Survive

by Vera Nazarian

  I nod. “It’s been a very long, very amazing day.”

  “Before I forget,” Aeson mentions tiredly. “The most recent SPC reports show that not only has the Ghost Moon caused a variety of weather anomalies, but it has disrupted the orbits of the other moons in the Atlantis system. Pegasus now has an even greater orbital wobble. And Atlantis itself has shifted slightly on its axis of rotation.”

  “Lovely,” I say with a pang of worry. “How much of a problem is that going to be?”

  “Too early to tell,” my husband says, letting out a tensely held breath.

  “Then let’s not think about it,” I say. “At least for tonight.”

  The following day, Red Amrevet 16, is spent waiting for more news on the sarcophagus—while weather tech agencies battle the bad weather around the planet and SPC teams continue to explore the spacecraft-littered surface of the Ghost Moon.

  Aeson divides his time between the workroom and meetings with the Imperator, Shirahtet, and several of the Imperial inner circle. He also deals with constant incoming calls from the IEC members and from foreign heads of state. The international community deserves to know as soon as possible what is contained within and whether it can help our situation. Whatever is to be made public is being decided right now.

  All this time, various antiquities and linguistics experts scan and digitize the miniature scrolls inside each jewel, followed by transcription and translation. Meanwhile, other scientists subject the ancient female body encased in Pegasus Blood to non-invasive DNA analysis in order to verify her Kassiopei lineage.

  “The woman is a DNA match and is indeed Kassiopei,” we are told in one summary report.

  Meanwhile, another report, this time from a linguist, brings curious news. Aeson comes by to deliver it himself, as we have dea meal together.

  “They’ve now digitized all of the pages of The Book of Everything,” Aeson tells us. “Put them in meaningful order, as best as possible. They will have the final translations transmitted to my Father and the rest of us in a few hours. Preliminary analysis of the contents is both surprising and makes perfect sense. In short—The Book of Everything is a diary. Namely, it is the diary of a young Imperial Princess who calls herself Arleana, Starlight Sorceress, and who is, by all evidence, the same person as Arlenari Kassiopei.”

  “A diary? That’s an incredible discovery,” my Dad says.

  “What makes it more stunning is that there are no historical records of this Arlenari Kassiopei in any of our historical texts and indexes. Not a single mention—not even within our most canonic secret Archives. And yet, based on the accounts in the diary, she is often front and center in many of the well-known historical events she describes.”

  “It could be that she was erased from history,” my Dad says thoughtfully. “Such unfortunate things do happen. It is not uncommon to find names stricken from monuments—portrait likenesses of faces painted over, carved away or broken, statues defaced, and records expunged, all throughout known history on Earth. New rulers would come in and erase their predecessors. New religions would erase the old ones. On and on, endless reasons.”

  “How awful,” I say, feeling a sudden deep pain and regret on behalf of the ancient girl.

  Aeson looks at me and the expression in his eyes reflects my own feelings. “Based on the diary entries, this young girl was one of the original settlers—actually born on Earth, she fled from Earth to the colony planet Atlantis with fellow members of the Imperial Family, in the original batch of refugees on the ark-ships. The account covers her journey and the first few years after the Landing and the establishing of the Original Colony on Imperial Atlantida. It also covers her observations about the events on Earth that resulted in the Atlantean exodus. According to the expert translator, she was a witness to some incredible key events—”

  “Well, that would certainly do it,” Dad puts in. “If she knew too much, she could have been a problem, and therefore had to be eliminated.”

  “She was more than a witness,” Aeson says. “She was a participant. Indeed, the translator mentions that the diary contains evidence that she was the perpetrator of some things that resulted in the ancient exodus in the first place.”

  That last statement gets everyone’s attention.

  “As you can imagine,” Aeson says, “because of this one detail, My Imperial Father has ordered the translation process to be expedited.”

  “So many mysteries . . .” I say. “I can’t wait to read this diary myself.”

  “Yes,” Aeson says. “I suspect this diary is going to change everything.”

  “Precisely what a Book of Everything should do,” George says from the sofa with a hint of a smile.

  It is late afternoon when the final digital scans and modern Atlanteo translations are made available for the Imperator and the rest of us to examine. The files arrive in a high-clearance-only, secure, indexed database, and Aeson gives my Dad additional access to view everything.

  We pull up the database on a large hovering screen in Dad and George’s guest quarters. And by “we” I mean Aeson, myself and my entire family including Gracie who dropped by in-between her Fleet duties, plus Manala who has hardly left our side, ever since the events of the astroctadra alignment.

  The opened file displays the original scanned image on the left and the contemporary translation on the right. It’s amazing to see the strange, ancient characters and pictographs in wispy, uneven handwriting, inscribed in ink upon some kind of parchment-like writing surface. Their meaning is made clear to us in the translated version, and we decipher it together—with Aeson there to help when something is unclear in Atlanteo.

  Each page is a single diary entry, many extremely short, others filling up the whole scroll in tiny script. The entries are not daily, often skipping days, weeks, even months. The tone, the sentences, are an odd mixture of precocious wisdom and immaturity, teenage angst, stunning factual reporting, and biting commentary. They reveal high intelligence and compassion, humor and pathos—and intense loneliness.

