“I said I wanted to hear your terms. So let’s hear them.”
The daggers in Lucifer’s eyes turned to bullets. I could tell he wanted to swing at me, and a small part of me hoped that he would.
Instead we looked away.
“This isn’t working,” he muttered.
“Nope.”
Time for Plan B.
***
“The Regent is giving you the upper layers of The Atrium,” said Leid, reading from the document that I’d written up the night before. “The second highest layer has an abundance of resources for agricultural endeavors, so food won’t be an issue for your people anymore.”
“Your mines are located on the lower levels,” said Lucifer, but he spoke to Leid and not me. “We need materials to build our cities.”
Leid shot me a glance.
“You can have a quarter of our mines,” I said. “But giving you that much will cost us, considering we have completely rebuild Sanctum after your attack.”
“You mean your attack.”
Daggers.
Yahweh cleared his throat, drawing our attention. Leid and the kid had stepped in as mediators, since we refused to speak to each other. “Regent, the metal alloys you used when we upgraded your crafts; they were extracted from the lower regions, too, right?”
“Right.”
“To my understanding, most of the lower layers haven’t been mined.”
“It’s too cold.”
There were seven layers of The Atrium. Sanctum rested on the fourth. After the sixth, all of our machinery froze. We’d speculated for years that there were tons of deposits waiting to be mined, but no one could think of a way to overcome the subzero climate.
Leid looked at Yahweh, thoughtful. “Are you suggesting that the Archaeans mine the metals from the lowest regions?”
Yahweh nodded. “We don’t want to intrude on your resources. But I think that if we work together, we might be able to obtain minerals from the lower regions—possibly more than enough to sustain both of our cities.”
“Do you have drilling machinery that can operate at absolute zero?” It probably wasn’t absolute zero, but it sure felt like it.
Lucifer and Yahweh shared a look, smiling.
“Yes, we do,” said the kid.
I hesitated with a response, recalling that the angels had destroyed their last world with technology. The same technology that they were proposing to me.
… But we could use that metal.
“Qaira, what do you think?” pressed Leid.
“Alright, fine.”
“We’ll stay on the Ark until we have access to those mines,” said Lucifer. “I won’t impede on Sanctum’s reconstruction.”
“How thoughtful of you.”
Leid kicked my broken leg, and I winced.
“Next topic?” Yahweh inquired, moving us along.
“We’re back to food,” Leid announced after a glance at the sheet. “Since we’re giving you the upper layers, we will require a third of the agriculture and a fourth of the fish. The rest of our resources come from the lower layers, so that’s all.”
Lucifer arched a brow. “Fish?”
“Ysimel,” Leid repeated, this time in Archaean. Our negotiations were being carried out in Nehelian.
“How much does your population consume per year?”
“A thousand grulas,” I said. “But I’m willing to halve that so they don’t go extinct.”
“You have quite a few leriza farms in the upper layers,” noted Yahweh, looking at the list. “If we share those as well, your city won’t have to deprive itself of… fish.”
I reclined in my seat with an encumbered sigh. “I don’t think we can accurately outline an agreement until you settle in and see how things go. It’s not the sharing that I’m concerned about, it’s your numbers.”
Lucifer nodded. “If you’re scared of overpopulation, what would you say to birth regulation?”
I stared, saying nothing. Telling my people that they weren’t allowed to have kids wasn’t going to win me any points.
“We’ve been doing it for centuries,” he explained, sensing my unease. “We had to on our interstellar voyage, as the Ark could only sustain so many. We used intravenous birth control. ”
“Your people actually agreed to that?”
“Why wouldn’t they? They took into account that creating a child and having it suffer was more heinous a crime than not having a child.”
“Sanctum holds a lot of pride in its children. It’s custom for families to have them. Telling Nehelians that they can’t have children is like telling them to clip their wings.”
“You don’t have to deny them any children,” argued Lucifer. “But set a maximum amount of children per family. That way your population won’t expand further than what your world can support.”
“The only reason why my world couldn’t support them is because of you.”
He smiled at my contempt. “The fact still remains, Regent. I’m only offering suggestions that might ease your concern. The angels will continue regulating their births, and you can do whatever you want.”
“There is one more thing,” Yahweh said, breaking the silence that had followed. “We need to borrow your scholar. Well, I suppose she’s not your scholar anymore, but we still need to borrow her.”
I lifted a brow. “What for?”
“Planetary comparison,” Yahweh said. At the sight of the cluelessness on my face, he added, “Normally we would hire a scholar to help us compare your planet’s chemical properties with Felor’s. Considering your circumstance, I would rather have Leid do that for us than bring another scholar here. I imagine things would get, well, complicated.”
“I don’t know if I have access to Euxodia anymore,” said Leid, morose.
Yook-sod-ee-a?
“How can you tell?” Yahweh asked.
She closed her eyes and I could have sworn I’d felt a humming in my chest, like she was doing something to the air. The others felt it, too, judging by the surprise on their faces.
“I do. I suppose they can’t keep me out. I’m still Vel’Haru.”
“What’s Euxodia?” I asked, since apparently I was the only one who didn’t know.
