A man burst through the cheering crowd and confronted Timur.
“You do not know the truth, Haqqani. Even now, the Chancellors are working on a plan to restore our lands and make them fertile again.”
Rikhi heard his father’s signature tone, arrogant as always. He didn’t know whether to envy Mahur’s courage or run to his rescue. The crowd was pushing and shoving, and Rikhi could not see to the center from his vantage point.
“Stupid old man,” Timur said. “We know the truth now about the Syeds. You do not want to stir trouble because you have valuable contracts with the Chancellory.”
“We all do, Haqqani,” Mahur responded, showing disrespect in not addressing Timur by first name. “We receive stipends every month, as we have for generations. They will lead us through our troubles. Speak this way of the Chancellors, and they will take away our stipends – and your family will find you without a head.”
“Are you threatening me, Syed?”
“I would never harm a Brahman.”
“I am not so sure, Syed. You will choose the Chancellors ahead of your own, just as you did with your fifth child.”
Murmurs of agreement cascaded through the crowd, most speaking Farheesi. The accusation pierced Rikhi’s heart.
“You are a crazy man, Haqqani.”
“Am I? Will you tell me the boy is not Chancellor-born? Answer the question we all have, Syed.”
“I did not come here for your outrageous accusations.”
“We all know how you suddenly became the wealthiest man in Peshawan after you adopted the boy. Tell us we are wrong, Syed.”
Rikhi stepped into the shadows and wiped his tears before anyone noticed him. He didn’t know how he’d show his face anymore. Many who thought Rikhi might be Brahman theorized his birth mother became pregnant through a rogue peacekeeper. Many towns – especially on North Bengal continent – were known to house ex-pat soldiers. But not here. Not Peshawan.
“Why welcome men who betrayed their own people?” His father once said. “We will spoil relations with principled Chancellors.”
Rikhi assumed he carried no Brahman blood. He had scattered memories of arriving onboard an Ark Carrier when he was two standard years old. Before that, many days on a ship from … perhaps Earth? He was cloistered most of the time.
He wanted to stand atop the granite platform as Timur did and tell hundreds of his people why he’d come to despise them. He wanted to make them ashamed of treating him as an outcast. This time, they would have to look him in his eight-year-old eyes.
No. Rikhi was a coward. Always had been. He blamed his eldest sister, Zarah, who resented how their parents fawned over the family’s youngest addition.
“Be smart and leave here when you of are age,” she told him in private, her breath hot with jealousy. “You will never have claim to our parents’ fortune.”
Rikhi didn’t want it. He doubted the Syed estate would be around much longer, anyway, if the tide continued to shift. If he did take another runner, he intended to plan ahead this time. He’d need provisions for a two-hundred-kilometer hike over rough terrain before reaching the closest seaport. Peshawan was isolated in a valley at the base of high tablelands, a former oasis against the sea. The tourists used to come here for the bazaars, agricultural festivals, and the spectacle of Omanpuri Shelf. Now, only a few walked the dusty streets and breathed the salty sea air.
Rikhi ducked off the main boulevard and onto Tihabra Street, a stone-paved lane snaking through town until reaching the exclusive neighborhood where families like the Syeds resided. He thought maybe Jawad, the next youngest brother, would understand his plight. Even help him requisition supplies for the journey.
He didn’t get far.
Rikhi bumped into a woman two feet taller, broad as the trunk of an old cedar. Though she wore a hood over her traditional beige sarong, Rikhi saw her features well enough in shadow to know she wasn’t Brahman. The sarong was not properly tied, revealing an olive-colored bodysuit underneath.
“There you are,” the stranger said. “We’ve been looking everywhere. Rikhi Syed? Yes?”
He stepped back as the woman tapped her forehead, sprouting a holocube. She reached inside her sarong and grabbed a laser.
“Who are you?”
“You have nothing to worry about, Rikhi. I am here to offer salvation. A chance to be who they designed you to be.”
He looked for a way to run, but two others in sarongs appeared at his flanks, as if by magic.
