His Lightspear was taking him back to Hyllus. But he was unsure if the contest had been won.
Eighteen hours later, Maez returned to a home that was nothing like the one he had left.
The terminus station of The Forge shimmered in the glow of a thousand Lightspear engines. Twice as many shuttlecraft streaked about, urgently ferrying equipment and personnel from the hangar. It seemed that every asset in House Obyeran’s arsenal had taken to space. Either his father had found the world he was looking for, or he was about to launch the greatest armed conflict in House history. But against whom?
Maez still had no control of his own Lightspear. His frustration mounting, he desperately wanted to speak with Myrha. But whatever trickery his father had installed revoked his every input, including the communications equipment. As his ship coasted into the hangar, he witnessed a frenzy of activity under way as rows of combat mechs and ammunition crates were lined along the cargo gantries. It looked suspiciously like the preparations for an invasion, not an interstellar departure – or a celebration to mark Myrha’s return.
Instead of landing on the hangar tarmac, the Lightspear latched into an overhead service gantry, the same access point used to transfer supplies, waste, and, on occasion, prisoners.
Maez was furious. When the hatch opened there was no one to greet him, and the hallway beyond was empty as he stepped through.
Suddenly, the King’s voice thundered out:
‘Move forward.’
The Lightspear’s hatch shut on its own.
‘Good to hear your voice,’ Maez said. His father had left the intercom on and was breathing irregularly. ‘All you alright?’
‘There’s a dropship ahead of you,’ his father said. ‘Board it.’
‘Why don’t you explain what’s happening first,’ Maez said. ‘Why is the fleet mobilising?’
His father’s voice was nearly a whisper.
‘Did you have anything to do with this?’
‘With what? The fleet?’ Maez asked, exasperated. ‘You know I’ve been adrift the last three weeks, right?’
Again, there was only the sound of his father’s laboured breathing.
‘Hello?’ Maez asked.
Suddenly, the airlock began to depressurise.
‘Hey!’ Maez shouted.
‘I’ll ask you once more,’ his father said. ‘Did you have a role in this?’
With nowhere else to go, Maez rushed towards the dropship entrance.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, trembling with anger. ‘Where is Myrha?’
The hatch slammed shut, and Maez felt the craft push away. A few moments later it was plummeting towards the surface of Hyllus.
‘I will know the truth,’ his father said, ‘and then decide if you are still my son.’
The Seers greeted Maez with insults when he arrived.
‘All hail the Blood Prince!’ the eldest screeched. ‘I’ve seen you, boy.’
Maez had not seen a single soul during his journey here, not even a Guardian or acolyte. He had been treated like a prisoner, herded through maintenance corridors and side doors, compelled by invisible threats towards hidden doors he had never known existed in the palace.
The humiliation peaked with the sight of the glass sarcophagi.
‘What the hell is this?’ he demanded.
‘These are my Seers,’ his father’s voice said, ‘and they have implicated you in Myrha’s disappearance.’
The blood drained from Maez’s face.
‘Myrha is missing …? And you think I’m responsible?’ he said, trembling. ‘Are you completely mad?’
‘Confess, or confront your accusers,’ King Masaad said.
‘I confess nothing,’ Maez fumed. ‘What happened to her?’
‘You set Orionis in flames,’ the old one said. ‘The Blood Prince will have his vengeance, you’ll see, you’ll see.’
‘That’s your evidence?’ Maez roared. ‘The ramblings of these crones?’
One of the Seers was barely conscious and in obvious agony. The others were ranting lunatics, and Maez singled out the old woman as their ringleader. She was teasing his father’s anxieties with nonsensical prophecies, leading him astray from reality.
Maez had underestimated his father’s obsession with control. What was more dangerous than a pathological king? He sounded crazed, desperate, acting like a man who had lost everything.
And if Myrha really was missing, that was true.
‘I would never harm my sister,’ Maez said. ‘Not outside an arena, anyway. And I certainly don’t envy your plans for her.’
‘A fine performance!’ the old hag heckled. ‘We saw you, Blood Prince, we know, we know!’
Maez did his best to ignore her.
‘Tell me what happened,’ he said, walking close to the glass sarcophagi, sizing up the thickness of the glass. ‘How do you even know she’s missing?’
His father’s voice was measured.
‘We found her Lightspear,’ King Masaad said. ‘There were several corpses. She was not aboard.’
Maez could hear it in his voice, the way it cracked. He was breaking.
‘Jealousy!’ the old woman hissed. The others repeated various versions of her banter, like parrots. ‘You wanted her dead, confess, confess!’
‘Shut up,’ Maez roared, spitting on glass. ‘You designed The Voyage Home. Who else knew where we were towed? No one was supposed to know, not unless you rigged every aspect of this sham.’
‘The Obyeran Code is no sham!’ King Masaad shouted.
Maez pointed towards the glass.
‘It is when you trust their nonsense more than the word of your own son,’ he said.
The crones screamed, but then they were muted out. Maez turned and was startled to find himself staring into the tormented eyes of his father.
