Sometimes Mother almost forgets and begins to speak his name. But then she shuts down and pretends otherwise, and continues with her handiwork, before Father or Narmeradat can overhear.
Oron.
Why did you stay behind, Oron? Why did you leave me alone to go on this dismal forever-journey without you?
Sometimes, in the moments between dreams and waking, I can sense you across the universe.
I feel your life force, your unique ember of being. I know you still live, even though you were certain you would die along with the others. You fully prepared to perish in the moments of Earth’s fiery apocalypse.
And yet, somehow, you live.
You must know I live too.
Until the moment one of us dies, the other will always know.
We are entangled.
Like the pegasei.
“All right, this is getting very weird and sad,” Gracie remarks.
“Agreed,” Gordie says with a frown.
Manala says nothing but has a stricken expression on her face and her hands are clenched in her lap. In that moment George watches her seriously and exchanges concerned looks with my Dad.
I glance at Aeson, and he is submerged in thought, staring at the screen with an intense, unmoving gaze—which tells me he is not reading but concentrating on what has been revealed.
He notices my attention on him and says, “There is something here, Gwen. I think this painful entry has revealed another aspect of a possible solution for us.”
“What do you mean?”
Aeson glances at the others briefly before meeting my gaze. “The notion of pegasei keeping the rift open has resonated with me. And now—the additional notion of these ancient twins, brother and sister, separated across the universe, one having gone through the rift, the other staying behind—I think it may be somehow connected to the solution also. How—I don’t yet know.”
“Can someone please explain to me about these pegasei?” Dad asks. “What exactly are we talking about?”
“They are quantum trans-dimensional life forms, Daddy.” Gracie hurries to explain what she and the public knows from watching the Games.
Dad’s brows go up.
“Really amazing shape-shifting balls of energy,” Gordie adds. “They can turn into all kinds of creatures. I guess, they really like to turn into the mythical Earth Pegasus, the winged horse. Hence, the name.”
They are sentient, I want to blurt out. They don’t just turn into the Pegasus. They created the construct of a winged horse from picking the minds of ancient humans.
How much longer can I say nothing and uphold my promise to Arion to keep their species secret?
But Aeson flips the screen to the next diary entry, and we continue reading. After a long sequence of unremarkable entries of daily routine, spanning several months, there is this one:
My star window has been installed, to my specifications. Now I can look at the nameless moons when they line up and mark the intervals before Naming Day. My Father and the others have grown tired of referring to the moons by coordinates. Some pilots call them Largest, Quickest, Tiny, and Far, which is unseemly.
There will be a Naming Day and it will coincide with the day they disassemble the great Vimana and bury most of it in the ground, since it will not be silenced.
The ship sings, bound to the Rift, and its frequency will forever be a match for their golden light ships. It was bound by the song of the Rift and it will not be silenced until the song itself ends.
My Family, together with Heru and all the rest, plan to shield it the same way they shielded the Rim of the great black hole, connecting the quantum fields together into one greater whole, for combined strength.
The Great Quantum Shield will now hold Vimana and her song, in addition to everything else.
We will have to maintain it indefinitely.
A risk-filled, uncertain endeavor, unto the ages.
Even now, they will not give up the Rift, born of reckless technology, in favor of Starlight.
We’re interrupted when the Imperator calls Aeson’s wrist comm. Aeson stands up and talks to his Father while pacing before the sofa, no longer bothering to step aside for privacy.
“Yes, I’m still reading it,” he says in a cool voice. “Give me another hour, we will meet then. And no, the others are still reading also, and I want to have them there for the meeting. No, I understand, my Father, but as the SPC Commander, I insist. This situation has grown so far beyond any bounds of national secrecy that constraining discussion or holding back details will only undermine us. As you say, we have no time to waste before Tammuz. . . . You know it’s coming.”
Aeson disconnects the call and sits down again with us. “Let’s continue,” he says calmly.
