“So that’s how you earned it,” I say with a soft expression, running my fingers over the wide band of silky black fabric wrapped around his left bicep. “For some stupid reason I expected a different story of heroism—maybe a spectacular gun battle, or even a war which you won and proved yourself a great military leader. But this is so much more. . . . You sacrificed yourself and saved the whole Fleet—hundreds of ships and thousands of people—by basically flying straight into the black hole and pulling the Quantum Stream behind you, creating the safe zone for everyone. . . You saved them—not by taking lives or vanquishing enemies, but by becoming the Imperator.”
He nods, with a strange expression in his eyes.
We pause for a few long moments, in contemplation of what was said by both of us.
“And then you came back . . .” I whisper.
“And then I came back.” He echoes my words.
Another long gap of silence.
“You say you don’t remember, but—” I persist gently, “it must’ve changed you. On some deeper level. Somehow, do you think?”
Aeson looks at me in that moment, and there is a world of emotion in his lapis lazuli blue eyes.
But he doesn’t blink.
“Maybe,” he says at last. “Logically speaking, yes, death and resurrection would make you someone new. It would seem that it has changed me, made me more thoughtful, maybe—or maybe not. My friends—they who later became my astra daimon brothers and sisters—mentioned that I seemed quieter, more often, afterwards. But specifically, I just don’t remember. And I’m not sure I want to—at least not now, not yet.”
Would he tell me if he did?
He gathers himself and continues, “One other thing. Atlantida really doesn’t like unresolved mysteries, so my inexplicable resurrection was ultimately attributed to medical skill and plain luck—in all the incident reports. I checked them myself, eager to know the truth. The pegasei presence during the critical moments was underplayed and interpreted as coincidence. And when I checked my Father’s shuttle status report, I found data to support his claims of technical malfunction—except, I dug deeper, and discovered details hinting that it was falsified. I managed to retrieve the original event log from the shuttle by secretly examining it myself, then dumping core data in a roundabout way, so that now I had secret proof of my father’s false claim.”
“Ah! That’s what you meant by ‘insurance’ when you bargained with him in the Red Office the other day,” I say.
“Exactly.” Aeson’s lips curve slightly. It’s not quite a smile, but an expression of satisfaction.
I sigh deeply, with a profound shudder. All this time, I’m hardly aware of my short breath, the tension I’m holding back, my clenched fingers digging into his upper arm.
“And now you know the story. The strangest terrible thing that happened to me,” he says, looking at me with a vulnerable expression. “Amrevu, thank you for listening. And, so sorry that it pained you. I know it did—”
“Aeson!” I exclaim. “Thank you—for sharing your remarkable truth!”
And with those words I pull him to me. I wrap my arms around his neck and I kiss him on his cheeks, then his mouth—hard, and desperate, and wild with love.
Sometime even later that night, at the end of thirteenth hour, we are still up, still lounging together, talking, touching, sometimes pausing to mull over everything in tired silence. Aeson checks his wrist comm occasionally but mostly ignores the incoming data. “Since neither of us is able to sleep yet, ready for a Ghost meal?” he says with a yawn.
“Uh-huh,” I say, yawning also.
Then we both laugh, and Aeson takes me to a nearby workroom equipped with a food storage cabinet. The setup is similar to his workroom back at his Quarters in the Imperial Palace. The refrigerator is well-stocked, and we raid it, laughing.
“Why, Aeson? Why can’t I sleep? Such a long, insane day!” I say stupidly, stuffing a savory flaky pastry with vegetables into my mouth. “M-m-m, yum!”
“Too tired to sleep is a known medical condition.” He chuckles, eating his own bowl of savory noodles in thick, plum-colored sauce. But there’s a brief flicker of gravity in his eyes.
After all the things he told me, all the terrible impossible things of tragedy and awe. . . .
No, stop.
“We’ll try to sleep after we eat, all right?” I finish the pastry, and pour a fizzy glass of qvaali for Aeson and hand it to him. Then I pour myself a glass of nikkari juice. “Okay, I want to tell you what I decided to ask for my wishes as Champion—wait, no!” I sit up, widening my eyes, and almost drop the glass. “I totally forgot to call Dad and George! I was going to call them right after we ate earlier, I’m an idiot!”
