The Illusory Prophet

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  His eyes go a little wide, but he just nods. “You got it.”

  “And Cyrus…” I say, throwing a glance at the command pod.

  “Yeah?”

  “Kamali and my mom?”

  “They’re good. Evacuated to the northern encampments. Probably all the way up to a pre-Singularity Canadian province by now.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

  He nods and jogs off toward the landing area for the ships. I pivot toward the command center and stride that direction. Grayson takes over as Miriam’s crutch, and they follow behind, along with Lenora. It’s not far, but before I can reach the door, Lenora’s hand lands on my elbow—a brief touch, then it’s gone.

  “Eli,” she says. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking about Augustus, but it’ll only be safe here for a short time. You need to get—”

  “It’s not safe for me anywhere.” I tilt my head. “You know that, don’t you?”

  She frowns, but just purses her lips in response.

  “And I know you’re worried about Marcus,” I hurry out to stall whatever protest she thinks up to that. “The fact is, he’s probably a mess. We can fix him—I can fix him—but for right now, he’s left a leadership vacuum on the ascender side. One that I need to fill.” I swipe open the command center door and march in.

  Commander Astoria is lobbing orders in French so fast she doesn’t notice me at first… but when she does, the entire pod comes to a standstill, including Delphina by her side.

  “It’s about time, Monsieur Brighton,” the commander says quickly, flicking a look at Lenora. “And about these extra rescue ships. We are fully occupied—”

  “I know it’s difficult,” I say, cutting her off. I don’t have time for niceties. “But we need to bring in as many jivs as we can from the Makers.” I meet Delphina’s stare with a quick nod. “And every augment you have in the Resistance. I’m going to need all the backup you can give me.”

  “You… need…” Commander Astoria is catching her breath, apparently stunned by my audacity. But then she sees Grayson helping Miriam out from behind me, and her eyes go wide. “What is this?” She gestures to Miriam.

  “She’s going to lead the jivs in the operation,” I say.

  “What operation?” the commander asks, but her outrage is rendering her inarticulate. Miriam brushes off Grayson’s support and balances on her good leg. He gives her a pinched look but then moves over to stand next to his fuming commander.

  Delphina watches all this with a calculating eye. “What are you talking about, Eli? And why is the leader of the Makers in our command center?”

  I give her a small nod of thanks for the intervention. “You know that PR campaign you wanted to wage to provoke the legacies in Seattle? Well, I want to do that. Now. And I want to expand it to include ascenders. Basically, I need to hack into Orion and call out Augustus for what he’s done.”

  Now Delphina is nonplussed, which is a wonder, given that words are her medium. She turns to her mother, who is finally recovering the power of speech.

  It’s heavily French. “Bon sang, tu n'es vraimaent qu'un crétin! You will get us all killed.”

  I hold up my hands. “It’s risky. I know. But commander—”

  The door swishes open behind me, and Tristan rushes in, his face smeared with soot. Cyrus is right behind him. I’m glad they’re here for this part. I turn back to a very red-faced Commander Astoria. Grayson is coolly waiting for my next words, as are the rest of the militia at their screens and holding their portables.

  I drop my hands and step forward so that I’m in the middle of the command pod. “Augustus has been provoked into a dangerous position. Miriam was a threat to his plan, and her second Offering would have been even more so. I was a possible extinction event. He had to come after us. He’s still after me. But in the process, we forced his hand. And in taking out the Makers, he overstepped the line. You may not think the ascenders value human life, and you may be right in that they don’t treat us the way they should, but there is a strong feeling among ascenders that humans should not be wholesale destroyed. Not least because they think we should be preserved as a shared resource… for them. In case they’re wrong about all this. Don’t you see? Part of what they’ve said all along is true. We’re their most valued resource. Humanity is the ultimate backup. In case all this goes wrong. In case the ascenders themselves were wrong in the original Singularity. The original ascendance. We are the backup, and Augustus has just slaughtered a whole bunch of us.”