There’s a bird outside my star window, warming itself in the terrible light of Hel. It’s a big bird with a long beak, and neatly folded grey feathers. I’ve seen it many times now, looking back at me, jumping from branch to branch, far beyond the balcony.
Sometimes I think it’s clever and it knows something. At other times I think it’s too stupid to survive, since it cannot seem to catch a single scarab beetle of the many that crawl in the pots full of dirt. Did we bring the bird and its species with us from Earth? It seems to be awkward, as though it has some trouble flying in this gravity. I am certain we brought those scarab beetles.
Today, when the bird hopped on the railing across from me, I started to sing to it.
It stopped to listen. I think it likes my voice.
And why not? Stars do.
Dad laughs softly. “What an unusual, interesting girl,” he says. “Quite endearingly confident in her abilities. I’m still unclear yet very intrigued by what she means. . . . That whole ‘star’ and ‘starlight’ preoccupation. Is it some kind of poetic metaphor or traditional motif, do you think—Aeson?”
“Amre-ter Charles?” Aeson turns to my Dad. “Apologies, I don’t know. It is not familiar in any way. We have the myths of the Starlight Sorceress, but there’s never been any explanation beyond a children’s story, with no particular origins. Although—now that I come to think of it, there was something about a bird with a long beak and a scarab in the myth. . . .”
“Let’s then continue and see if it explains itself,” Dad says with a smile.
I put out a bowl of grains for the silly bird. I hope it comes back again. I would much rather talk to it than to Mother and that ridiculous boy they want me to marry. Enhuvarat is Narmeradat’s ally and I have no doubt he will eventually be related to Kassiopei in one way or another, but it will not be through me.
Let him marry the bird.
And then the next entries in the diary:
The bird is back. There’s also a lizard crawling on the railing. Strange, but they both seem to be looking at me.
Is that an Earth lizard?
* * *
Today I sang to the bird and the lizard. Both of them seem to live outside my window.
I sang songs and then just sang mindless nonsense full of random notes and sequences to see how they would react. Not sure why, but it seems important.
When I sing certain notes, they almost seem to follow me with their eyes. Meanwhile, I feel a strange buzzing in my forehead.
* * *
Everything is different now.
Pegasei.
I’ve stumbled on a frequency that opened me and broke me, and now I know.
I know Everything.
There’s a river flowing through my mind, and with it, the awareness of the great timeless beings of sentience.
What have we done?
We enslaved them, when they are like gods.
They could be our gods, our past and future, our fate and source and mirror.
What are gods?
Pegasei.
He/she who is Bird let me look inside them.
He/she who is Lizard helped me look inside myself.
“Stop! That’s enough. . . . Let’s just stop,” Aeson says
suddenly in a resonant voice as he scans this particular entry. He sits up straight with a strange expression and glances at me and the rest of us.
My family, Manala, everyone is staring in some confusion. They don’t know what to make of what they’ve just read. They also don’t know what to make of Aeson’s unusual outburst.
As for me, my mouth has parted.
The trans-dimensional quantum cat’s out of the bag, so to speak. Ancient words of a long-dead girl have just revealed the truth about pegasei and their true nature.
Arion cannot fault me now for what I’m about to do. . . .
“Aeson . . .” I say, while my heart has begun pounding with stress and urgency and the inevitability of my actions.
But Aeson is there first. “Gwen,” he says, putting up his hand to prevent me from continuing.
However, it’s Gracie who interrupts us both. “Oh, my God!” my sister exclaims. “Does that mean the pegasei are sentient aliens and not just cute rainbow animals? It’s saying they’re gods!”
“Oh, no . . .” Gordie mumbles. “Ah, crap . . . that’s bad.”
“No, that’s not merely bad,” George says, leaning forward with a grim expression. “Slavery, or trafficking of human or other sentient beings is both unethical and criminal.”
Manala makes a little sound and puts both her hands over her mouth, and just stares at all of us with very widened eyes.
