Vontaura

by James C. Dunn

  Wivartha left the room in six sudden strides, leaving Yux cold and undermined. He took his sister’s book back, placed it on his lap, and left it there. He thought carefully. He was High Lord, and could go wherever he wanted.

  Never mind where you want to go. Where do you need to go?

  He made his decision faster, and with less hesitation, than he thought he would. Upon his chair’s personal communication relay he brought up an image link to his private captain, now on board his sister’s old ship below Crilshar. He did not trust the one his uncle had made ready.

  ‘Captain,’ he said. ‘I am almost home.’

  ‘Shall I prepare the vessel, High Lord?’ his captain spoke.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Set coordinates for the Retani Peninsula.’

  He looked back down at the script upon his lap, no need for the dim light of the candle to make out what his sister had written:

  . . . Crilshar’s era as an enemy of the greater part of the Human Race is, as I see it, soon to be forgotten. Either we determine the future history of our species, or plunge into the legends and myths as a formidable, albeit lost, race of Man . . .

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THE SOUND OF thunder broke upon the council room. Dust and stone shards littered the meeting table around which five figures sat. In the chair’s seat, Adelaide Abacco covered her face, pursed her lips.

  ‘Here be called the first council of the Phantom Committee,’ spoke her commander, Balvyn-Rath, the only one on his feet. ‘Here you will decide the Fourth System’s fate.’ The commander was her most trusted aide, dutiful and reverent. It was because of him that so many of her people had escaped Enustine alive. Balvyn-Rath looked to his Empress; she nodded and he sat beside her.

  Upon Adelaide’s other side was the director of the Accentauriban Mining Guild, known only as Scargill. He was a kindly-looking gentleman, with a dark handlebar moustache and the best manners she had witnessed outside her court. He knew the mines of Ineri better than any other here. Director Scargill waited for her to signal, and he spoke, introducing the other three surviving leaders, also seeking refuge down among Ineri’s mines. There was Lady Jeelage of Proveria: a tall, harsh woman with not an ounce of sympathy dotted across her blemish-filled face.

  Kind-Prince Isil of Samos sat beside Lady Jeelage. Whilst fleeing Enustine, the Enusti exodus had received a distress beacon from a lone Samosian vessel. Adelaide found the providence to be somewhat droll. Of a Queendom where daughters were favoured and the males passed over for all reward and advancement, it was almost ironic that it was the Queen’s only son who had survived.

  The only other person in the room was the true stranger among friends. A single vessel had made the leap from Accentauria into Accentaurib, having eluded the advancing Crilshan fleet. Their leader was an admiral of the Mar-Andran Republican flotilla. The dishonour he must have felt gave Adelaide a small sense of satisfaction. Then again, he had not been the only leader to run and hide. This was the Phantom Committee. They were all cowards here.

  The Committee waited and watched her. ‘I give the floor to you,’ Scargill said, respectfully.

  Adelaide licked her lips. ‘Accentauria has surrendered completely. Samos and the Proverian territories have also. What remains of the leadership of the worlds of the Fourth System sit around this table. Crilshan and Proximan forces have spread to our remaining worlds.’

  ‘It over then,’ said Prince Isil in his broken dialect. ‘Nothing to do.’

  ‘No,’ Adelaide said. ‘There is nothing we can do but wait.’

  ‘Wait for what exactly?’ Lady Jeelage asked.

  ‘For somebody to do something. For a time when we can make use of our secrecy. But until then, this Phantom Committee will wait. Our time will come, I am sure. The Dishan cannot keep the entire Alignment under control. Power vacuums will emerge. Rivals will surface. That is why we will wait. It is this Committee’s mission to ensure the continued existence of the peoples of the Systemal Alignment, no matter where they be.’

  ‘No, no,’ spoke Lady Jeelage. ‘My commanders tell me otherwise. We think that we should attack while their forces are unconnected, broken up, and busy consolidating worlds.’

  ‘Our worlds,’ Prince Isil added.