‘There were no pilots or crew on the Lightspears that towed her there,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I had the harbour radars shut down so they couldn’t be tracked. I knew exactly where she was at all times and you are the only other person who could have possibly known where that was.’
Maez had tried taking the high ground, but was losing the struggle. More and more, he sensed he was dealing with someone who could not be reasoned with.
‘How? By reading your mind? That’s as sensible as asking them –’ he said, pointing towards the Seers – ‘to tell your future. I would never harm my sister. That’s not to say I haven’t thought about it, especially after she maimed me before the whole bloody House. But the fact is, you’ve made such a spectacle of this contest that anyone with a grudge could have known where to look.’
‘Impossible,’ King Masaad fumed.
‘What’s impossible is for you to blame yourself,’ Maez retorted, his own rage boiling. ‘You want me to be guilty of this, don’t you? You sick, demented man. Alright, Father. I’ll say what you want to hear: I abducted Myrha, so I can have her crown, because that’s clearly what I’ve always wanted.’
His father’s eyes were bulging, his chest heaving. Maez dismissed the inner voice warning him to back off.
‘Fucking royalty,’ he spat, drawing his skythe. ‘Do I owe my life for this crime? Good. Come and get it, if you can.’
Maez wasn’t expecting his father to accommodate the request.
Delirious with rage, King Masaad rushed his son with unnatural speed. Maez braced for the impact, expecting to toss the much smaller man aside.
Instead he was thrown backwards as if struck by a combat mech. The skythe was knocked from his hand.
‘Where is she?’ the Pathfinder howled, clamping his hands around Maez’s throat. ‘What have you done?’
Maez could not believe his father’s strength. His grip was unbreakable, and he panicked as his head was lifted and smashed onto the metal grating.
‘Why, why, why?’ the Pathfinder howled.
Maez’s vision began to tunnel. His eyes searched out something he could use to defend himself,
but instead saw only the Seers cackling behind the glass.
Then, the one who had been silent raised his head, and the others froze.
His father saw it as well.
‘I see the one named Vladric,’ the Seer said. ‘The message that comes will be from him.’
Maez felt the grip on his neck release, and sucked in as much air as his lungs would allow. His father had sprung to his feet.
There was an acolyte standing at the forbidden cave’s entrance.
‘My lord … about your daughter,’ he said weakly.
Your Majesty,
Princess Myrha is in my custody. As you can see, her injuries are minor. Although she refuses aid, she has been treated humanely. No additional harm will befall her, provided you accept my terms, as outlined below.
This is not a negotiation. Time is of the essence. If you do not comply, you will never see her again.
Our paths crossed decades ago on Magellan. Like so many in search of salvation during those hard days, I was a desperate young man drawn to your cause. Surrounded by your devoted followers, I watched you captivate the crowd like a sermon on the mount. You invited anyone who would listen to join House Obyeran as acolytes – the peasants of your manufactured culture – promising them security and equality, the quintessential social commodities of Orionis.
It was a tempting offer. But something felt out of place. You are the oldest surviving member of the Tabit Genesis. The Obyeran brothers helped build that very ship. If not for your technology, the human race might be extinct now.
You were a god. Yet you ran from the Inner Rim. You resurfaced years later on the most remote world mankind has ever been. If it were anyone but you, no one would have believed that House Obyeran stood a chance.
So I asked myself: what makes a god flee?
As a ghost, I have no reverence for Earth. But its history reveals much of what rots Orionis today, especially the history that highborns have taken every measure to hide. Near the end, there were two reigning geopolitical camps on Earth. The goal of ICERS was to save it. The goal of UNSEC was to leave it. And there weren’t enough resources left on the planet to do both. The corporations of the world held more power than the governments, because they controlled access to the resources in space. Arcwave Technical, the corporation you founded, was entrenched in the ICERS camp. You had plans for terraformers, trans-continental irrigation projects, biocybernetic creations that could decontaminate radioactive lands; investments so grand in scope that only a business titan like you could even conceive of them.
But then you changed sides. Overnight, Arcwave Technical became a full supporter of UNSEC, committing all available resources to the construction of the Genesis motherships with an urgency the likes of which mankind had never seen. You know why, of course: first contact. The encounter between a Raothri warship and UNSEC mining craft in the belt between Mars and Jupiter.
What was the warning that creature gave? That Earth was beyond saving? That a Raothri armada was coming to destroy it? And who among the UNSEC demigods decided the remaining human population was better off dying in nuclear fire than facing what was coming?
I know you did not support the ‘mercy killing’ of millions of people. I believe you left Tabit Prime to escape from the ones who did. Once humanity had secured its footing here, your usefulness to them was over. You, and the secrets you know, are a liability to them – or, as they would argue, to all of humanity. You fled to save your own life. The other highborns would have killed you and everyone associated with you to protect their secret. They might still. With the Archangel, you are no longer beyond their reach.
If we allow it, the highborn grip of Orionis will be unbreakable, and will eventually extend to Tau Ceti. The Archangel is an agent of evil, and I cannot stop it without your help.
That is why I took Myrha from you.