“Our library,” Leid said, smiling, and I remembered the talk we’d had in her first few weeks of being here. “The physical library is in Exo’daius, but our knowledge is linked together via our resonance. We make the information available through a conscious stream. Almost like a shared dreamscape.”
I blinked. “Oh.”
“And Ixiah has made the information which you seek available.”
“So you will help us?” asked Yahweh.
She nodded. “And thank you for considering my circumstance.”
Our negotiations were concluded when Lucifer declared that the Ark would enter The Atrium’s airspace this evening, and I promised that our patrol would stand aside.
This was it. It was actually happening.
Lucifer and Yahweh left Eroqam with their guards, and Leid and I sat alone in the conference room. She was smiling at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You did very well, Qaira.”
“Yeah, who knew I’d be so great at surrendering?”
“Don’t look it at like that. You’re negotiating for peace, and that’s quite a feat.”
“Feat?”
“Peace in The Atrium. You’ve brought the world peace after almost a century of war, and your people will never forget you for it.”
She always made everything sound so pretty. Even my defeat.
I glanced at my watch. “What now?”
“Now we have a meeting with the Department of Sanitization. They’re asking what you want to do about the wreckage at the Agora.”
That meeting was going to take a while. I rose from the chair with a grimace, grabbing for a crutch. I was getting a little better at maneuvering with my cast. It came off in two weeks, but until then I was crippled.
/> Leid waited by the door, and together we headed for the Commons. All of our meetings were being held at Eroqam until we could rebuild Parliament. It was completely leveled from battle—along with everything else in Upper Sanctum. Everything except for Eroqam.
“What are we doing about lunch? It’s half-past noon.”
“Your secretary is catering Tervat,” Leid said quickly, having anticipated that question.
Ugh, Tervat again. But I couldn’t be picky, since that was the only decent restaurant still standing. Their business was probably booming.
Thinking about that left me solemn. I still mourned the Sanctum that had been—all the places I would never see again. I’d promised to rebuild our city bigger and better than ever, and maybe that would happen, but so much of my life was now just a memory. The only cushioning was that Leid was here, and here to stay.
As if reading my thoughts, she reached for my hand, fingers lacing mine.
We smiled.
IV
A ROAD LESS PERILOUS
“THE COMPOUND THAT WE’VE SYNTHETICALLY PRODUCED the same effect as malay, but without fatal consequences. You see, the addictive component of the drug stimulates the neural symposium pathway in the brain, releasing YTF-alpha into the synaptic cleft, which gives off euphoria.”
As Yahweh pointed at the projection screen with as much enthusiasm as a kid at a candy store, I rolled my pen along the desk, resisting the urge to shove it through my head. Three hours of a pharmacology lesson could do that to you.
None of this made a bit of sense. All I saw on that projection screen was an anatomical diagram of a head that someone had sliced in half, with a bunch of blue and red squiggly lines across it. But I was just retarded, because Raith was nodding every other minute, like he totally understood everything the kid was saying.
The bottom line was that Yahweh had designed a synthetic drug that mimicked malay, but didn’t have fatal withdrawal symptoms. That had been good enough for me, but he’d insisted on explaining everything.
“Malay also acts as a kinase effector that works on the muscles of the lungs by phosphorylating the contraction pathway. After long-term use, the body stops providing its own intermediates and relies on the malay instead.”
I leaned into my hand, sighing loudly.
“The synthetic drug we’ve designed differs by its substituents on the aromatic ring—”
And now we were looking at a bunch of sticks and circles. And letters.
“—where our not-so-polar carbonyl replaces the reducing agent of the malay. Therefore our drug does not act as a lung-contraction catalyst.”
Yay.
At last, he was done. “What do you think?”
They looked at me, and I sat up straight. “The only word I understood from that entire spiel of yours was brain, so I’m probably not the right person to ask.”
Lucifer laughed. “Where’s your smarter half this afternoon, Regent?”
“Stuck at Enoria. It’s finals week.” Usually she dealt with shit like this, but alas, here I was. “Give me a copy of everything you just said and I’ll run it by her. I’m sure she’ll have some questions.”
Yahweh was looking at me like I’d just ripped his favorite toy from his hand and stomped it to pieces in front of him. “You didn’t understand anything I said?”
“You made a drug that acts like malay but doesn’t kill people. Got it.”
The kid sighed. “I don’t even know why I bother.”
“That drug could open doors to new treatment programs,” said Lucifer. “The Plexus is building a new wing, and with your approval, we could transform it into a rehabilitation center.”
“Don’t we need to do some testing on it first? Make sure it’s safe?”
“Of course. The entire purpose of us being here was to persuade you into signing off on a clinical trials program.”
I hesitated as Yahweh handed me a type-set of his presentation. I didn’t want to agree to anything until Leid saw this. “Give me a day to think on it. I’ll call the Plexus tomorrow afternoon.”
“Call my office,” said Yahweh. “I’ll be there all day handling paperwork.”
To think that our medical science headquarters was run by a kid. Not just any kid, but still.