“You’ve always felt different, Rikhi. Yes? We understand. All of us were lied to. But we found salvation. So will you.”
The stranger cast a glance toward her compatriots and nodded.
“Confirmed,” she said to no one in particular. “It’s him. The town is secure. Open the aperture.”
“What?” Rikhi said, trembling. “Are you Chancellors? Was Timur right about …?”
“We thought we were,” the woman said. “Fortunately, we are better. Come with us now, and we’ll escort you to the square. Peshawan is about to be honored by very special guests.”
“No. Please. I’m supposed to be at home now. I don’t …”
“I’m afraid no one will be waiting for you at home. We have killed your brothers and sisters.” He didn’t have time to absorb the horrifying revelation before the woman continued. “We felt it a mercy. We didn’t want them living as orphans. We know the disgrace of such a condition among Brahmans.”
The word fought through his lips. “Orphans?”
“Your parents will die today. They are apostates, working with the Chancellory, denying your design.”
“I don’t … what do you mean by design?”
“You always felt different, Rikhi, because you are. I knew something was off long before they rescued me during my first tour in the Guard. You are among The Promised Few. Let us show you the infinite wisdom of Brother James and Admiral Valentin.”
Before Rikhi grasped any of this madness, the woman raised her laser pistol and shot him point-blank in the chest. He felt his chest on fire and looked down to see the hole above his heart. Then Rikhi Syed, adopted son of Mahur and Neela Syed, fell dead.
17
R IKHI HEARD VOICES BEFORE HE SAW THEM. They spoke in harsh tones, trying to overcome a clamor of opposition. Shouts, accusations. Weapons fire. Silence. And then, after a long pause, a calming but masculine voice said:
“Yes, you have been betrayed. The Chancellory has killed your land. They infested your hearts with their strategy of creating internal discord among natives. They have no material interest beyond your mineral wealth. We are here today to show you a new path. Join us, and together we will realign the Collectorate and restore true ethnic sovereignty to the colonies.”
Distrustful voices countered, but they clamored over each other.
Rikhi opened his eyes. He was lying prostrate, shadowed from the sun by gun-wielding women standing on either side. He looked over his shoulder and saw thick crowds gathered around the founder’s monument. The bazaars – a combination of tents, mobile kiosks, and built-in storefronts – were empty. He sat up.
He saw figures in olive bodysuits, emboldened with blast rifles, create a perimeter around the crowd. Some of these strangers stood on the single-level roofs of stores and cafes. Where had they come from? He answered his own question when he looked directly behind, down the eastern boulevard. A cargo transport filled his view. Under the bow, a single word: Spearhead.
A hand grabbed him. The woman who shot him in the heart bent down to one knee. She tapped her temple.
“He has risen, Admiral.” She tapped off her amp and smiled, just as his mother did before pampering him. “You’ve been reborn, Rikhi. Look.” She pointed to the wound, which left a black stain on his shirt but was otherwise healed. “Do you understand now? Why you always felt different? The joy you now feel is salvation.”
Rikhi knew what she meant. The weight of his life vanished. He felt a light surging through his soul, blo
tting out everything he thought he understood. Then, just as quickly, he remembered what the woman said before killing him.
“Did you really do it? Did you kill my brothers and sisters?”
“Yes. And we have just now executed your mother. We have saved your father so you may bear witness.”
He wanted to be furious; he wanted to reach out and strangle the woman. But Rikhi’s anger died as the woman kissed him on the cheek. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he was meant to love this stranger and all others like her.
“Time for you to meet your new father, who will care for you until the end of time.”
The women lifted Rikhi and started toward the crowd.
“The eternal tyranny of the Chancellors is about to end,” the giant speaker on the monument said. “A new race of immortals who will be your protectors, not your oppressors, will push aside the obsolete rule of failed, self-made gods and replace them with the most perfect creations in the universe. The highest form of evolution. True gods have come at last.
