by Gwynn White
When they reached the Delta Wing, Abby hoisted Winslow inside and shoved him to the back of the cockpit.
“How long?” asked Leta.
“Seconds,” Abby said. “Donna?”
“Yes, Commander?”
“Please accelerate, straight up.”
The Wing’s doors dropped down slowly, but Donna compensated by beginning her lift on Abby’s command.
Below them, Mahayana shrank.
“She looks lovely,” Winslow said. “Such a shame. You know, I haven’t left in years.”
“I know,” Abby said. “Mahayana is going to be fine.”
“It is?”
“Yeah. How are you feeling?”
“Faint,” Winslow said. “Is it the height?”
“No, buddy. It’s not the height. I thought this would be kinder than letting your heart blow out.”
“What do you mean?”
“The omega sequence was for you, not the estate.”
Leta glanced at Winslow, then at Abby. “That’s the version of an Arcadian panic room? A suicide sequence?”
“That’s not what I was referring to,” Abby said. “I’ve seen it before. When he realized he may have to fight the Maro, his protocol ordered a shutdown. Winslow, if it’s worth anything, I like the new you a lot better than the old you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Syns aren’t allowed to leave the grounds. You’ll go to sleep before the omega kicks in, and we’ll see what we can do back in the Homeland. Shhh.”
Winslow tilted his head to the side, his face that of a child. “But that’s ridiculous,” he said. “I’m not a syn.” His head began to wobble, his eyes fell shut, then he slumped back into the seat.
“Did he make it?” Leta asked.
Abby shrugged. “Donna, do you detect readings on our passenger?”
“Yes, Commander. Life systems have appeared to slow to minimal. Our passenger is comatose.”
“If you knew he was a syn,” Leta said, “why are you helping him?”
“Seemed like the human thing to do.”
“Commander,” Donna said. “Authorization required to transport this syn.”
“Of course, 523 Wilmut Campbell. And Donna, relay a priority message to the nearest Bureau outpost and copy to the nearest Bubble—Terrorist intrusion at Mahayana—Stop—Details to follow on contact.”
“Certainly. Authorization for priority alert.”
“523 Heaven HelpUs.”
58
Abby peered out from the balcony lounge down into the white hall of Bureau HQ. Without the vast Homeland banners that hung from the sides and the dots of floating heads far down on the floor below, the cavernous space could easily be mistaken as a void. No. An abyss. Yes, he thought. That could be right. A white abyss.
“Are you ready?” Leta asked, her head floating above more white. He cringed.
“You’re on your own with him.”
“You know he’s not going to make you do anything you don’t want to.”
Abby was tempted to comment, but held back. She seemed to think of Yun as something special. She had no idea that her Director Lin had been among the worst of them. “I think we need to stay on track. I told him I’d continue to help out as long as I had access to resources.”
“Is that what I am?” Leta asked. “A resource? Listen, it’s been three months, and we still haven’t found anything. We need his help.”
“Tell me, did he find anything under Mahayana?”
“He didn’t mention and I haven’t asked.”
“Aha,” Abby said. “You know damn well he has those Maro on ice, or—”
“Or it’s no longer my concern,” Leta snapped back. “Listen. I have to report. Just wait out here.”
“Okay, okay. You go on in. I’ll be out here when His Eminence is done.”
Leta sneered playfully, then turned to meet Yun Lin. Abby waited until she’d walked a meter, then slightly shifted so that his footfalls wouldn’t be heard. What he was about to do was dangerous. He didn’t want Leta to know he was following her. He waited until she rounded the corner, then slid further up spectrum, away from Leta’s natural line of sight, essentially invisible. The only further risk was that Yun might have resonators in his office. That was unlikely, and a chance he was willing to take.
He quickened his pace, careful to keep a fair distance. She may not hear him, but there were many other ways an Umbra could detect a trail. He was certain he was concealed from them all.
Still, she was special.
When Leta entered Yun’s office, he was standing behind his white desk. The only colors in the room were the binding of the books lining the shelves of the white bookcase. A subtle flex of Yun’s muscle. Everything else was white. The color design, a neutral reference to the spectrum, was supposed to mean that the Bureau encompassed all planes. Abby thought it a joke. If they wanted to be literal, he thought, the color would be black.
As Leta greeted the director, Abby strolled past unseen and peered out through the transparent wall, back out to the great white void of the hall. Maybe the joke was on the Bureau; white encompassed none of the spectrum, and that was how much they truly ruled.
Abby drew his attention back to Yun and Leta. He leaned into the corner of the bookcase and watched Yun ease down into his white leather chair. He was sure Yun had real leather. Leta was still standing, her back straightened at attention.
“Please,” Yun said, gesturing toward the chair next to where she stood. “Have a seat.”
She sat without comment and immediately straightened her back.
Yun’s eyes widened, the electric blue implants appearing to flare as he did. “Relax, Captain.” He swung his chair around to the bookcase and lifted a white clay kettle from the shelf. He poured a faint colored liquid into two small white clay cups. “This tea will help. It is from my family’s estate in Korea. Well, what used to be Korea.”