  “He’s right, Commander,” Tristan throws in. “At least about the slaughtering part. You’ve seen the feeds from our transports, but it’s even worse on the ground. And we were buzzed by a few drones during the rescue. I’m sure the ascenders have eyes on it.”

  I gesture to Tristan, but I’m speaking to everyone now. “The ascenders understand this even better than I do. And if Marcus were here right now, he would be rallying ascenders to his side—our side—but he’s locked away in Augustus’s citadel, captured and probably broken… but not dead. Augustus has been very careful about that, not least because that would release Marcus’s backup, and that’s the last thing he wants.”

  Lenora is staying silent, but I catch her pinched look. Not for the first time, I wonder how personal this whole feud between Marcus and Augustus truly is—after all, they both were Lenora’s second at one point, with Augustus losing out to Marcus when Augustus shut down the program that resulted in my creation. All these years, that must have been a terrible itch Augustus couldn’t scratch. Maybe. It’s hard to fathom the megalomania of the man, but I have to think this is more than just greed and ambition. Like Lenora said, I defeated Augustus… and that’s something he can’t let stand.

  I’m drifting into my thoughts again. I physically shake out of that. “Regardless, in the absence of Marcus’s leadership, there’s no one to challenge Augustus’s version of events, whatever they are.”

  “He’s claiming the Makers were on the verge of an unconstrained Mind,” Lenora says.

  I grimace. “It doesn’t help that he’s partially right. But that will be rendered moot when we expose Augustus’s experiments with his own mind. And Hypatia’s—she’s a key part of his plans, as well.” I take a breath and lay it all out. “I need your best forces. We’re going to infiltrate Orion, transmit via a secure link like we’ve done in the past, and I’m going to reveal who I am, how Augustus has tampered with his own mind and others, and why ascenders and humans alike should stop him before his ambition ends all of us.”

  Silence reigns for a moment, then Commander Astoria says quietly, “Oui. You have our support.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

  “Where will we make this announcement?” Grayson asks. “I’m not aware of any pro-Resistance ascenders with secure link-ups we can access.”

  I swing back to the commander. “If you don’t have someone we can tap in Seattle or New Portland, then we’ll have to take something by force.”

  Lenora grimaces, then says, “I might have some options for that.”

  “Good.” I turn to Tristan. “Gather up all the survivors you can and see which jivs are ready for a mission.”

  He gives me a short nod, then looks uncertainly at Miriam and scowls as he quickly scans her leg.

  She lifts her chin. “I’m not going to be any good in a fight like this.”

  I give her a small smile. “The ascenders can fix you faster than you might expect.” I know they work small miracles with augments for the regular Resistance militia—I’m hoping they can make quick work of replacing Miriam’s leg, despite the chaos reigning throughout the makeshift camp.

  Tristan offers his arm to Miriam, and she doesn’t hesitate before taking it.

  As they hobble out of the command center, I face Cyrus at his station by the door, where he’s been keeping quiet. “In the meantime, I’ll need a secure location here in the camp for a short time. I have one order of business I ne
ed to take care of before our mission to address the world.”

  Cyrus lifts an eyebrow. “What business is that?”

  “I need to prove that ascenders have souls.”

  “What exactly are you doing here, Eli?” Cyrus asks me.

  I settle on the Dalai Lama’s meditation rug, which survived the bombing attempt on my life just as miraculously as I did—my best friend rescued it from the previous basecamp. Cyrus and I are tucked into a closet-sized tent made from scintillating ascender-tech fabric draped over tree branches—I’d be sitting on the native grass of this Seattle-area island if it weren’t for the Dalai’s ornate mat. The colorful threads are woven in a symmetric pattern of circles within squares within circles. Each square has four openings, one on each side, which seem to breathe fire and guard the gates—

  “Eli!” Cyrus’s voice snaps my attention to his face, which is peering at mine.

  He’s crouched in front of me now.