“My immortals are the flagbearers of the gods you will know as the Jewels. You may have heard Chancellor propagandists call them monsters, abominations, or failed hybrids. Nothing is further from the truth. They control life and death itself. They bring wonder and misery, miracles and devastation in equal measure. But today, they will fulfill your greatest dreams. All they will ask in return is your undying loyalty.”
A voice spoke up. “We’ve heard about your lot. If you’re so almighty, why you threaten us with rifles and laser guns?”
The giant man in olive body armor – himself sporting a blast rifle – smirked.
“We do not mean to use these weapons against you. We are providing security for the Jewel who will look over this town long after we’ve gone. But first,” he said, turning toward Rikhi, “I want to demonstrate a miracle.”
The crowd parted as Rikhi’s captors led him to the monument. Gasps followed in louder waves as he passed. Their awestruck gazes and sagging shoulders told Rikhi they saw his corpse moments ago.
The giant looked down upon Rikhi and welcomed him.
“Call me Admiral Valentin,” he said. “You are the five hundred and fifth immortal we have liberated.” Admiral Valentin turned to the crowd. “Death can be defied. We are proof. Rikhi Syed is proof. We cannot die, which makes us an enemy to the Chancellors. It also means we can literally fight for you to the end of time. Can the Chancellors say the same?”
“This proves nothing,” a voice rose over the crowd. “You are frauds. You never killed the Syed boy.” Other voices rose in agreement. “These murderers brought down the space elevator on Earth. They have raided colonies and killed a million or more citizens of the Collectorate!” And another: “They are wanted by the Guard. We must act now. We will be heroes to …”
A single shot cut the air; the protestor fell. A woman beside him screamed and bent over his body. Rikhi saw olive-green soldiers take offensive stances, their weapons aimed. Everyone knew the damage a Mark-class blast rifle could inflict. Peacekeepers often showed off their handiwork in propaganda streams.
“Please understand,” Valentin continued when the roar died down. “We will only kill those who need to die. We will not tolerate reckless and irresponsible incitement to violence. Nor we will allow apostates to pose a threat to you or us. The apostates have openly conspired with the Chancellory to benefit themselves at your expense. They are conspirators in the poisoning of your fields.”
Incredulous shouts blended with accusatory fingers pointed at those who Rikhi knew to be among the town’s leading citizens.
“Rikhi.”
He faced his father, Muhar.
“Son, come to me.” The man reached out. “These people are murderers. They are …”
“Here to save me.”
The words fell from the boy’s lips as if on instinct. He didn’t know they were coming, yet they felt natural. Inevitable.
Admiral Valentin pointed to Muhar.
“This apostate is the worst of the criminals.”
A disciple in olive grabbed Muhar and shoved him to his knees.
“At this time, I ask you to bring forth your apostates,” Valentin told the crowd. “Drag them to my feet.”
Fists flew and screams shook the square. To Rikhi’s shock, they obeyed. Within minutes, eight squealing, pleading men and women sat face-down before the admiral.
“Your people know you too well,” he told them. “They have been waiting for the opportunity to show how they feel about apostates who collaborate with Chancellors.” He studied the crowd. “Today, we will restore what you have lost and remove the enemy from your land.” He pointed up the western boulevard. “Walk to the fields. We have an incredible surprise for you.”
Valentin waited until they dispersed, soldiers flanking their processional. The women who escorted Rikhi stayed behind to gather the apostates. Valentin grabbed Rikhi by the hand.
As they followed the masses, Valentin spoke to the boy.
“Do you see the world in different colors?”
“Everything is new. It’s like I was never here.”
“Because you were not. Rebirth allows an immortal to see the truths he never had the courage to face when mortal.”
“Why don’t I cry for my family?”
“Because they were never your family. Don’t grieve for the life you lost. Celebrate the life we have granted you.”
Rikhi did not let go of Valentin’s hand until they reached the fields – or what was left of them. The barren wasteland had not been tilled in months; breezes kicked up swirls of gray granules. The fields, which once produced the best array of vegetables and berries for three hundred kilometers, stretched half a mile toward the horizon, ending at the base of the mesas.