My fleet is three weeks from Corinth. We will attack the Archangel and make it ours. Your son is a great warrior and skilled commander. He will destroy the Tabit Genesis, the heart of everything we despise. The tactical plan for this joint operation is included with this message.
With his leadership, your Lightspears, and my fleet, we can rid Orionis of the tyrants you escaped from and at last take the freedom that is ours by right.
Your Majesty, I am not proud of my actions. I have no children of my own and cannot fathom your anguish.
I only know the anguish of ghosts. And I am just as desperate now as I was on Magellan. We cannot endure for much longer.
Prince Maez must be our saviour if Myrha is to live.
If we meet again, I would not blame you for attempting to take my life.
Yours in human brotherhood,
Vladric Mors
Maez looked at his father, and saw not a king, but a broken man.
Seated at the edge of the walkway, across from the cave entrance, Masaad was silent and sullen, except when whispering ‘Myrha’ every now and then. Fearful for their lives, the Obyeran Guardians had sent a hapless acolyte to deliver the news. The boy was brave to walk into this wretched place. Maez doubted he would live to see another day for the crime of having seen it.
The Pathfinder had not moved. His thick white hair was filthy, falling to his shoulders like melting ice, his amber eyes vacant and dark. The Seers had fallen back into their slumber, all except the old crone, who was mumbling in her wet grave. Maez supposed that was because she had expected ‘The Blood Prince’ to be dead by now.
He couldn’t blame her. It was the only way to hurt the madman who imprisoned her. The shock of being attacked by his own father was offset by the unbelievable fact: Myrha was gone. Worse, he couldn’t decide how he felt about that. There was too much to process.
Maez rubbed his neck, which was so sore he had trouble turning his head. But as Vladric had mentioned, time was of the essence.
‘To have any chance of getting her back …’ he started. ‘You have to tell me everything.’
His father’s expression confirmed what Maez all but knew.
‘She caught me giving her Lightspear the advantage,’ King Masaad admitted. ‘The Voyage Home … is no contest.’
Maez knew how that must have devastated her. Over the years, he’d found that his scepticism was founded on good instincts. He chose his next words with care.
‘I understand its importance,’ he said. ‘The foundation of our culture is the promise of a new world. People need to believe in us to accept that possibility. The question is, did you find one?’
‘Al Khav is there now,’ King Obyeran said.
That was heartbreak, Maez thought. This final chapter of The Rites heralded the imminent journey that would take House Obyeran there, with Myrha leading the way. In essence, everything his father had worked for had been vaporised on the eve of his greatest accomplishment.
There was no time for pity. The logical choice was to sacrifice her and proceed as planned. Or start a new Rites to find a worthy successor. Myrha would have agreed. But Maez suspected his father was anything but rational at this point.
‘These highborns he mentioned,’ Maez said, omitting any mention of the Raothri. He would revisit that another time. ‘Did you ever share your plans with them? Does anyone else know you found a world?’
King Masaad shook his head.
‘My brothers,’ he mumbled. ‘Myrha. Now you.’
‘You mobilised the fleet,’ Maez said. ‘Are you prepared to go to Eileithyia for her?’
The Pathfinder nodded.
Maez stood.
‘You fully understand what that means.’
‘Yes,’ King Masaad said.
‘A moment ago you nearly killed me,’ Maez said. ‘Am I now the commander of your Lightspears?’
‘You. Are.’
‘And you understand that I shall show no mercy, no remorse, in your name, for the mere chance of saving Myrha’s life?’
‘I do.’
Maez shook his head.
‘You’re a fool.’
King Obyeran stood.
‘They have my daughter.’
‘So the crone was right,’ Maez said. ‘I am the “Blood Prince”.’
‘You were born to protect our world from those who would try to take it from us,’ King Masaad said. ‘But she was my world.’
Maez bowed.
‘Then I will find her,’ he promised. ‘But remember: I am the instrument you made me to be. I offer no justification for what follows. I am just the executor of your will.’
‘Bring her back,’ King Masaad whispered, his lips quivering. ‘By any means necessary.’
26
VADIM
Ninety-Seven Years Earlier 2712 AD
In the dreamless shroud of unconsciousness, time had lost meaning, and a strange wisp of light appeared in the darkness. Slowly it grew into a piercing blaze, lifting the veil of anaesthesia. Vadim opened his eyes to the warm smile of his father.
‘Welcome back, son,’ he said.
Vadim Hedricks was more familiar with post-operative procedures than most medical interns. Surgery had become so routine that he knew the number of ceiling lights between the ICU and the recovery room down the hall. As they passed overhead, he took inventory of the sensations in his body, wary for new pain, and hoping not to find the old aches that were always with him.
Born with deformities that had left him bedridden all his life, Vadim could not recall a moment of his existence that was without pain. The root of his ailments was cancer, which was extremely rare for a firstborn. Only Outer Rim miners were supposed to contract ‘ghost rot’, yet somehow the disease had found him, the firstborn son of Grand Admiral Franz Hedricks. Even with modern advancements in biotechnology, the doctors had feared Vadim would never live past the age of eight.
The Tabit Genesis Page 28