produce.
She could feel Brodin’s energy, his life-force, cascade like a downpour of sizzling live electricity, the air crackling and sparking. The control panel on the door lit up and then died aga
in. The door rumbled in its metal grooves. But it did not budge.
Saire shook her head. It won’t work. I’m breathing too heavily, taking too much air. If I’m one fewer set of lungs, these children might live—
No, Saire. We must get you out. Or else the PA lose their founding mother and father . . .
What are you saying?
I know you’d easily sacrifice yourself, but if you do, you’ll kill me too. My heart is attached to the pulse of yours, I grafted yours to mine.
Saire blinked at the closed door. You selfish bastard.
You’d die to save someone else, Brodin countered. I’m ensuring you’ll live to save me. This is no different from my desperate call to you, when you were on the ledge all those years ago. I won’t die if you won’t. There’s a planet we found and named “Sanctuary”. And you’re going to see it with me. Now try again.
Saire grit her teeth and tried again. Channeling her rage at everything the Homeworld had done to them – killing them, warping them – and drastic measures like this misguided suicide pact of Brodin’s. She put one hand on the door, one hand on the control panel. Their shared conduit created quite the combination of psychic fields and focused energy.
The room shook, the door eased on its latches, sliding back enough to let bodies and air through. Success!
Then the mental surge, difficult to turn off once it had been unleashed, was so overpowering that Saire crumpled to the floor and everything faded to black.
Five
Saire was twenty-one years old when she stood on that tenth-floor ledge, ready to throw herself onto the pavement below if the governmental facility keeping her prisoner didn’t stop hurting her. Tests, surgeries, probes, endless bloodletting – she’d had enough.
Just at that point of no return, a voice had called to her; a soft and timid question, like the call of a child who has turned onto a darkened path and lost his way.