“Wait. What? You knew about this already? You knew about Bardon?”
“I’m sorry Kay.”
“But how?”
“We have people everywhere. West Mundus, the Capital, the Islands. Everywhere. But not enough of them. Never enough. And intelligence is a tricky thing, especially with all the precautions we have to take. We mess up. Things get lost, timing gets off. I’m sorry.”
“And all this time, no contact. Nothing. You let us think you were dead.” Illyvia could see the pain mixed with confusion on her sister’s face. Then a subtle change—a puzzle piece clicking into place in Kaeylor’s mind.
“So you already know why I’m here, then.”
“More or less.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“I wanted to hear it from you.”
“What, that I betrayed you? That your no good, bourgeois coward of a sister gave you up to the Imperial pigs?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, you didn’t have to.”
“Don’t be like that, Kay. Do you think I like this? Do you think when I was a little girl this is what I dreamed of doing? I didn’t choose any of this, I didn’t want it any more than you did. The Empire, the patrician families that think they own World and all of us in it, using and abusing us as they please—they did this to all of us.”
“It sure seems like you chose it. You didn’t choose to blow up the Moravia, kill—what was it, seven hundred people?—fake your own death, come here? That wasn’t your choice?”
Illyvia cast her eyes downward, and said quietly “I was a lot younger then, Kay. Everything’s different now. We haven’t hit a civilian target for over five years. We made mistakes, we still do. But this is a war, a war we didn’t start.”
“Who even knows anymore who started anything? What are we fighting over, anyway? World? Do you even know what that means? Does anyone? Can anyone even make sense of it, all the stories, and heresies, all the rituals and myths and lies? Who knows? I don’t.”
Illyvia was silent a moment, but her eyes seemed to smile enigmatically. “I know I’m fighting for the World I want to live in,” she finally said. “The one we all deserve. The one where no one owns anyone else.”
“Well, that’s a choice you make, then, Ivy. Because I resist them too, in my own way. More than you might think. But not like this. There are other ways to fight besides guns and bombs.”
“And how’s that going for you? Maybe if we all we just put down our weapons and turned ourselves in, the Empire would realize the error of its ways, hmm? Maybe they’d say sorry, and hold an election? Or give us all a house with forty acres and a mule or a lifetime supply of milk and honey? Don’t be naïve.”
“No, you’re right. I don’t know how to stop this—this nightmare, this hell that World has become. Maybe there’s nothing to do. Maybe we’d all still be slaves, with or without a rebellion. But at least Bardon would still be alive.” Her voice was thick, and tears welled in her eyes. “At least my daughter would have a dad.”
“I told you I’m sorry, Kay.” She put her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, now or ever. I’m sorry for everything.”
“Don’t.” That was all Kaeylor could muster, but she said it gently, without malice.
“Anyway,” Illyvia said, her voice taking on a new tone, one of resignation, “it doesn’t matter anymore. Not for me. Because I’m going to turn myself in. I’m going to go back with you and face my accusers in the Capital.”
“What? Don’t be silly.”
“Kay, I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
“They’ll hang you, Ivy, if you’re lucky. If not—” She shuddered, unable to finish the thought. Illyvia just looked at her. “I’ve already lost you once to this bloody war. I can’t lose you again.”
“It’s done.”
“What do you mean it’s done? Just run away. You and your people. I’ve already held up my part of the bargain. I came here to find you. Look at my leg. I’ll just tell them your people maimed me, left me for dead, and you got away.”
“I’d love to do that, Kay, but as I said, it’s done. It’s part of the plan. I have express orders from the Commandant to return with you to the Capital.”
Kaeylor was about to ask her what the big difference was between taking orders from an emperor and taking them from a commandant, but she never had the chance. A deafening rumble shook the whole forest, and two massive Imperial drones appeared in the sky above them, giant incendiary cannons trained directly at both of them. Kaeylor leapt to her feet, waving her arms and screaming, “She surrenders! Stand down! She surrenders.” She couldn’t hear her own voice above the roar, and she jumped up and down in spite of her wounded leg, flailing her arms madly trying to communicate with the hideous crafts.