The olive-armored soldiers lined up in front of the townspeople. Rikhi rarely saw so many Peshawanians together. More citizens arrived as the crowd spread out along the foot of the fields. Rikhi heard Valentin say, “We’re in position, brother. Open the aperture.”
Thirty seconds later, Brahma shook beneath their feet as a flash brighter than the sun exploded before them, accompanied by thunder. When he looked up, a Scramjet hovered above the field thirty meters from the crowd.
The starboard port pixelated and disappeared. A giant more monstrous than Admiral Valentin, bigger than anything Rikhi recalled from UG propaganda streams, stood in the open port. He wore a full-length robe that shimmered in waves of silver and olive. His beard was full and as golden as the hair that fell over his shoulders. Rikhi gasped when this monster leaped from the Scramjet but did not fall.
He descended, as if taking gentle steps down a staircase only he saw. When he reached the soil, he broke the crowd’s silent awe.
“My name is Brother James, and we share a common enemy. I intend to destroy the Chancellory, and I will slaughter every human who comes between me and my goal. I control life. I control death. I am a destiny created a million years ago, and I will lead you to independence and true prosperity. All I ask in return is your absolute, unquestioned loyalty. What you see here today, you will spread across Brahma, and our great news will travel across the colonies. When the time comes, you will join me in the defeat of an empire.”
No one spoke, but they shared quizzical glances as if mystified by this creature. Brother James bent down and touched the soil.
It happened at once. A mind-boggling sight. Surely, an illusion. Like others, Rikhi could not help but drop to his knees and cry.
The field came alive. Rows of green blasted through the soil and contorted into maturity, most of a life cycle passing in seconds. The green expanse spread like a virus to the distant ends of the fields. Corn, melons, berries, tomatoes, winyards, and tube legumes blossomed and began fruiting.
“Your bounty has returned,” Brother James said. “I have cleansed the soil. Your community will flourish again. But your success cannot be guaranteed unless we remove your enemy.”
The Scramjet fired i
ts thrusters and moved clear. It pivoted then hit a burst. In less than thirty seconds, it came to a halt, a silver bullet in the distant sky, and unleashed a torrent of ovoid energy slews upon its target. The Indira Reclamation plant exploded in a mountain of flames. As the Scramjet started back toward the crowd, Brother James took steps in their direction.
Valentin grabbed Rikhi’s hand again and escorted him through the crowd. When they reached the front and passed through the gantlet of armored disciples, Valentin offered comforting words.
“Don’t be intimidated, Rikhi. Brother James and I will love you like no one in Peshawan ever could.”
They came together. Only at his feet did Rakhi notice the red glow in the giant’s eyes. Not a man. Something else. Was it true?
James did not speak to Rikhi, but he stood beside his brother as Valentin made a proclamation.
“Bring the apostates forward.”
The eight men and women who were dragged to Valentin’s feet in the town square stumbled at gunpoint. They apologized, they begged for forgiveness, and at least one peed his pants.
Rikhi’s father spoke for the group.
“Brother James, thank you. We promise to work with you in the future. We will never do business with the Chancellors again.”
The miracle worker showed no expression as he studied Muhar.
“What happens next,” Brother James said, “has nothing to do with the future. You cannot change your crimes of the past. Apostates become enemies, and enemies have to die.”
The giant leaned into Rikhi’s father and blew onto Muhar’s face as if extinguishing a candle. Instead, Muhar twisted as his body glowed from within and erupted into flame. Rikhi saw the horror in his father’s eyes before they incinerated, but it was as if Muhar were a stranger. Rikhi felt all memories of life as a Syed drift away in the breeze with his father’s ashes.
The other seven became fleeting torches until nothing was left.
Valentin addressed the dazed residents of Peshawan.
“As a final act of confirmation, Brother James asks that you signal your absolute loyalty by lying upon the ground, your faces kissing the soil which he has restored to you. Do this now, and he will leave you in peace, with a guarantee of permanent protection from the peacekeepers and the Chancellory.”
The Impossible Future: Complete set Page 73