The Father Unbound

by Frank Kennedy

  “The legend of the falls,” Henrik continued, “is that they silence even the most cynical man. He sees the truth of his insignificance and dares not speak of it. Those who leave quietly undergo a profound transformation. The few who cannot accept this truth give themselves to the abyss. Many Asiatics who know this legend refuse to come to Ularu and face themselves. When you stood along these cliffs almost seven years ago, you were in agony. If I had not chosen to pull you back …” The voice went away for a moment, replaced by the raging thunder. “Which pain was worse: The realization of what you had become, or the loss of what you might have become? Today, you must answer that question. The answer must leave no room for doubt, in your consciousness or in mine. One of those answers will demand that you give yourself to the abyss. If you prove that you are ready to move forward, I will tell you everything.”

  Stunned, Ilya waited for additional instructions. None came. He waited patiently at the cliff’s edge for more than an hour, but Henrik was silent. Every instinct told him to call for Henrik, to demand the rest of his instructions. Yet as long as he looked upon the falls, he could not say a word. He wondered whether he missed something. Was he so excited at the prospect of knowing what all this was about – the Jewels, the mission, Henrik’s true identity – that he did not hear the full message? Would instructions come later? Soon, Ilya tired of waiting.

  He saw no activity at the tent one hundred meters away. Constant purple clouds hovered everywhere, dropping a steady drizzle upon the jungle. He trudged through the tall grass toward the tent then away from it. Seeing no point in this interminable wait, Ilya wanted to return to Cho. Yet he resisted the urge.

  Three hours later, after an endless cycle of squatting, walking in circles, and banging the blast rifle against his legs, Ilya lost the last of his patience. Midday arrived, but the gray gloom was not much brighter than shortly after sunrise. He began a new walking circle – this time along the breadth of the cliff face all the way to the jungle’s edge. Not until his ninth round-trip did Ilya notice movement out of the corner of his eye. He firmed his body and raised his rifle. He was sure he saw a limb twitch unnaturally along the jungle’s edge, followed by a silhouette in motion. The knowledge of who might be watching him suddenly returned to Ilya, who cursed himself; he had taken his focus off the ever-present human danger beneath the canopy. As a peacekeeper, he never would have turned his back on an enemy stronghold.

  There. A second movement; this time he saw a light-blue shirt. Someone was prowling the edge, perhaps waiting to attack, possibly scouting Ilya and anticipating his response. Had he seen the motion detection array? Did he know the tent was protected by a holo-seal? Was he armed? Most jungle scum tended to be, but often with knives or with guns long empty of bullets. Ilya moved toward the center of the clearing, almost directly between the jungle and the tent. He crouched, his finger on the rifle’s trigger-button. He called upon his peacekeeper tactical training and tried to block out all sensory information not relevant to the enemy’s position. He held his stance for an hour, watching as silhouettes darted back and forth just inside the tree line. He estimated a gang of six to eight. He theorized they were waiting for nightfall; if they possessed automatic weapons capable of matching a blast rifle, surely they would have attacked by now.

  As a peacekeeper, he had enough information to take the offensive, to wipe out as many of them as he could, sending the others into retreat. Yes, he told himself. A counteroffensive makes sense. I can’t allow the darkness to level the battlefield. He also realized that as a peacekeeper, he would have been wearing body armor. If even one of them had a clean shot before Ilya reached the tree line, the battle was over.

  Ilya began a slow, backward retreat toward the tent. He refused to bring Cho into this, but he also knew she had packed a plasma pistol. He decided to improve his odds by having a weapon in each hand. He was less than three meters from the tent when he saw rapid movement far to his left, outside the tree line. Three crouched figures raced into the grassy clearing and appeared headed for the river. Ilya assumed they were preparing to flank him. He needed that pistol. Ilya reached the holo-seal, opened his palm against the invisible barrier, and was allowed entry. He pulled back the tent’s flap and almost dropped his weapon. The sleeping bags were rolled into a corner, and Cho was gone, along with the bag containing her pistol.