“First thing tomorrow,” he says gently. “Best to call them after you’ve rested. Don’t worry, they’re fine.”
“You’re right.” I shake my head, frustrated at myself. “Right now, I’m so tired I’m slurring words.”
“You were saying—about your Champion wishes?”
I take a deep breath, feeling a little nervous for some reason. “My wishes are for Lolu and Chihar to get their wishes—as if they had been Champions. And Tuar also—if he is alive—”
“He is,” Aeson says with a smile. “I made sure he received proper medical attention after he was incapacitated during Stage Three of the Games—”
“Oh, Aeson! Thank you!” My pulse races with a sudden burst of joy and also general relief at my most amazing Bridegroom, the best in the world—and his calm reaction.
In fact, Aeson doesn’t appear to be surprised at all by my demands. “Go on. What else?” he says.
“I also wish for Zaap’s wishes to be granted in his honor, even though he’s gone.”
“Understandable.”
Emboldened even more, I continue, “And I also want Sofia Veforoi and Fawzi Boto to be granted their wishes—”
Aeson raises one brow. “Okay, now that I didn’t expect. But I can see the logic and the advantage in turning your adversaries into friends.”
“Actually, I wasn’t thinking of an advantage. I just feel really bad for them,” I say.
Aeson looks at me with admiration. “Is there anything you would like for yourself?”
I think for a moment. “I want my family to be safe and cared for, I guess. I mean I already have everything I need, since I have you. I also want Earth to not be destroyed by that damn asteroid. Or is that too much to ask?”
He chuckles again, shaking his head at me. “Right now, anything is possible, im amrevu.”
“I’m so glad you’re not calling me a crazy lunatic,” I whisper.
“Oh, but you are a little crazy—or maybe very much so,” he says, turning his head sideways to watch me lovingly. “But that is precisely what Atlantis and Earth need.”
“A crazy woman?”
“An inspired one.”
Chapter 23
I wake up the next morning in my own bed, having been tucked in by im amrevu, very late the previous night. Aeson insisted I get some uninterrupted sleep at last, while he had a few more SPC reports to look at in his own room—even though I protested, wanting to stay with him. He fooled and seduced me into getting under the covers and closing my eyes just for a moment, and I was utterly incapable of resisting. . . . I melted at his touch as he stroked my hair and nuzzled his lips against my throat before regretfully leaving me to go stare at the scrolling data on that infernal computer display.
And now it’s bright morning, judging by the thin slit between the curtains, and although for once in I-don’t-remember-how-long, I have nothing scheduled for the day, I get a sharp gnawing sense that I have to do something.
What is it that I have to do? My brain shuts off and on, stuck in alert mode, searching for signs of immediate danger, and unused to the leisurely state.
I get up, and check that Aeson is not in his room. Then I wander into the bathroom and stare for at least five minutes into the great mirror, examining my
gaunt face and sleep-tousled hair, feeling like a zombie dummy.
Next, I shower, taking my sweet time casually, and get dressed in the first sensible-looking outfit I can find—a pair of dark slacks and a matching shirt with an intricate fractal pattern of swirling colors, blues and violets, trimmed with a delicate collar of gold. My long, wet hair falls down my back, and I do nothing to restrain or style it, only brush and dry.
Just before I leave the chamber, I put on my brand-new wrist comm unit.
Downstairs, in the large living room, I find Aeson, Xelio, and Erita, a couple of usual data displays with active feeds, and an eos bread service in progress.
“Nefero eos,” they greet me, with looks of serious concentration.
“Gwen, come eat.” Aeson relaxes his grim expression and gives me a smile, then points to the food. He is casually dressed in a cream shirt and dark pants, but crisp and businesslike. As usual, the perfectly put-together first sight of him makes my heart skip a beat. So little sleep, and yet he still looks fresh and amazing.
“You hardly got any rest, Aeson—again!” I say reproachfully.