“Did any of you—did anyone know this?” Dad asks with a sigh. “The fact that these so-called pegasei could be fully sentient, alien beings, being held and used by human beings against their will?”
There is a pause.
And then. . . .
“Yes,” three of us say at the same time.
Aeson, Manala, and I.
The moment we utter the same word, we freeze. Then each one of us turns to look in disbelief at the others.
Surreal moment. . . .
Aeson is looking at me with a piercing stare, a world of intensity contained in his gaze. His lips part in wonder.
I, in the meantime, look back at im amrevu with eyes as wide as Manala’s.
Speaking of whom, Manala continues to hold her mouth, and she looks absolutely terrified, but also weirdly relieved.
“Aeson?” I ask. “What do you know?”
“Gwen,” he says. “I am—what is it that you know?”
I take a big breath. “During the Games,” I say. “Something happened to me. When we were given the pegasei to work with, I—sang to my pegasus and accidentally discovered a—certain frequency. . . . The same thing that Arlenari writes about seems to have happened to me. Except—I promised not to speak, never to speak of it to anyone, never to reveal their true nature, in order to keep the pegasei safe. . . . Until now.”
“Oh, Gwen. . . .” Aeson lets out a held breath of his own. “Gwen, I am both amazed and glad that you know. Though, knowing you, I should never be amazed by anything about you. It’s your nature to be the one closest to the miracles. . . . As for myself—you know the story of how I died and was brought back. What I didn’t tell you—for the same reasons of having made a promise to the pegasei—was that when they brought me back from the brink of being gone, they opened my mind to their stream. It was the only way they could save me. They enveloped me in their immense consciousness, a great quantum stream of being, and they carried my broken body and fading spirit in a warm cocoon of safety, healing me in every sense.”
“Oh . . . God,” I whisper, my voice cracking as I look at him. Tears start pooling in the corners of my eyes, spilling past the corners to fill and overflow the lids, until they are brimming with thick relentless moisture, and I can hardly see. “So . . . you know.”
He nods. “I do.”
I blink, and the tears overflow to my cheeks, and I can see again.
In that moment, a stifled little sob issues forth from Manala. Both of us now turn to her.
“Manala?” I ask gently. “Did you too experience the pegasei?”
But the Princess shakes her head, over and over. “No, no,” she manages to say eventually. “I—I only guessed. I knew in my heart, but—I had no words. But now I have proof that it is so. The pegasei are glorious and real and so much better than us.”
“This is stunning and very disturbing,” George says.
“So, knowing all this, what’s to be done now?” my Dad asks all of us, looking in our faces meaningfully.
“I think the answer is simple,” I say. “The pegasei must be set free.”
“The only ethical choice.” Dad nods. “I expect it will not be easy for this society, and there will be obstacles. But it must be done.”
“Yes—and without delay. It must be done for multiple reasons, for their sake and ours,” Aeson says in a decisive tone, standing up.
We’re not done reading the diary entries, but at this point the urgency of this realization must be addressed.
“Aeson,” I say, standing up also. “Are you going to see your Father now? Before you go, I want to explain to you about the special sound frequency. . . . Maybe I should demonstrate—”
Suddenly, I want to call Arion here. . . .
I must call Arion.
“Actually, we’re all going,” Aeson says, taking my icy hand in his warm one with a reassuring squeeze. “This is going to involve all of us eventually, and there is so much to discuss. Think of it as an extended Kassiopei Family matter.”
Chapter 84
The Imperator is already waiting for us when we arrive in the Imperial Quarters. Actually, it looks like all his inner circle and half of the Imperial Executive Council is here, and additional chairs have been brought in. For that reason, the meeting is held in the grand antechamber to accommodate everyone instead of piling us into the mid-sized Red Office. There are so many people gathered in the chamber that it could be a minor Assembly.