  Ilya saw the full picture. She must have become bored and snuck out to explore while Ilya kept his focus on the falls. She was nowhere to be seen, so she must have headed upriver. He panicked when he wondered how far she might have gotten. He had been out here half the day. The three crouched figures were not trying to flank him at all. A wave of stupidity rushed over him. He dashed from the tent, racing alongside the river with his rifle extended. He dared not call her name, for he didn’t want Cho to reveal her position to the enemy. Suddenly, two sharp pops split the air ahead of him, louder than the onrush of the Wai-Chiang. He heard the howl of a wounded animal, but he knew it to be human.

  The jungle had nearly merged with the river when Ilya came upon the scene his heart dreaded. One of the scum lay dead, his body flung over a boulder, sporting a plasma-seared hole directly above his heart. Two others, however, huddled over someone. They appeared to rummage through their victim’s clothes, removing whatever they could from pockets and tossing it aside. One of them held a familiar plasma pistol. Their victim’s legs twitched, and a scum responded by ramming a knife into the victim. Ilya knew. He recognized her boots. He trembled with rage and growled. They turned. He saw it in their vacant eyes: They were not afraid of him. In truth, he would be doing them a favor.

  He killed them with clean shots to the head, dropped his weapon, and rushed to Cho. She was bathed in her own blood, and she was convulsing. Ilya reached around her with delicate hands, but he knew. He brought her close, wrapping her in a safe, warm embrace, but he knew. He cursed himself for allowing her to come, and he reviled Henrik for letting this happen. In her final seconds, Cho opened her eyes and spoke to Ilya. Her lips moved, but her voice was mute.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he told her as he watched her die. “I love you. I love you.”

  She passed quietly. Ilya sobbed for an hour as he gently rocked her body. He did not care if any other scum came around, found the blast rifle, and shot him through the back. Just like the two he had executed, Ilya could not tolerate the pain any longer.

  “Is this the price?” He shouted. “Is this the price I pay for what I did?” When Henrik did not answer, Ilya laid his head against hers. “I only wanted to love someone,” he whimpered. “Why? Why didn’t you let me jump?”

  In that instant, Ilya knew what he had to do. He wiped away his tears and cradled her body as he stood. He carried her downriver, across the grassy clearing, past the tent where they shared their love the night before, and to the edge of the cliffs. He stared into the abyss and wondered again what lie beneath the shroud. A new path? The end of agony? Renewal? Or a sudden, meaningless collision with death? Any of them were acceptable options, as long as he could be nothing more than Cho. A sliver of his consciousness reminded him of the Jewels and the mission, of his importance to the future. Yet that single nudge was not enough. He kissed Cho on the lips and told her one more time how much he loved her. Then he jumped.

  He felt the liberation almost at once. His heart froze and his mind dissolved inside the belly of the thunder. The fall continued without end, deep into the mist. In the instant before he expected to feel no more, Ilya heard a chime. Just a single chime, but he knew what it was. Instinctively, he knew.

  At once, Ilya shifted his balance. He stood in the center of a familiar point of light, upon which were merged a dozen narrow focused beams, each originating from a round portal and encircling the center point. His clothes were dry. Henrik stood by his side. Ilya gathered his breath and dared to hope. He turned to Henrik.

  “Cho?”

  Henrik nodded as might a reassuring grandfather. “Asleep in the tent, as she
has been all along. Next to you.”

  He wanted to thank the old man as much as curse him for this illusion. Yet he did not have time to speak.

  Henrik pointed his cane at Ilya. “Which is worse? To agonize over our flaws or to mourn the loss of our virtues? There is no difference. You see this now? Ilya, you were willing to give up who you were and might have become to follow a truth that only love can offer. You have become the man who can show them the way to final truth.”

  Henrik leaned in and whispered into Ilya’s ear. No words followed, only echoes and slithers. Yet Ilya could feel warmth and rejuvenation. He was being handed knowledge forbidden to every human who ever lived save for Henrik. He did not have to ask why the words were silent; he knew they would reveal themselves when the time was proper.