He merely intensifies his sweet, crafty smile.
“All right, anything new happen this morning?” I take a plate of buttery dumplings sprinkled with spicy and crunchy bits that taste like hickory-smoked nuts, a bowl of orange-colored tart fruit in sweet sauce, and a hot mug of lvikao.
“Uh-huh-m-m-m.” Xelio mumbles something indecipherable, shakes his head and exhales loudly, then returns his attention to the display.
“Well, nothing particularly useful as far as the stupid moon,” Erita says. “But you have a visitor.”
“Eri, don’t. Not yet.” Aeson grows serious once more and casts a meaningful glance at Erita. “Let her eat first.”
But I’m alert already. “What? Who?”
“In the other room.” Erita points to the doors. “She’s been waiting for you for the last hour. We told her you were still resting, and it might be some time before you’re available, but she insisted. Said she’ll wait all day if needed.”
“Who?” I repeat, setting down my food.
“One of your teammates from the Games,” Xel says, without looking away from his screen. “Stubborn little thing, what’s her name—Lolu Eetatu.”
“Lolu!” I exclaim, and my heartbeat picks up with a sudden jolt. “Oh—my God! Her mother! How is she, I need to see her right now—”
Aeson gets up wordlessly, with an expression of understanding, and leads me out of the room, down a corridor, and into a smaller, comfortable visitor chamber. “Here she is,” he says with a gentle nod at me, and at the figure of a girl who springs up from her seat.
“Gwen Lark!”
Lolu looks wildly different this morning. She is dressed in simple, bland clothing, and I almost take her for an estate servant, now that she’s out of her Blue Games uniform. Only her spiked rainbow hair is familiar, and so is her face with its slightly smudged kohl eyeliner, usual signs of exhaustion, and great big eyes focused entirely on me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t slept or cleaned her face since yesterday.
“Gwen—Imperial Lady Gwen, I had to see you,” she says in a stilted, awkward way. “I—must thank you for what you did on behalf of my mother.”
“How is she? How is your mother?” I take a step toward Lolu. I really want to put my hand on her arm, touch her, but knowing Lolu’s prickly nature, I restrain myself. Besides, I am somewhat terrified to hear what she has to say. . . .
“She has been saved,” Lolu says plainly, and just like that, her eyes are brimming with tears. “You saved her, Gwen Lark. And—and the Imperial Lord, too,” she adds with a darting glance at Aeson, then returns her gaze to me. “Last night, they came to our home—the elite medical techs—and they took my mother to the expensive facility. They scanned her, used the quantum cellular revision scanner, and the QCRS repaired her failing organs and healed her overnight. She—she is breathing on her own now! She woke up completely without pain, and my father and brothers are with her now! All thanks to you!”
I make a stifled sound and, not caring about consequences, pull Lolu into my arms. My head is bursting with pressure, ears ringing suddenly, and even as the overwhelming flood of emotion rises, I grip her tightly to me . . . and feel her embracing me back, as she shakes against me, thin and bony, and so very much like a smaller, hungrier Gracie.
“Oh, thank God, I am so glad, Lolu!” I croak in a voice that breaks. “So glad she’s okay, that she will live and be healthy! Please give her—pass on to her—my best wishes to your mother—my regard—my—”
My love. . . .
I stumble to express what it is I’m feeling, that ocean rising. I don’t dare say it out loud.
We come apart finally and Lolu sniffles, wiping her face and nose, and my face is wet too, though I am holding back the flood of ugly bawling that is gathering to come out, any second. . . .
“I owe you everything,” Lolu says in broken, stilted words, and a hoarse voice. “My family, all of us owe you.”
“Oh, no, no, of course, you don’t, Lolu—you don’t owe me at all.” My own words stumble and I throw a look at Aeson who watches the two of us with silent compassion. “If anything, we must both thank my Imperial Lord Aeson.”
“Oh yes, I thank you, My Imperial Lord!” Lolu turns to him, then back to me. “But even as you say, I’m in your debt, and in all honor, I must now repay you, Imperial Lady Gwen, for without you none of it would be. So, command me, and I will do whatever you ask. Please, honorably accept my service and loyalty, since I have nothing else sufficient to repay you with.”