  I shake my head, physically flinging off this disturbing tendency to drift, lost inside my own mind. I thought I had put that level of distraction behind me, but ever since I encountered Augustus’s mind…

  I blink and focus on Cyrus’s face. “I’m here.”

  He frowns and pulls back. “Okay.” He hesitates, then sits cross-legged on the grass in front of me. “What’s happening to you, man?”

  It’s a really good question—and one I don’t have time for. “Nothing that taking on the entire ascender world won’t cure.”

  He huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Just when I think you’re gone, man, like off into some kind of God realm, you remind me how stupid you are.”

  I grin, but it dies quickly. “I’m going after the biggest weapon of them all—Leopold.”

  Cyrus squints. “How is Leopold a weapon? Not to mention that he’s, you know, dead.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “Everyone knows he’s gone, even in the ascender world. And I’m going to bring him back.” The hairs on the back of my neck rise. It’s not just guilt about his death that’s kept me from seeking Leopold all this time—if he has a soul, then bringing him back would be, well, daunting doesn’t quite cover it. But since I’ve successfully brought Lenora back from her shattered state and Miriam back from the other side, maybe I can resurrect an ascender.

  Then again, I only had the briefest contact with Augustus, and I’m still scattered.

  My throat is suddenly dry.

  “Okay,” Cyrus is saying, bringing my attention back to this plane of reality again. “So, you know how to do that now?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Right. That’s what I thought.”

  I pull in a breath. “This idea of ascenders having souls—it’s the most powerful weapon we have, Cy. I’m going after it, but I’m not going to get myself blasted to pieces over it.”

  “Blasted to pieces?” He looks horrified. “Is that an option?”

  “Yes. And I can’t afford it, not right now. Because even without Leopold, we have to stop Augustus. Which means I still need to be here.”

  “Okay. That sounds… remarkably pragmatic. For you, I mean.”

  I smile again. “Just keep an eye on my body and call me back if something happens here that I need to be present for.”

  “Call you back—”

  But I shift into the fugue before he finishes, flinging myself up and out of my body in search of Leopold before I lose my nerve. I’m hovering above the island now with Seattle in the distance. The hazy smoke of the burning Resistance camp is already half gone, drifting away on the trade winds of the planet. I focus on Leopold and what I know of him. Rebel Ascender. Ex-Buddhist monk. Attempted to kill himself once, before he met Lenora and joined her search for The Answer… which was basically a search for ascender souls. Last I saw Leopold, his jerky bodyform was the external manifestation of his broken mind, which had been pulled apart and shoved back together by Augustus. Wherever Leopold is now, he has to want to stop Augustus as much as I do. Unless he’s finally found his nirvana…

  I close my eyes, reaching for him. The fugue state is far more than this simple place and time, hovering over the Resistance’s headquarters. There’s a vastness to it—even reaching for it feels like it’s pulling me apart. I’m lofted from my hovering spot in the air, hurtling over the inlets and islands that finger through the land north of Seattle, then falling straight down into the city—

  I’m suddenly in a small, shabby room that feels oddly familiar, although I’m certain I’ve never seen it before. I’m sitting on a small rug, thinner and more worn than my meditation mat. Across from me is a child playing. It’s a boy, no more than four, and he’s crouched on spindly legs that seem thin even for a child. His back is to me, but I can see he’s stacking blocks, one on top of another, building a precarious tower seven cubes high.

  “Eight,” he says, placing the next one on.

  Why am I here?

  “Done!” the boy proclaims and stands. Then he takes a small, thin-fingered hand, spreads it wide, and knocks the tower down again.

  I shake my head, wondering if I’m getting distracted again. Or hesitating. Maybe I’m still afraid—

  The boy turns and looks straight at me. And smiles. “Hello.” His dark eyes seem almost too big for his head. And I remember, randomly, a fact from who knows where—that a child’s eyes are nearly the same size as an adult’s, only in a body half as big. It’s what gives them their large-eyed and cloying appearance… only this child’s eyes hold more wisdom than any normal boy of four. “You are sitting on my mat.” He smiles wider, the motion making his thin, brown-skinned face plump in the cheeks.