Yahweh Telei—Dr. Telei—was the CEO of the Plexus, a venture of medical and pharmaceutical research that both of our cities funded. It was the only place in the world where Nehelians and angels worked alongside each other. We were segregated otherwise, even after ten years since the angels had moved in. But the Plexus offered a glimmer of hope that that might change someday.
As they gathered their things and began for the door, Lucifer murmuring for me to take a look at this year’s leriza farming projection when I had the time, I rushed down the hall to my next meeting. My secretary flagged me down.
“You’ve got a call, Regent.”
“Take a message. I’m already late.”
“It’s your wife.”
Sigh.
I detoured to my office. “Connect her through.”
“Yes, sir.”
I closed the door and touched the blinking rune on the crystal sphere atop my desk. We had upgraded our communications system several years ago. Like the Archaeans, we used a telepathically-wired technology called Aeon.
What?
Well hello to you, too. I hope this isn’t how you answer all of your calls?
No, just you. You’re special.
I’m going to be late tonight.
You’ve been late every night this week.
Blame my tenure.
When do you think you’ll be home?
I don’t know. Seven; maybe eight?
What about dinner?
It’s in the freezer. Put the pan in the oven if you get hungry before I’m home.
No, it’s fine. I’ll wait for you.
You’re afraid of the oven.
Am not.
Well put the pan in at six-thirty. I don’t want to wait when I get home.
Anything else?
Nope, that’s it. I’ll see you tonight.
Apparently my job was never-ending. Leid had left Parliament and signed on as a Biomolecular professor at Enoria Academy five years ago, and I’d been putting frozen dinners in the oven ever since.
She’d let Epa go, stating that we didn’t need a maid with just the two of us. She found servants distasteful—a flaunt of wealth and power—and since she was my wife I actually had to listen to her. I still brought in a cleaning crew every month or so, because I sure as fuck wasn’t going to clean every room of our two floor, five bedroom estate. We were barely home enough to do our laundry.
We had held our wedding ceremony several months after the angels moved in. It was an open-venue banquet at the Temple of Maghir in Moritoria, and twenty thousand people attended. We hadn’t had much then, Sanctum’s reconstruction still in full swing, but we’d ordered as much food as we could and our guests had danced all night.
The rest of my day was filled with meetings. Not much had changed there, but my job was a lot easier now that Sanctum wasn’t in a permanent state of collapse. Our city was flourishing, and (grudgingly) I had the angels to thank for that.
At half-past three, Ara found me at the coffee area in the lobby. He worked two floors down, now head of the Department of Law and Defense. The Sanctum Militia and its Enforcers division dissolved three years ago, and I’d combined what was left with our law enforcement department. No need for a giant army anymore.
“Regent,” he greeted, pouring himself a cup.
“Commandant.”
Ara had a look on his face that told me he was having a really bad day. Like me, he’d been yanked from a military position to a desk job, and wasn’t transitioning well. His armor was replaced by a suit and tie, and the youthful vigor that once shined in his eyes was dulled by every day monotony. Welcome to the club, I’d said.
We stood aside as another group of suits approached the coffee stand, s
ipping ours quietly. They nodded to us, and we nodded back.
“Want to talk about it?” I asked.
“There’s nothing to talk about. It’s been too quiet lately. I’m so bored that I want to hang myself. Without impending doom, people act so stupidly.”
“An example being…?”
“We just got a call for a domestic disturbance out in Central Sanctum. A woman was seen beating her boyfriend on the head with a frying pan.”
I smiled.
“The most exciting part of my day was incarcerating the arsons who’d burned down that clothing store a week ago.”
“You caught them?”
“One of the employees and her husband. The owner of the store failed to mention that he’d been sexually harassing a worker, and when she didn’t reciprocate, he fired her. She came back with her husband and burned down his store that night. We arrested the arsons and the owner for malicious mayhem.”
“Your day sounded better than mine.”
“You get to talk to people about money. I talk to people about their reprehensible life choices.”
I shrugged, having no counterargument. Ara tossed his empty cup into the waste bin. “Has Ila called Leid yet?”
“Don’t know.”
“She wants to set up a get-together with Tae and Roen this weekend at your house.”
“At my house, of course. Never yours.”
“Your house is bigger.”
“I’ll ask Leid when she gets home tonight.”
Ara nodded, sighing. “Back to work. Only thirty-three minutes left of this crap.”
I paid him a look of sympathy as he sulked off. My poor brother.
Tae and Ara had left Eroqam six years ago, both married and living in estates of their own. Tae had settled with a wealthy official named Roen Artuega, assistant Director of Commerce, and Ara with Ila Yema-Torin, eldest daughter of the owner of Yema Theater.
Life had swooped in and changed everything—a bittersweet factor of time and growth. Sanctum’s war with the angels and my crusade to crush them all seemed like a distant memory, a vivid nightmare from long ago. Once upon a time I couldn’t even imagine peace, and now I couldn’t remember how life had been without it.
Sometimes I wished my father was still alive so that he could see how everything turned out. There were a lot of things that I regretted doing. Too many things. But hindsight only scarred your soul. The past never had anything new to say, so I wouldn’t dwell in it.
The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy Page 49