Leta was fidgeting in her chair, slumping, attempting to appear more relaxed. Abby wanted to laugh. After the last three months, he knew her well enough to know that she was more comfortable sitting upright. Yun spun his chair back around. The look on his face gave Abby the impression that he’d determined the same. At least he said nothing more about her relaxing. He handed her the cup and moved on.
“How are things at home?”
“At home, sir?”
“I know you haven’t been home much. But your partner, Suama, how is she?”
Suama, Abby thought, that’s a beautiful name. In the three months he’d worked beside Leta, she’d spoken little about her partner, and he’d never asked. There had been calls and references, but he didn’t know her name. He realized there were many things he didn’t know about the woman he’d been spending so much time with. He knew she lived MidHi, somewhere in Sea Isle City. He’d never visited, though. Not even when she invited him.
“She is doing well,” Leta said. “Thank you for helping her, Your Eminence. Without your prioritization, I’m afraid—”
“No, don’t mention it. It’s a tragedy that there is not enough treatment for everyone. I’m only glad I could help. Now,” Yun continued, “how about your report, Captain?”
“He is prepared to work with us,” Leta said. “Excited to continue, I’d say.”
“Good. He is a great asset.”
“Yes, Director, I believe he is.”
“And the implant?”
“Yes, Director?”
“Have you noticed anything unusual?”
“Unusual, sir?”
“Like we discussed. Any unusual abilities, precognition, computational thinking, skillsets you may not have witnessed before in a mortal?”
Leta was quiet. She gazed above Yun’s head and slowly turned toward the window, then stopped when she was facing the corner where Abby stood. He felt sure she could see him. Without shifting, there was no way she could.
Yun repeated himself. “Anything?”
“Sorry, sir, j
ust thinking. As you mentioned, like Your Eminence, the commander is an exceptional man. However, I have seen nothing other than just that, that he is…” She tilted her head gently to the side. “A mortal man. And that he can shift, of course. But you knew that.”
“Yes.” Yun nodded. “Well, continue your observations, Captain. I assure you, he is hiding abilities that could bridge us with the Elders.”
“If that’s true, Director, why haven’t you taken him into custody?”
“Whether or not you believe it, Abernathy Squire is a living desultor. If we tried to take him in, he would simply blink. We have to gain his trust. You have to gain his trust.”
“Yes, sir. I believe I have.”
“I’m sure you have, Captain. That’s why I chose you.”
“Sir, Abby, the commander, was quite upset that restrictions weren’t put into place in Arcadia immediately after the incident.”
“Security measures were increased, I assure you.”
“Commander Squire believes that if Valon was able to hide for so long before—”
“I understand.”
Leta gazed down toward the floor. “Sir?”
“Yes?”
“There has been an all-points on Valon, Darya Bedrosian, and Commander Jazz, and they haven’t been seen on any of the Homeland planes. Nor have there been any signs of the…infection.”
“That’s not exactly true. That’s one of the reasons I summoned you early for your report. Our analysts have found something. Let me show you.”
Abby straightened from the corner. The transparent wall to his side ignited with a moving black and white image. Abby was too close to see what was happening on the screen. Cautiously, he skirted around and behind Leta.
Upon the wall, the image of a uniformed man stood in front of a gathered crowd.
The camera zoomed in on the man.
“The man,” Yun said. “The one giving the speech.”
“That’s Jazz,” Leta said. “I mean, Commander Jazz. Look at how short his hair is. I don’t recognize the uniform. Is that early Homeland?”
“You could say that.”
Abby recognized the uniform. Some would recognize it as Homeland Security for one of the early Nordic nations.
“When is this from?” Leta asked.
Abby knew.
“Central Europe,” Yun said. “Mid-twentieth century.”
“That’s impossible. The commander’s not that old.”
“No, he’s not. This was discovered by accident. The analysts were doing a search through the Megs for the commander and somehow this archive footage was flagged. Somehow he blinked his way back there.”
“How can that be possible?”
“I’m sure it has something to do with the Jasper. We have our best working on it. But as you can see, if there is any way at all that Commander Squire can help us, I truly need to know.” Yun set his teacup on his desk and leaned forward. “So, let me ask you again, have you seen the commander exhibit any unusual behavior?”
Leta stared into the vid screen, her charcoal eyes unrevealing. “No, sir. No precognition, no computational thinking, and certainly no plane jumping. If Commander Squire has those abilities, he’s also honed the ability to hide them.”
“Hmm.” Yun relaxed back into his chair and turned back toward the image on the wall. “You’ll continue working with Commander Squire, continue your observation, and report back, say…” He glanced down to a screen hidden beneath his desktop. “The next lunar cycle, unless I contact you first.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re dismissed.”
Leta rose, bowed, then backed out of the room. Yun acknowledged her salute by nodding his head and returned to the image on the wall.