Romhutat Kassiopei sits carelessly on the main Imperial Throne along the back wall with its row of Imperial Seats. He has one leg up over the other and is not wearing the long robe of state, only his casual pants and jacket, as though he’d forgotten protocol. His hands are lying on the armrests and he’s drumming his fingers upon them.
The moment Aeson and I enter, closely followed by Manala and my family, the Imperator gives us a hard stare and motions for us to approach.
“Quickly, quickly!” he says with annoyance, waving with one hand to Aeson toward the empty throne seats next to him. “We have a number of our illustrious neighbors with us today, and my Son the SPC Commander and Imperial Crown Prince of Kassiopei must serve in his dual capacity. Sit! And do bring your Wife up here! The rest of her relations will remain below. Manala, my Daughter, you will also sit here at my side, come!”
Aeson and I quickly exchange glances then look at my Dad and siblings. After a moment of pause, Dad nods calmly to me and walks to the nearest unoccupied chair near the wall. George, Gracie, and Gordie surround him. Remaining to stand alongside me, Manala looks on nervously.
Next, Aeson and I step upon the dais and ascend to the Imperial Seats, with Manala following in resignation. Aeson sits at his Father’s right hand, and I sit at Aeson’s right, while Manala goes around and sits on the Imperator’s left.
Since I wasn’t expecting to have this kind of formality today, I’m slightly uncomfortable being elevated over the others in the room on the upraised seats. Everyone’s attention is upon us, and there I am, with messy hair and wearing extremely casual clothing—not that it matters, considering how the Imperator himself is attired. In contrast, when it comes to appearance, the Imperial children Aeson and Manala are always paragons of court-ready neatness, so at least they have nothing to worry about.
I quickly forget these nonsense details because now I notice about a dozen small hovering smart screens nearby. They are levitating in the air at our Imperial eye level, in a kind of semi-circle. Each of the screens shows a video live feed of a person watching the proceedings—most are close-ups from the neck up or from behind desks
or other formal office settings.
The individuals appear both impressive and familiar. At once I recognize the fair-skinned, hawkish elegance of Kephasa Sewu, the Oratorat of Eos-Heket. Then I see the now-familiar, dark brown face of Anen Qur, First Speaker of the Ennead of Ubasti, and realize . . . these are all heads of state. So that’s what the Imperator meant by “illustrious neighbors.”
“Is everyone present now? Or must we wait until the oldest of us begin to depart this mortal realm, starting with me?” a loud, quavering male voice utters, speaking Atlanteo with a thick accent. “Let’s start this business, Kassiopei!”
The speaker is none other than Areviktet Heru, the Pharikon of New Deshret. His wizened face, the color of baked clay, fills the hovering screen on the other side of the Imperator, right next to Manala, so I notice him only now.
Romhutat Kassiopei turns his head to glare at the little screen floating in the air. “Patience, Heru. We are almost ready to begin.”
“Good,” says another loud voice, this time coming out of another floating screen nearer my side. “You know that we’re experiencing unprecedented flooding from the Gagik Sea that has advanced far inland, sweeping the Khe Polar territory of Ptahleon. I would like to get back to dealing with the national crisis.”
I turn at once to see the pale parchment face of an older man with composed, intelligent features in a screen next to me. Inevar Arelik, the Rai of Ptahleon, is in his usual dignified setting, leaning forward slightly, with his elbows resting on a desk, a digital tablet at his fingertips.
“Rai Arelik, I am aware of your national plight,” the Imperator says. “What we must discuss transcends your local concerns.”
“Local concerns? Are you diminishing the severity of our current emergency status, Imperator?” Rai Arelik is still speaking with composure but with an added edge. “I realize the infernal moon has disrupted the whole planetary system and everyone gets to pay the price, but those tidal waves are obliterating our landmass first, our shorelines! Do you think that this storm surge—or some other consequences—will not come to affect you eventually? Even as you are safely ensconced above sea level on your upper elevations in Imperial Atlantida, even with your high-end weather tech?”
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