  Then Henrik backed away and began to morph. His withered body shape-shifted. A glow emanated from within, and soon the energy flowed from newly-opened crevasses. The plasma swirled around Henrik and intensified until Ilya squinted. The voice that followed was Henrik’s, but Ilya knew it came from something else entirely.

  “There are five of us,” it said, “and one day soon, you will know all our names. The path is almost at an end. I will be at your side, Ilya. My brethren call me The Father, and you are our last, best hope.”

  THIRTY

  THE BROKEN WHEEL

  SY 5318

  SIR EPHRAIM HOLLANDER FELT THE LAST SHRED of his patience slip away as he listened to Andreas Ivanovich spew endless, meandering tales of bounty detective derring-do. Under normal circumstances, Ephraim would have walked away or pointed Andreas in the direction of an airlock, but this time he had no escape route. They shared tight quarters on the flight deck of a mining vessel currently in a systems shutdown, awaiting help from a soon-to-pass cruiser.

  “And yet I must say,” Andreas concluded an especially convoluted tale, “the full litany of my own exploits pales compared to this. In fact, in all the years I have toiled in your employ, nothing you have done has approached this scale of inextricable brilliance.”

  Ephraim ignored the praise. “Hmmph. Either you do not understand what crosses your lips, or you throw around multi-syllabic words on the theory they will impress your audience.” He turned to Andreas, glaring. “You just said this is a wonderful plan that will not work.”

  “May not. We have a rather important sequence yet to play. Your tactics to this point have been brilliant, Mr. Hollander. I simply wanted to add my ineffable compliments.”

  “Ivanovic, are these tight quarters closing in on you?”

  “How do you mean, sir?”

  “You and I have spent the past forty-nine standard days on this vessel. In that time, you have regaled me with endless stories of your childhood along with commentaries about the top hundred off-world restaurants in the Collectorate. Yes? You have listed more than fifty things you plan to do with your commission once this project is completed. You have also insinuated, quite boldly, that my wife would be better suited to a man not tied down to a conventional existence. Every time I have considered shooting you through the head, you have been quick to remind me of what will happen to your personal archives if you do not ‘check in’ every ninety days. Yes? So I ask, is the stress of this mission becoming too much?”

  Andreas smirked. “Interesting notion, Mr. Hollander. I’ll have to take that under advisement. In the meantime, take my compliment for what it is. I would be appreciative.”

  Ephraim understood why his professional relationship with Andreas had been so successful for so many decades: They only spoke to each other in short, occasional bursts. Ephraim intended this project to be their last. He refused to speak again until all the elements came into focus to finishing a plan he spent months crafting with great diligence.

  He stared out the view port and admired the splendor of the Enfidi Horse Nebula. He could not see Presidium Lease Station XF-41, almost half a million kilometers away. The Intercolony Transport Vessel Leggett, the purchase of which cost Ephraim ten percent of his wealth, held a stationary position halfway between XF-41 and Nexus One-Three. The cigar-shaped ITV Leggett, five centuries old, was a quarry ship transporting excavated stones and minerals to private and commercial off-world customers. The Leggett’s size – its cargo hold swallowed ninety-five percent of the vessel – had never interested Ephraim; he paid the purchase price when he saw the mass driver. The device, also called an orbital cannon, gathered small asteroids and bombarded lunar surfaces above where huge veins of a desired mineral could be found. Until outlawed two centuries earlier, mass drivers bombarded remote planetary surfaces as well. At present, the drivers were loaded.

  Five months earlier, armed with the physical proof of the Jewels’ return and captivity aboard XF-41, Ephraim came before Frederic Ericsson and the others of his bloodline. The New Year’s Eve party he interrupted in the Berlin dungeons came to a halt the instant he transferred his knowledge to Frederic, allowing it to be broadcast throughout the link. He had never seen his ancestors fall solemn. We had a deal, Ephraim reminded Frederic. Time to answer my questions.

  “Give me one day, my friend,” Frederic whispered. “I will negotiate with the others.”