  ‘Attack with what?’ Adelaide said.

  ‘With . . . With . . .’ Lady Jeelage looked down.

  ‘We could always leap back to Accentauria,’ said the deep-voiced Mar-Andran admiral. ‘They may not expect us to move closer to their base of power. Plus there are more worlds with more moons around my sun than yours.’

  ‘Yes,’ Prince Isil said.

  Lady Jeelage nodded.

  Scargill shook his head. ‘We are safe down here. Why risk such a rash repositioning? Thanks to our surrogate sun there are crops and food stores aplenty.’

  ‘I say we remain in the Fourth System, here, below Ineri,’ Adelaide said. ‘No matter what route we take leaping through to Accentauria, we would still be exposed once on the other side. Furthermore, we have no idea what condition the Third System is in, do we?’

  ‘That is correct, ma’am,’ said Balvyn-Rath.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Then we remain where we are, and wait for help to come to us.’

  The other Committee members shook their heads. They were in disagreement, but no one had a true answer. The group stood silently and left the room. Adelaide remained where she was and ushered her commander out.

  Who knew how long the Phantom Committee would last? Who knew how long it would be before they were discovered? Who knew how long their sanity would hold out?

  Adelaide Abacco looked at the empty table. Not empty. One body still sat there. ‘You are not real,’ she said to her husband.

  ‘You are right,’ the old emperor Abacco said with a smile. ‘I am dead. But not for you. For you I am always here.’

  ‘Leave me,’ she said, tears trailing down her white-painted face. ‘Leave me!’

  ‘You need me, my love.’

  ‘I need my sanity! I am surrounded by defeat, sat alone in a darkened room!’

  ‘Not alone.’

  ‘Hopeless! It’s all hopeless!’

  ‘I loved you, Adelaide. I still love you. Our sons love you.’

  She gazed down and placed her head in her hands.

  THIRTY-SIX

  AN ARMOURED GROUND vehicle passed along the street of Titan’s Central City. Road blocks lined with rows of Crilshan sentries authorized its passage. The vehicle trailed on and halted just past Central Tower, outside a shining pillar of stone and glowing glass. From the vehicle a number of Crilshans emerged – young and old, male and female – and began to make their way into the tower.

  Anna Berenguer stood looking out of her window at the moving crowd, swathed in silver from the surrogate sunset. It was the fourth arrival in three days. Each brought in around one-hundred Crilshan settlers. The occupation of Titan by Crilshar was now becoming permanent. There was no possibility, as far as Anna could see, of recapturing the Twelve Cities: they belonged to the people of Crilshar now, not simply the military. According to the daily statements presented by the Crilshan forces, two thousand of the Dark Race had arrived thus far. Callista said that many more would soon follow.

  The ground vehicle took off down the street as soon as it was empty. Anna watched it disappear and then moved up to her bedroom, lay down on her bed.

  The day was Thursday. It was the nineteenth of April. Six days since her return.

  Anna had been attempting to train with Callista for the past few days. If she could call it training. So far they had done nothing but sit silently in what had been her uncle’s bedroom, surrounded by bitter candles. Anna enjoyed being with Callista and allowing her thoughts to wander. She insisted that it was important to learn to relax and listen to that little voice in her head.

  But that same little voice fostered a dark thought; a desolation which grew as the days passed. The old woman’s guidance had no ef
fect, as Anna’s despair stemmed from her sister’s secret pregnancy, and the riddle of the message of the Accentaurian, lay hidden inside the cold vault beneath.

  Over the following weeks the Crilshan revolution came into effect. Total domination of Titan had begun. All insurgencies had been dealt with in severe form. From the fall of the Titanese Guard and their headquarters in the Martial City, daily announcements were relayed to the conquered populace – one of which announced:

  Crilshan people! Crilshans PURE!

  The strategic objectives in the Twelve Cities have been achieved. The following representatives of the Council of Titan have, as of this morning, been eliminated:

  Enrico Reveaux

  Arco de Guerra y Paz

  Anthea Godíno

  Pablo de Godoya

  Varsal de Patino

  When Anna read Anthea Godíno’s name she wept.