  His words and his brash, infectious smile jolt me. “You’re… are you…?” I can’t say it. I look at the tumble of eight blocks on the floor. The Dalai Lama has had seven incarnations since he was killed in his temple during the Singularity. And now… eight?

  The boy strolls over to sit in front of me, mirroring my pose with my legs folded. Then he presses his hands together and gives me a small bow.

  “Your holiness?” My mouth is hanging open, so I shut it, clasp my hands together, and bow. It hasn’t been four years since the Dalai died, more like four weeks, so how can he be reincarnated into this child?

  “My name’s Sasha. But you can use my mat.” His voice is high-pitched like a child’s, and his words are child-like, but they’re off somehow…

  I don’t know what to think. I’m in the fugue, but this is a real place—I suddenly recognize the view out the dirt-clouded window. It’s one of the empty towers in Seattle, abandoned by ascenders and legacies alike, good only for those who stumble in, blissed-out on Seven, looking for a place to lay down and waste away. Only there’s something different about it—the windows are shining more than they should, as if they’ve been cleaned up and people are living there. I don’t understand where I am, but whatever this place is, it’s not a simple real-world visit in the fugue-state.

  I meet the boy’s dark-eyed and very curious gaze. “I’m looking for my friend, Leopold.”

  He nods like I’ve said something profound. “It’s good to have a friend.”

  “Yes, but this friend, this particular friend… I need to find him. Do you know where he is?” This miniature Dalai Lama—if this is his reincarnation—must be able to help me. Otherwise, why would I have been drawn here?

  “Oh, yes.” His smile shines with tiny, pearl-like teeth. But he says nothing more.

  “Please tell me.” Frustration is rising in me, but I try to tamp it down.

  The boy shrugs then picks at the mat’s edge nearest his bare toes. It’s woven like the Dalai Lama’s rug I now own, with the same kind of squares-within-circles pattern. The boy himself doesn’t look like the Dalai I knew, but he has the same honey-brown skin and deep, dark, smiling eyes.

  “I need to know,” I say, peering down, trying to draw his attention away from the mat. “It’s important.”

  He smiles at me again. “You’re using my mat.”


  My shoulders drop. “Yes, I know.”

  He lifts his thin arms and spreads them wide as if he’s a bird about to take flight. “That’s what you need.” He smiles again, stands, and hops around the room, lifting and swooping his arms, dancing in a childish way that must be more graceful in his imagination than the flailing of his small limbs in reality. This reality—whatever it is—is simply a child born as a legacy human in Seattle, trapped by the same lies that held me for so long.

  I’m wasting my time.

  The boy stops suddenly, almost stumbling in his haste to stillness so he can peer at me. “You have time to look.”

  I return his blinkless stare—is this really the Dalai, trying to tell me something? “Do I?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

  “Yes! And when you look, you’ll find. And when you find, you will sing!” He claps his hands with delight, the smile returning full-force. “It will be the best song. Like all the songs. All the songs will sing!” He returns to prancing around the room.

  I can’t help but feel like I’m the child, and he’s the one saying things I don’t understand. Or I’m foolishly reading things into a child’s rambling because I want him to be the reincarnated Dalai Lama. But the boy is probably just my fervent wish that the Dalai is alive, somewhere, somehow. Happy. Dancing.

  I close my eyes and wish myself away.

  When I open them, I’m inside the Resistance’s makeshift tent. Tristan and Cyrus are huddled at one end, talking.

  “I know, but that doesn’t matter,” Tristan says.

  “It matters to me.” Cyrus is pissed.

  “That’s not what I meant—” Tristan cuts off when he catches my stare. He flicks a look to Cyrus and tilts his head.

  “You’re back,” Cyrus says like he’s embarrassed that I caught him talking to Tristan. Whatever they were arguing about, I’m sure it doesn’t matter as much as he thinks. “Any luck?”