She saw the black metal sphere come crashing down from the closer drone—a stun grenade. The flash sent her and her sister flying. Kaeylor landed in a cluster of bushes ten feet away. She looked up, bloodied and aching, as a metal chain with a grappling claw swooped down and gripped her sister, who was splayed out unconscious beneath a tree. She saw the second drone fire the incendiary cannon into the grave of the dead legionary, sending flames and charred dirt three stories high. The dead bastard must’ve had a beacon that Ivy’s people had missed, Kaeylor thought; he must’ve summoned these hellish machines. The smell of burning flesh hit her nostrils, and she retched a little before seeing the cannon turret slowly pivot in her direction. She tried to run, but could only manage a crawl. Inch by inch, forward on her belly, she tried to get away, tried to signal to the unthinking machine her own pitiful surrender. Then a claw swooped down and gripped her too. It felt cold on her back, but didn’t hurt. Maybe she was too numb to feel anything at this point. Some of Illyvia’s comrades emerged from the trees and fired their projectile guns on the drones, but were promptly blown away by the incendiary cannon, their dying shrieks echoing between the trees.
The drones whipped up above the forest, towing the helpless women, and took off at breakneck speed in the direction of West Mundus and the Capital. Before she lost consciousness, Kaeylor saw a massive, mushroom-shaped fireball, the size of a cathedral, light up the forest below them.
7.
… Heresies and the Climate—Notes: …dropping sea levels for centuries (creating the land bridge between E. and W. Mundus). We know that these conditions prevailed during the so-called ‘Golden Age’ (at least the end of it) and part of the Federation period. We don’t know much else. For example, did the Golden Agers have micro-nucleics? We know they’re a pre-War technology, so if they didn’t invent them, the Federation must have. That’s one thing we do know—the Federation had a thriving nucleics industry. And nucleics are a clean energy source, thus no climate warming under the Federation, meaning no melting ice cap etc. Implies that the Federation welcomed the mini-Ice Age. Why? Unity between the East and West continent? In any case, the warming must have started during the War. The micro-nucleics industry was destroyed during the long conflict, the knowledge behind it lost, ending for good all production of new nucleics…
“Look, Selenia. I brought you something!” said Santor Yarrill cheerily. He approached quickly, holding out a plush purple snow leopard toward the girl, who looked up momentarily, her eyes red from crying or lack of sleep—Santor didn’t know which—then returned to staring glumly at her toes.
“Selenia!” her grandmother scolded. “What do you say to your uncle Santor?”
“It’s all right, Violar,” Santor soothed. “She’s worried about her mom, that’s all.”
“Still, I’m grateful you came,” Violar replied, cutting a stern glance to her granddaughter, “and she should be too.”
“Thanks,” Selenia grumbled morosely.
“None necessary, sweetness.” Santor placed the stuffed leopard on the girl’s lap, and she picked it up aloofly. “You make sure to hang on to that. Now, come. The nurse said we can see your momma now.” Ma
triarch and granddaughter stood up from plastic bucket chairs, and the three of them approached a heavy, bolted hospital door made of painted steel. An armed legionary was seated on a folding chair outside. He eyed the three of them coldly.
“It’s OK,” the charge nurse called to the guard, hurrying over in the typical frenzied gait of over-worked medical personnel. “They’re here for visiting hours. They’ve been cleared by security already.”
“My orders were to screen everybody,” the guard responded gruffly. He arose stiffly and gestured for the visitors to raise their arms. They did so, and he ran the baton over their limbs and torsos. He paused at the stuffed leopard, which crackled momentarily as the baton passed. “Let me see that,” he said, snatching the toy from the girl’s small fingers.
“Hey, she’s just a child,” Santor objected. The legionary prodded him roughly in the sternum with the end of the baton.
“Yeah, and you’re gonna be a dead old man if you don’t pipe down.” He inspected the toy, waving the baton over it at every conceivable angle, but finding nothing.
“False alarm, I guess” the guard said, feigning friendliness toward the child. “Here you go, kid.” He handed the toy back to Selenia, who didn’t take it, her eyes downcast again. Santor took the proffered toy and eyed the guard defiantly.