  Two days later the names of the captured and executed insurgents were sent to every single household. No price could be put on the demoralising effect the news would have on an already defeated world. There were dozens of names. Again, Anna fought back tears when she read the name of the old Vizor, Christi Guerrero – the man who had once been her tutor at the Institute. All military and ex-military personnel that did not swear an oath to Crilshar had also been shot.

  One week later and a further correspondence was broadcast. This time the hatred was aimed at otherworlders. Immigrants from captured or destroyed Alignment worlds were taken and ‘humanely’ disposed of.

  Anna sat all night reading the names with Callista beside.

  ‘What’s going on out there, Callista?’

  ‘I don’t like to imagine,’ she replied.

  ‘I hope Justus and his crew are all right.’

  ‘Forget about them, Anna. Focus on us. On your sister. On yourself. You can do nothing for them now.’

  Anna relented. Her mentor was right.

  The following week saw the arrival of the first Crilshan governors to Titan. Their changes were seen immediately. Following the dawn of the political arm of the Dishan, their first statement read:

  Crilshan people! Crilshans PURE!

  You are all aware of the reprehensible methods with which the IMPURE Titanese, both at home and abroad, have used to bring about hostility against the Crilshan people and High Lord Yux Dishan’s interstellar regime.

  The Alliance of the Four perpetrated genocide in the failed Invasion of Crilshar. If we do not desire to renounce our heritage and descend into deeper desolation, we MUST defend ourselves.

  We therefore request you to heed the plea of our High Lord, the Crilshan people’s commander,

  For a rejection of all Titanese custom and birthright

  And demand the full resistance of each Crilshan in this defensive act.

  Do not buy Titanese goods!

  Do not use Titanese services!

  And maintain the harshest regulation. Do not even touch the hair on a Titanese head.

  The rejection begins this morning at dawn.

  From now, we will inspect and watch to make certain that the rejection is closely adhered to. They who try to flout the rejection will be considered an enemy of the Crilshan people.

  On the morning of Ikranat at dawn at the Dome of Command and the court outside there will be an open REJECTION MEETING.

  Come in your masses and demonstrate to these impure lot that you rise with the Crilshan people.

  Signed,

  The Titanese governing group of the Proximan-Crilshan domination of Titan.

  From then on groups of Crilshans, newly arrived from Proxima, stood outside Titanese shops and homes and companies throughout the Twelve Cities, and set upon any Titanese they came across.

  The Berenguers were held hostage in their home, prevented from leaving, but the rest of Titan attempted to go about their daily duties, struggling through an occupied homeland.

  Murder became an everyday happening. No charges were brought to any Crilshan found committing.

  Worse news still arrived the following week. The usual daily inspection of the apartment was followed by some alarming news. There was hardly a person on Titan that had not heard of the Pure Gene. Upon Crilshar the Pure Gene procedure had been used for some two centuries, and it remained not only a crucial part of any pregnancy, enshrined in Crilshan law, but a point of pride and honour for all.

  Uncle Ruben always said to Anna: ‘You aren’t Crilshan unless you have had the Pure Gene.’

  Callista entered Anna’s room after the inspection and placed a sheet of paper on the bed. Anna moved across from her desk and, in reading what it said, her heart stopped.

  Crilshan people! Crilshans PURE!

  As of today all Titanese expecting mothers and newborn babies will receive the Pure Gene procedure.

  There is no choice in this matter. The Pure Gene will be taken voluntarily or else administered by force. Anyone found to be hiding a pregnancy or a newborn will receive the Pure Gene and the child will be removed.

  Both Anna and Callista decided not to tell Gílana the news. Thankfully none of their Crilshan overlords knew of Gílana’s pregnancy. Nevertheless they warned her younger sister of the measures they needed to take in order to keep it a secret. It was currently not a problem, but very soon it would become obvious. And having the baby born Crilshan was something none were willing to allow.