“Oh, Lolu, come on—I don’t know, seriously, it’s okay—You can repay me by being happy with your mother, just enjoying your time with her—”
Lolu shakes her head with a slow, proud, stilted motion. “Please. . . .” Her voice again cracks.
“Okay, Lolu,” I whisper, and this time rest my hand on her arm, squeezing it gently. “All right, I—accept your service. But please understand, I would much rather just have you as a friend.”
Half an hour later, Lolu leaves, after more stumbling expressions of gratitude, after we make arrangements to have her “work for me”—whatever that might mean—and after I promise to visit her and her family at a later time.
I am still visibly shaken, and remain standing for long moments, while my hands tremble. . . . Then I return to the living room with Aeson and try to drink my now ice-cold mug of lvikao.
“Where is Gracie?” I say at last, out of the blue.
“Your sister is already at work, at Fleet Headquarters, I believe,” Erita tells me.
“She’s fine,” Aeson says, pressing my fingers with his own. He watches me closely as I then try to take small bites of food with my still-shaking hands, and try to chew, not tasting any of it.
“Are you okay?” he asks after a while, and I nod.
I eat a few more bites, then give up. “I was hoping to call my Dad and George this morning, Aeson. Sorry to interrupt your work, but since it’s not a local call, I cannot use my wrist thingie.”
“Of course.”
Aeson gets up and I follow him out of the room once again, to the same main office private workroom on an upper floor with special deep space comm equipment, which requires a high-level SPC clearance to operate. There he enables a large display screen, enters his personal security codes, and connects us to the deck of the AS-1999 velo-cruiser, which at present is hurtling through space at impossible speeds, on its way toward us with my family members on board.
The dark screen comes alive after a few moments, and I see the familiar calm face of Pilot Quoni Enutat, silhouetted against a background of cream-colored hull panels of a Fleet ship’s softly-lit interior. He immediately salutes Aeson.
“Imperial Lord, Imperial Lady,” he says crisply to both of us.
“Nefero eos, daimon,” Aeson replies. “Or is it nefero niktos for you now?”
Quoni glances over h
is shoulder at some instrument panel off screen. “It’s eighth hour, thirty-nine daydreams, and thirteen heartbeats of Khe, so we’re well in the evening period. However, as you can see by the dimmed lights, I am conserving energy in order to maximize our velocity in the Quantum Stream.”
“And maintaining a temporal discrepancy,” Aeson remarks.
“Velocity calculation projections showed that it’s best to use Atlantean time units in combination with Earth UTC as our starting clock,” Quoni says. “It translates most accurately at the quantum-precision level into the optimal acceleration rate—on this end. Once we Jump, we’ll standardize on Atlantida Poseidon Time to match you.”
Aeson nods. “And how is that going? How are the VIP passengers?”
“Working out very well. Everything’s on schedule, and possibly ahead of schedule. We’re coming up on the Jump in two weeks and three days, maybe sooner.” Quoni makes a sound of amusement, but doesn’t quite smile—which I now remember is his usual brisk manner. “As for the passengers, they are well, and at the moment looking at some learning materials in their quarters. I’ve given them full library access to our cultural and linguistic archives.”
“Excellent,” Aeson says, then glances at me. “The Imperial Lady Gwen would like to talk with them now.”
“Of course. Let me get them.” And Quoni disappears from view.
I wait anxiously and count my own pulse beats pounding in my temples, until I see my brother George’s familiar, lean face take up the screen as he sits down and smiles at me. Next to him is my Dad, tired and gaunt, but immediately smiling also, as soon as he sees me.
“George! Dad!” I exclaim, sitting forward eagerly.
“My sweet girl, Gwen!” Dad says, moving in also. “What a wonder! We’re traveling in this little, super-fast ship through deep space! Unbelievable!”
“I know, Dad!” I chortle and nod, as simple joy wells up inside me. “I can’t believe that you’re going to be here soon!”
“Crazy, right?” George says, looking at me with amusement.
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