  Ephraim returned precisely twenty-four standard hours later, and this time found himself wandering through a network of catacombs housing the legendary Baths of Roma. Frederic had often spoke of a desire to return here, for he was among the last generations who experienced the baths during life. Short, wide tunnels slinked between open caverns where several circular stone baths bubbled. Naked members of his bloodline – their blue glasses the sole accessory – relaxed, at least four to a bath; harps played while perfectly contoured young Romans, also nude, attended to every need. His ancestors interrupted their bliss to give Ephraim a cold glare as he moved between caverns.

  Much to his surprise, Ephraim found Frederic in a bath without descendants, although a pair of girls – pubescent yet filled with the buxom physicality of womanhood – lavished him with sea sponges while he drank from a deep-fluted glass. When their eyes met, Frederic did not respond to Ephraim with his usual bold greeting.

  “I knew you would not delay,” he said. “Please, take off your clothes and join us.”

  Ephraim had no interest in frivolity. “I am here for answers only, my friend.”

  “Of course, but I would prefer you be comfortable.” He smiled at his attendants. “I don’t need them both.”

  Ephraim removed his full-body tunic and shoes. The steaming water barely registered as warm when he stepped in, but Ephraim could feel the swirling currents and had a mild sensation of being wet. Immediately, an attendant waded over to Ephraim, her body a glistening sculpture from which the soupy water fell like rain. Ephraim found himself attracted to the girl’s exceptionally enhanced breasts, the nipples on which begged to be squeezed. Yet Ephraim resisted, even as the attendant ran a soapy sea sponge across his chest.

  “Whenever you are ready,” Ephraim said.

  Frederic took a sip of wine, put the glass aside, and smiled. “Convincing them was not easy, my friend. Certain secrets have always been the privy of those of us who have passed from life, who gave to the mission and could offer no more. We believed – those of us in the early generations – that a complete disclosure to our descendants might unduly affect how they pursued the mission. I had to convince my descendants in the link that our course was irrevocable regardless of what you came to know. I pray you will not betray the faith I have placed in you, my friend.”

  Ephraim nodded. “So, you have been lying to me, Frederic. Yes? Finding Henrik was never necessary to providing me with answers, nor could you have found him if you tried.”

  “It was a necessary misdirection. You’ll understand why soon enough.”

  “Yes. Now would be a good time.”

  A boy with a garland of roses tapped Ephraim on the shoulder and offered him a glass of wine identical to Frederic’s. Ephraim scanned the young Adonis, thought briefly of the long-departed Eliz
er Gripphen, then shooed the boy away. The boy circled the bath and offered the glass to Frederic, who took a sip, swished the wine around, and nodded his approval.

  “Ephraim, my father was born an abomination. My grandmother insisted Henrik was created by Divine conception. She believed God had brought a savior into the world. She became a Heretic. Naturally, she was condemned as insane and sent away. No matter. My father realized he was neither God nor a savior. As we both know, there are no gods, only that which the universe creates and allows to survive.

  “Henrik was something different. He carried many of the secrets of the universe inside. He saw through human eyes in a way no human possibly could have. And he manipulated Europeans of all domains with incredible ease and shaped history as he saw fit because …” Frederic paused for another sip. “Because, my friend, my father was not a human being at all.”

  Answers fell into place as Ephraim’s eyes bulged. “A Jewel. Henrik is one of them.”

  “Yes, Ephraim. The first of five. An intellect far superior than the rest of us, implanting itself in my grandmother’s womb and experiencing a full, mortal life in the midst of an immortal journey. In life, his descendants were told only of the Jewels’ vision, that the Jewels had given their wisdom to Henrik, and that their plan for humanity passed down through his bloodline.”

  “You …?”

  “Even I did not know the truth until after I died. You see, my friend, the rest of us were born through natural human conception. However …”

  Ephraim pushed away the attendant and her sponge. “We’re not human.”

  “Yes, Ephraim. We are human … for the most part. We are also the organic construct of the Jewels. Think about it. This link and what it allows us to do is, by all rational human thought, a complete impossibility. It defies time itself and provides something no true human will ever experience – a life after death. The link was not a ‘reward’ from the Jewels; it is a part of their greater, everlasting matrix.”