“Watch yourself, Papa Bear,” the guard smirked, then unlocked the door. “You have fifteen minutes.”
Santor entered first, and saw Kaeylor propped up with several pillows against the headboard of her hospital bed, her right leg in a cast and her left arm shackled to the bedside. Her face lit up when she saw him, but he made no effort to acknowledge her. His airy demeanor of just moments ago had evaporated, replaced by steely resolve. He turned abruptly to close the door behind Violar and Selenia as they followed him in. He then rushed over to the adjacent bed where Illyvia was fast asleep, one arm and both legs shackled to the heavy bed frame.
“Illyvia,” he hissed in a tense whisper, shaking her roughly. “I’m here to get you out.”
“You two know each other?” Kaeylor demanded, but her shock and confusion were interrupted by Selenia, already on her bed, hugging her fiercely.
“Mommy, mommy, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, sweetie.” Kaeylor pulled Selenia close and kissed her head, but her gaze remained focused on the unexpected drama unfolding between her friend and sister at the next bed:
Santor shook Illyvia again, causing her shackles to clank loudly. He shot a fearful glance toward the door. Illyvia rubbed her eyes groggily with her free hand, then saw Santor standing over her.
“Santor?” She mumbled. “What are you doing here?”
Santor didn’t respond, his eyes locked on the door. He raised the stuffed leopard, which he held clenched in his left fist, and quickly screwed off the head, revealing a rubbery canister embedded in the cotton interior. He withdrew the canister, dropping the rest, and flipped it open to retrieve a silver pulse pistol.
Kaeylor gripped her daughter fearfully.
“Santor,” Kaeylor whispered, “What’s going on?”
“Shut up!” he snarled. All through the commotion, Violar had been standing transfixed, her eyes bright with tears, overcome at the sight of the daughter she had long given up for dead. Now Santor gripped Violar’s upper arm, breaking her from her tearful reverie. “Out of the way,” he growled, leading her to Kaeylor’s bedside. Suddenly aware of the gun, the elder woman fearfully complied.
Santor stole gingerly over to the door. He flipped up a small square viewfinder on the pistol, and pointed it to the wall adjacent to the doorframe. On the viewfinder, he could see the guard’s shimmering outline, still seated, oblivious. He flipped a lever on the gun, and positioned the barrel against the wall.
Illyvia was fully awake now. “Santor, don’t!” she shrieked, too late. As the guard reacted to the cry, Santor pulled the trigger. A thin red laser pulse shot out, punching a neat hole clean through the wall and through the guard’s body, which crumpled over with an audible thud. He flipped the lever again to adjust the laser’s intensity, then fired a low-energy beam straight into the door’s lock, fusing it shut.
“That’ll buy us some time,” he said, whirling around to face Illyvia. He bolted over to her bed, and immediately began applying the laser beam to her shackles.
“What the hell are you doing?” Illyvia’s voice quavered with genuine anger.
“What does it look like I’m doing? Getting you out of here.” As if to punctuate this point, her arm shackle clattered in two pieces off the bedside. Santor set to work on her leg restraints.
“That’s not part of the plan.”
“To hell with the damned plan. These Imperial lunatics are going to kill you, do you understand that? I’m not going to let that happen.”
“It’s not your decision,” Illyvia said, resignation replacing anger in her voice. “The Commandant and I already—”
“I don’t care about the bloody Commandant!” Santor interrupted her with a mad fierceness in his tone and eyes that Kaeylor, watching impotently from the next bed, immediately recognized. Santor was in love with her sister. She felt a stinging disappointment, despite knowing that her own selfish feelings were wildly inappropriate in this situation.
Santor cut through the last link of Illyvia’s shackles, and adjusted the pistol again. “All that matters is getting you out alive,” he said with the finality of a mantra, and fired a blinding pulse at the room’s only window. Its grate of double-reinforced bars popped out of the wall like a champagne cork and hurtled down into the courtyard below. The lights in the ceiling began to flash and the entire hospital rang with the trilling of alarm bells.