  We read, flip pages, jump back and forward in chronology. . . .

  A remarkable account greets us.

  Day One. Or maybe, Day One Thousand in my Book of Everything.

  I decided today is a day when I begin writing the events of my life in this enforced upcoming journey from our home to an alien world. First, my name. I am Arleana.

  Arleana. Arleana. Arleana.

  They might call me by that other name, but now you know my true name. I am she who is the Starlight Sorceress.

  I am Arleana.

  And Everything is my fault.

  I look away from the screen and glance at Aeson and at my Dad, my siblings. Their expressions are focused and serious. I resume reading.

  We have to leave the planet because my Imperial Father believes there is no other way. They will not let us continue being what we are, and we must continue being ourselves—or so my Imperial Mother believes.

  They are relentless.

  But everyone else on Atlantida is too. I’ve given them my answer, showed the right way to do it, but it is not to their liking.

  They do not like my way with Starlight.

  They would much rather use brute force and rip the universe apart.

  “Okay, hold it right there.” Gracie points to a sentence. “Why is this word ‘they’ highlighted in some places but not in others?”

  “Good catch, Gee Four,” I say. “My guess is, ‘they’ might refer to different ‘they’ entities.”

  “The highlight might refer to our ancient alien enemy,” Aeson says after a thoughtful pause.

  We are told to prepare for a journey of two years. That many days before we reach the so-called habitable planet, even with the Stream and the Jump. Oron says it will probably take much longer. He is usually right when it comes to counts and numbers. But I am usually right when it comes to songs and stars.

  “Who is Oron?” Gracie mumbles. Gracie wasn’t here when the astroctadra missi
on events were happening yesterday so she has more questions than the rest of us. Fortunately, this question is a useful one.

  “If I recall correctly,” Dad says, “the name and designation cartouche on her sarcophagus mentioned Oron as her brother.”

  Aeson shakes his head. “Yes, apparently he’s another Kassiopei ancestor I’ve never heard of. I’ve had to memorize the Divine Lineage Tree from childhood, especially the members of the Kassiopei Dynasty at the time of Landing. Very frustrating to find out there are gaps in my knowledge of something so basic. Or, I should say, our knowledge, since no one else seems to know him either.”

  Mother says I cannot take the animals with me. Now that animals are forbidden for food consumption by their decree, it will serve to upset the others on the Ark. If other passengers see my creature companions, they will think my Family is exercising Imperial Privileges in excess. Mother says the others will never believe my animal friends are not intended as food. And that can be dangerous for the Family.

  Oron says the Ark will have a great selection of live Earth beasts and animal DNA going with us to our new world. He thinks I will not miss my own stupid pets. Oron is wrong.

  And they are right. They have always been right.

  I am glad for the reinstatement of this primeval taboo, glad that humans are not permitted to consume the living bodies of other complex life forms. Narmeradat thinks I am crazy. He cannot wait until we are free of them so that we may eat meat again. I think Narmeradat is cruel.

  “Okay . . . this begins to explain the vegetarian society of Atlantis. Still unclear as to why,” George muses. “And Narmeradat is the other brother mentioned on her name cartouche.”

  “Narmeradat is a name I am familiar with,” Aeson says. “Indeed, he is well known to all, a prominent historical figure. He was the first Imperator to ascend to the Throne after Landing, following the death of Churu. But our records claim he was the only son of Churu and Merneit, with no other siblings.”

  We leave in three days, and Oron still refuses to believe it will happen. He is certain the asteroid will strike the Rift exactly as intended and we will all perish even as the dimensional fabric is repaired. My Family and our Allies believe we can get away with a different result.

  This time, the plan is subtle.

  Let the asteroid strike. But divert it microscopically. Then, hide the Rift, and us with it.

  The course correction program has been set in motion already. It will transmit the new coordinates from within the Moon’s grand resonance chamber. . . .

  “Whoa! Wait!” Gordie exclaims. “Our Moon? The Earth Moon has a resonance chamber?”

  George shakes his head. “You know, that makes crazy sense. I remember reading something weird about moonquakes and measured seismic activity in the 1970s after that first Apollo Moon Landing. Some piece of the Apollo spacecraft was allowed to fall away and crash on the surface and that’s when the Moon rang like a bell for close to an hour. That implies to me: hollow on the inside, with a resonance chamber.”

  To fool them, we will allow the asteroid to hit Earth, but at slightly different coordinates, assuring the sealing strike is ineffective and the Rift remains open. During the turbulence and global destruction, the Great Shield will go up to disguise the intact Rift from them and the rest of the universe—for as long as we maintain it.

  While all this happens, we use the Rift in secret to flee to the stars.

  To that end, my Family and their Allies—their allies, not mine—will take the pegasei beings with us, ensuring the bond of entanglement will always exist, between here and there.

  Nothing will be able to close the Rift then.

  It will remain, shielded, untamed, violent. Ready for our needs.