  They discussed finding ways of leaving Titan. But with the three under house arrest, the other survivors of Erebus locked up, and four thousand Crilshan soldiers marching the streets of the Twelve Cities, such a plan, they quickly realised, would be nothing short of impossible.

  And if all that was not enough to cause a nervous breakdown, the message from the mysterious Accentaurian echoed through Anna’s head every waking second of every long, arduous day. At night, when everyone was asleep, she would slip down to her uncle’s hidden vault and listen to the recording many times over, searching her mind for new questions to ask. But no matter how she phrased her replies or which way she directed them, she was never rewarded with any useful information other than ‘You know . . .’

  She attempted to search her uncle’s data files on the Accentaurian, hoping to discover something about the name, but, being connected to the Command Dome and its archives, she found that all the data had been erased. There was nothing. No history. She had never felt more alone.

  The night after the news arrived of the soon-to-be-enforced Pure Gene, Anna went down to the vault, having thought up a new question while sitting in candlelight listening to Callista whisper her peculiar chants earlier that day.

  She closed the vault door behind her, initiated the Accentaurian’s recorded message, and sat down at the table. The Accentaurian began the message from the beginning, but Anna stopped it. The green and blue world hung suspended before her, silently, like a ball above a shaft of focused air.

  ‘Antal,’ she said, ‘is that you?’

  Silence.

  ‘Antal Justus, is it you? Are you the Accentaurian?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am the Accentaurian, and I am waiting for you—’

  ‘I know!’

  Anna stood, picked up a metal cylinder from the table edge, and threw it across the room. It collided with the far control panel, smashing a screen and littering the board with sparks. A loud groan filled the room. Anna held her breath. She felt the ground vibrate, and the wall beside her shifted. It moved aside to reveal a second, hidden corridor.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  CALLISTA SAT ON her bed, watching Anna knelt upon the ground, legs crossed and eyes closed. It was morning, the first of May. Eighteen days since they had arrived back within the Twelve Cities.

  Anna was already looking thin. All three of them were hungry most of the time. Supplies were brought in each week – but never enough – and Anna always opted to have less so that she and Gílana could have a little more.

  The sound of snoring came from Callista�
�s student.

  ‘Anna? Anna, are you asleep?’

  ‘Huh?’ She jumped awake.

  ‘You were sleeping.’

  ‘I’m . . .’ She yawned. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Didn’t you sleep last night?’

  ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘I heard you moving about. What were you doing?’

  ‘I tried to sleep. I stayed downstairs.’

  ‘Don’t do that again. I want you to stay with your sister at night.’

  Anna hung her head. ‘Sure.’

  ‘I mean it.’

  ‘I know you do! Stop telling me what I have to do. I know!’

  Callista tilted her head. ‘Take a deep breath, Anna.’

  She did, and another, and almost fell asleep again. ‘My training isn’t going well, is it, Callista?’ she said, shaking her head back and forth.

  Callista shook her head. ‘Nothing has changed. I was in no doubt that you had been touched by Peter. Now I am unsure as to whether that is the case.’

  ‘You don’t think I have an echo?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever come across this situation. I was so certain you’d been touched. But you have no echo.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Give me your hand, Anna.’

  Anna reached out and Callista rolled up her sleeve. However, she hadn’t prepared herself for what was underneath. The black bracelet throbbed around her right wrist, dark veins stretching through to her hand and upper arm. ‘Anna!’ Her tone was harsh, worried. ‘This is worse than ever. Does it not hurt?’

  ‘It’s numb. I can’t feel anything.’

  ‘Look at it. This isn’t right.’

  ‘I know, but what can I do?’

  She stroked the girl’s wrist and hand, then allowed her pointed nails to score the veined skin. There was no groove, no serration, no way of removing whatever in that hellhole she had placed upon herself. She dug her nail in deep and felt a jolt of energy fill her hand. She wrenched it back, a tingle itching across her palm.