“Come on,” Santor cried, desperation rising in his voice, “We can take the fire escape to the roof. A hacked drone will meet us there, but we have to go now.” He stooped down to lift her up, but she slipped off the other side of the bed and ran over to her sister.
“I’m not going with you” she said firmly.
“We don’t have times for games, Illyvia. They’re outside.” It was true. Through the door, they could hear legionaries prepping an electric battering ram.
“It’s not a game. Look at us. Use the scope on your gun.” There was a low buzzing, the repulsor pads of the battering ram whirring into life.
“What?”
“Do it.” RAM. The first impact. The door shuttered as trails of dust wisped down from the ceiling, peppering the floor.
Tentatively, he aimed the pistol in their direction and flipped up the viewfinder. On the small screen he could see Illyvia standing in front of the bed on which Kaeylor, Violar, and Selenia were huddled fearfully together. All of them appeared normally, as the guard had before—shimmering blue-black traces against the gray background—except Kaeylor, whose outline glowed, at various spots randomly scattered over her body, with a thousand gleaming points of light.
“No.” Santor was crushed. “Why, Illyvia?”
“I had to. I’m sorry, Santor.” RAM. The center of the steel door buckled inward, a battering-ram-shaped protrusion jabbing out.
“But I can’t take you both with me!” RAM. A hinge loosened from the wall.
“You’re not taking either of us. It’s over, Santor. You need to get out of here.” RAM. A second hinge gave way, spraying screws against the opposite wall. The top of the door lurched forward.
“I can’t” Santor was despondent.
“Just go!” Illyvia screamed. RAM. The door crashed down, the floor heaved, and wood dust, paint fragments, and metal shards exploded over the women and girl. Legionaries poured in, rifles drawn.
The alarms stopped and the dust settled. Santor was gone. Sunlight streamed placidly in through the hole where the window had been.
8.
…Heresies and the Climate—Notes: … The micro-nucleics industry was destroyed during the long conflict, the knowledge behind it lost, ending for good all production of new nucleics, and ushering in the era of biof
uels. All of today’s remaining nucleics (e.g. the ones in droids and stun blasters) are recycled or repaired (but only partially). They’re running out, and even the best of us at the Institute can’t figure out enough details to reverse engineer them. Probably requires lost theory and tech know-how that’ll take decades, maybe centuries, to reconstruct. In the meantime, the biofuels we now use across the Empire are ramping up greenhouse gas production, thus the climate warming, and in turn the polar ice cap melting, seas rising, Eye of Haberac dividing Mundus, etc. The Empire seems pretty fearful of all of this—but why? The Federation preferred a mini-Ice Age to a warmer climate… and so does the Empire. It doesn’t make sense. Why is this the one thing they had in common???...
Kaeylor felt Bardon’s soft lips and hot breath on the rim of her ear. He was trying to tell her something, but she couldn’t hear him. His voice made only a dull susurrating sound, like a swarm of bees heard at a distance, but no discernible words. She turned, looking him straight in his broad, handsome, mahogany-toned face.
“Kaeylor, wake up,” he whispered. But it was not Bardon’s voice that came out. It was Illyvia’s…
Kaeylor woke with a start. She was in chains, on the hard, damp floor of a cell, and Illyvia was huddled up to her for warmth in the freezing dark, whispering hotly in her ear. Her sister’s warm body against hers in this cold, miserable place unlocked a sad tenderness in Kaeylor that had lain dormant for some time. She burst into tears.
“What is it?” Illyvia whispered, doing her best with a shackled arm to pull Kaeylor even closer. “Don’t cry.”
“They’re going to kill us,” Kaeylor sobbed. “You and me and mom and Selenia. Oh God, Selenia!” She broke down into a fit of heaving gasps.
“No they’re not. Listen.” She cupped her shackled hands over Kaeylor’s ear again and whispered intently. “Listen to me, Kaeylor,” she hissed, “I have to whisper because I’m sure they’re monitoring us. But I don’t know how much time we have, so you’ve got to stop crying and listen.”
The Heresies of World Page 4