  Such is the subtle plan.

  Such a tragic plan.

  If only My Family chose my way of Starlight.

  Again, I look away, this time to see Aeson frowning. “The details are starting to come together,” he says, seeing my gaze. “This explains the pegasei regularly emerging from the Great Quantum Shield at Ae-Leiterra. They are entangled with others of their kind across the universe, between here and there. They are keeping the rift open.”

  We continue reading the entries in Arlenari’s diary, transfixed. She describes that fateful Impact Day and the clever escape the Ancient Atlantean Fleet makes, using the very rift which they preserve. Apparently, their subtlety works.

  Then, there are days of the journey, long, stressful, filled with shipboard faction politics and quantum Jumps to make sure no one is following. Two years elapse, easily.

  And then, they arrive.

  They come to the colony planet, and Atlantean history begins.

  We are here, and I must look back and remember those bright first days. We sat in orbit, while the lesser ships descended to explore the surface. The scout ships crossed the beautiful sphere of our new home, in search of landing sites.

  They found a globe-spanning single ocean, a water belt separating the planet into two land masses. The upper continent, with a perfect great gulf, was chosen as an ideal spot to build the first Kassiopei settlement. So was the lower one, a continent with a smaller gulf, perfect for the needs of Family Heru, and exactly far enough away.

  They also found great mountain ranges. And the Logos Voices began their work.

  They sheared the tops off the mountain ranges on the Upper Continent, and called it the Great Nacarat Plateau. They also carved off the mountaintops on Heru’s Lower Continent to make a similar plateau, calling it Iru-Mer Hesep. . . .

  And then we landed, in two great factions—Kassiopei first, Heru a close second—choosing those plateaus to make our first unassailable strongholds while we built proper cities and settlements on the plains below.

  “Wow,” I say in amazement. “The Great Nacarat Plateau is artificial!”

  “And that other one in New Deshret! And they used Logos voices to make them both!” Gracie adds.

  Soon after Landing, the Long Sickness began. Nearly everyone was already sickened from the space travel, but now, in this higher gravity world, the long-term effects became obvious.

  We know now that it was the multiple Jumps causing the Sickness. And it only affected the grown adults, the old, and the very young—those with lower or diminished hormonal levels. All the adult servants, guards, artisans, concubines, slaves were incapacitated—physically and mentally. They began dying. Even the noble families were dying from degenerative disease. Physicians were useless, because they were dying too.

  Only the teenagers with their hormones at the strongest levels were healthy.

  Also, the Kassiopei.

  My Family reveled in their divine blood, remaining strong and unaffected while everyone else around them was failing. . . . Guilt fills me even now.

  Heru fared almost equally well, but even they had some illnesses and deaths.

  Now that the workforce was so diminished, it became necessary to make these regrettable social changes that gave all power to the young.

  Since the teenagers were unaffected, we put them to work.

  First, clever aptitude tests were given to everyone. They weeded out the infirm, leaving only the healthy, primarily teenagers.

  To determine career placement based on their abilities, talents, and hidden strengths—and to make sure they were able-bodied enough and responsible enough to perform adult work—the tests looked at ten categories.

  Warrior, physical laborer, technician, scientist, animal handler, entertainer, artist, inventor, merchant, vocalist.

  The tests were held nearly every season in order to re-evaluate and choose the best workers of sound mind and body out of a chronically ailing population that continued to decline—as new cases of the Long Sickness were diagnosed, even though this happened less frequently as time went on.

  To quote the official test guidelines, “until the population is deemed to be sufficiently stable,” they selected for “individuals capable of making hard decisions, casting
reasonable votes as far as courses of action and general rules and common laws, rational problem assessment and wise choices under technical and specific circumstances, and the ability to shape the direction of human society.”

  These tests took place so often, with their main objectives so cleverly disguised, that many began to think of them as games.

  Dreadful, silly things.

  But so necessary.

  Chapter 83

  “The Games of the Atlantis Grail!” Gracie exclaims.

  Oh, my God! I think. Those damn Games started out as career placement tests!

  To quote Brie Walton, holy crap on a stick!

  “Oh, the irony,” George says, looking at me. “Just think, Gee Two, you had to go to another planet just so you could take another brutal ancient test. Because the SATs just weren’t enough.”

  “Oh, hush, George,” I say.

  For several long moments we all contemplate this eye-opening information. And then we continue reading.

  After nearly three years of silence, I will say his name.

  Oron.

  Oron, Oron, Oron.

  I have been obedient, even in my thoughts—the conscious ones that I can control, not those other stray creature ones that come upon you in dreams. I have been silent long enough—almost for three years, even here in my secret place—but no more.

  Since no one will ever see this Book of Everything, no one held me back here, only my own pride.

  I permit myself at last.

  Oron.

  I miss him every moment I am awake, and often he comes to me in dreams. Not surprising, since our bond is a twin bond, and it is the strongest bond between two souls.

  Oron’s name has been forbidden. Oron’s existence has been forgotten. Even by invoking his name now I commit a high crime against the Imperial Kassiopei.