Abby stepped toward the door and was about to leave Yun’s office when Yun said, “Freeze, you old dog.” Abby froze in place then rotated back, ready to confront the director. Except that Yun wasn’t looking at the door, he was talking to the image on the wall. There, across the side of Yun’s office, was a close-up of two people standing in the back of the crowd. The two stuck out, the man more than the woman. She’d found some local clothing to blend in; he was wearing the tailored cut of another time. Neither had any more business being there than Jazz, but there they were.
Abernathy Squire and Leta Serene.
THE END
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About the Author
Daniel Arthur Smith is the author of the international bestsellers Hugh Howey Lives, The Cathari Treasure, The Somali Deception, and a few other novels and short stories. He also curates the phenomenal short fiction series Tales from the Canyons of the Damned.
He was raised in Michigan and graduated from Western Michigan University where he studied philosophy, with focus on cognitive science, meta-physics, and comparative religion. He began his career as a bartender, barista, poetry house proprietor, teacher, and then became a technologist and futurist for the Fortune 100 across the Americas and Europe.
Daniel has traveled to over 300 cities in 22 countries, residing in Los Angeles, Kalamazoo, Prague, Crete, and now writes in Manhattan where he lives with his wife and young sons.
danielarthursmith.com
Petra
Immortal Codex Book I
Cheri Lasota
I am the Prima Vita, the only true immortasl. But the darker the gift, the higher the blood price—and I have paid it all.
At the moment of my making, at the turn of the first millennium amid the glories and horrors of Ancient Rome, two men died with me. Both reborn in my immortal blood, one became my lover and the other my enemy.
I promised the unspeakable to save Lucius from Clarius. The bargain, once struck, was simple: die with Clarius once a year to keep Lucius safe for an eternity.
Author’s Note
You’ll find a glossary of words in the back of the novel. Just look for the foreign words in italics. Enjoy!
The Prima Vita
Sicily
February 21, 1723
Madame Petra, please forgive my boldness, but may I ask…?” Aurelia bit her lip, hesitating, but Lady Petra Valerii was waiting, one eyebrow arched. “How many times have you died since the turn of the first millennium?” She immediately regretted her question. It was not like her to question the lady about her past—a past she had long concealed, even from Aurelia.
“Contemplating your own immortality tonight, Aurelia?” Petra asked, laughing softly as she glanced up from the pianoforte Lucius had given her last year. The lady hadn’t the natural skill or interest in music that he had, but she still loved to stumble through Pietro Scarlatti’s toccatas to while away the rainy Sicilian winter nights.
Tonight Aurelia had been hard at work on her encryption for hours in the Essentiae enclave’s massive library, as she was most nights after transcribing Petra’s dictation for the Immortal Codex, a secret history spanning millennia. But now her quill stood motionless in the inkwell as she gazed at her maker. Petra wore a wide contouche gown in the French style, the folds of gold shimmering in the flickering firelight as the luxuriant fabric spilled to the floor. Cobalt-blue ribbons adorned the embroidered flower design at her breast and wove deep into the strands of her half-updo and the loose plait falling down her flawless neck.
Though she looked no older than eighteen, Petra had always possessed the bearing of a queen, and age had only deepened her unearthly beauty. Time had smoothed her skin as a river polishes rock. Aurelia found it impossible to look away from her stunning eyes tonight. They glowed an icy grey rimmed with black, as stones shot through with silver.
That same piercing gaze made Aurelia mute as she tried to formulate her fear into words. The Lady Petra had only been a year older than Aurelia when she first became an immortal, yet her understanding of the world, her fearlessness, her grace, far surpassed Aurelia’s own meager strengths.
If she hadn’t spent the last few centuries writing Petra’s histories of the Essentiae, she would have believed the woman a goddess sent from the heavens to save them all. In fact, the year she first met her back in Avignon, France in 1345, she had believed it.
“What makes you ask?” Petra prompted, her faded Roman accent a sharp contrast to Aurelia’s own soft French tones. Even here at their estate in Sicily, long after their ancient beginnings, they could not escape the trappings of their pasts.
“Forgive me, Madame,” she finally said, “I was remembering the last time I died. How I feared it. How much it hurt. I worry death will soon come for me again.”
Petra pressed her lips together, her expression tinged with a knowing look, her gaze softening. “You know I will always bring you back.”
“Yes, Madame. I know.”
The lady waited a moment longer, undoubtedly wishing to ascertain if Aurelia truly believed her promise. Aurelia smiled back as she swirled the quill nervously in the inkwell.
“You still seek an answer, yes? Well, I may be cursed with near-perfect memory, but even I can’t remember how many times. Though I suppose I must be nearing two thousand by now.”
“The only true immortal,” Aurelia murmured. Horror and awe battled for dominance in her mind. “I have often wondered what death is like for you… why you do not fear it.”
“I carry the instrument of my death on a chain around my neck, Aurelia.” Petra smoothed her fingers over the ankh amulet, an ancient Egyptian symbol of immortality, and a phial of mortanine poison. “Talk to me of fear, and I will tell you no one on Earth has ever feared death more. But there will likely never be another who fears it less. Death is both my curse and my gift.”
“And life?”
“It is the same.”
“If you did truly die someday—?”
“That cannot happen. All of you would die with me.”