The Light of Our Yesterdays

by Ken Hansen

  Chapter 17

  “But, First Consul, computational applications will serve the greatest need.” Tomadus pressed his chest further over the edge of the First Consul’s antique walnut desk, its sides intricately carved with Mongolian warriors on horseback. “Look,” he continued, “with extreme light focusing and amplification, I have made the dream of photon computers a reality. We could reach efficiencies that will allow light computing to revolutionize our world and economy. Don’t you see it?”

  First Consul Khansensius sat back in his leather chair, the ridge of his hooked nose clearly towering over the deep valleys of piercing brown eyes that now bore into Tomadus. The image might have caused Tomadus to bolt from his seat if not for the First Consul’s gentle smile that somehow said everything would be all right. “Of course I do, Civis Tomadus. But that goal is one best left to you and your company. However, we are very impressed with the light amplification and focusing aspects of your invention.”

  “That drives the computational device, but they are merely tools. The photon computer is the thing.”

  “For you and your company Tomadus. We have other…uses in mind.” The First Consul looked down and nonchalantly slit an envelope open with an ornate, three-jeweled letter opener.

  Tomadus’s stomach hardened. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. A diversion might help. “That’s a very handsome letter opener. Is it an heirloom?”

  The First Consul beamed with pride and began telling him about how it was a gift from all three emperors and each jewel represented one of the Three Empires. Tomadus took the opportunity to survey his surroundings and consider his next tack.

  No crowns or scepters adorned the room or the person of the First Consul; nonetheless, symbols of his power were palpable throughout. On the First Consul’s desk stood two pictures, nearly identical. Each depicted one of the two principal Muslim emperors facing him as he bowed slightly in their direction with the grand Colosseum as a backdrop. A portrait on the wall behind his desk demonstrated his friendship with the third of the three emperors, Emperor Pepin XI. A map of Europe, northern Africa and eastern Asia on the far wall told the story of the Triumvirate partition of the Muslim world and the great influence of Roma and its First Consul in maintaining the peace among the empires. Of course, the golden gavel on his desk reminded visitors that it was he who led all meetings of the Triumvirate and mediated their disputes. The First Consul had no vote or right to make any decisions on their behalf, but his persuasiveness and consequent power were well known.

  “Of course, it doesn’t get much use—only for the correspondence I cannot trust to my staff—nevertheless, I travel with the opener because it subtly reminds others of my ties with the Three Emperors. Now, what do you plan for the invention?”

  Tomadus snapped to attention with a smile and a nod. “I wish to market it throughout the world. It will take time, but it could benefit nearly every sector, from communications to manufacturing, from agriculture to technological research. Its bounds are endless. Can you see it? Its potential to facilitate networking is almost limitless.

  “Networking? Of what? I have many networks now.”

  “Computing networks. The device should help us link them and thereby enhance our productivity.”

  “A laudable plan.” He paused, again taking up the letter opener. “However, it will take a great deal of capital to accomplish it.”

  “Yes. My company could use some help. We are small and have few resources. With the assistance of your office and the Triumvirate, we could quickly expand around the globe and into every form of commerce, administration and entertainment.”

  “The globe?” The First Consul leaned in and lowered his voice. “Certainly you are not interested in helping the Triumvirate’s enemies?”

  “I…I…no, First Consul, I do not wish to help our enemies. But don’t you think by enhancing the world’s productivity, we will ultimately benefit the Three Empires?”

  “Ah, but what if this falls into the wrong hands, Tomadus. Could it be weaponized?”

  Tomadus sat back and sighed. “Weaponized?”

  “Surely, you see the possibilities with your light focusing and amplification. We must protect it from…misuse.”

  “My staff will take measures to prevent that from happening. We are only at the prototype stage.”

  “That is good, Tomadus. However, the Three Empires would like to provide resources to both ensure those security measures are adequate and further develop your light amplification and focusing aspects—for purely governmental purposes.”

  “Are you planning to weaponize it? I am sorry, First Consul, but I do not wish to see my invention used for further bloodshed.”

  “No, no, I understand. We would not dream of such a thing. But we would like to explore its uses in defense of all the good the Triumvirate continues to bring to the world. You cannot be opposed to that, can you Civis Tomadus?”

  Tomadus wriggled in his seat. Careful. Read between the lines. Any one of the Three Empires or the First Counsel could simply steal the device and dispose of him quietly. No, he knew he must feint working with them and find a way to turn this thing around. “No, First Consul, but the invention is quite complex. I imagine you would want my company’s assistance in exploring these, uh, opportunities?”

  “Of course. We will need your cooperation to help our people understand the device better. We will also provide you with some needed capital to address your own plans.”

  The creature began clawing at Tomadus’s belly. He paused, breathing deeply to hold it down. “I suppose we can work something out. Here is my card, Your Eminence. Please have your assistant contact Stephanus at my office. He will arrange for some follow-up meetings with your technologists. Am I to assume that my company shall hold the rights to any inventions, subject to the government’s customary unfettered rights of use?”

  “Yes, yes, of course, as long as we can count on your cooperation.”

  “Then, I thank you for your proposal.” Tomadus stood and bowed deeply to the First Consul. “May we each prosper through the great good we accomplish.”

  Tomadus exited the government building and glanced at the Colosseum that had been looming over the area for over 24 centuries—since over 500 years before the Hijra. He turned back toward the city center, walking briskly and searching for a communication pod. He reached one at the next corner near an auto news kiosk, slipped a coin in the slot of the pod, touched a few buttons and spoke into the fixed mouthpiece at the top of the pod. “Stephanus, this is Tomadus.”

  A younger man’s voice trumpeted out of the top of the pod, “Salve, sir. I heard you pretty much lit up the Lumenology Conference yesterday. Gratulor tibi!”

  “Gratias. It was nothing. The work was already done.”

  “You are getting attention beyond the tech crowd—even the visi-scan had a report.”

  “Maybe too much attention. Look, you are going to get a call from the Imperium’s technologists. Be friendly, responsive, and sound very interested, but do not give them anything unless you have to. And do not give them any schematics or any confidential technical information under any circumstances without my consent. We need to slow play this thing for now. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir. Are they going to help us with some of the development costs?

  “I don’t know about the costs yet. We’ll have plenty of investors if we need them.” Reaching his hand toward the pod disconnect button, he stopped and looked at the cover of Tempus Magazine in a nearby kiosk. “Hold on a second.”

  On one side of a split picture, the gritty and grimy face of a teenage boy stared up at him. The boy was handsome—his chiseled face simultaneously a picture of innocence and defiance. A lone tear ran down his right cheek. The boy had wrapped his arms around a young girl whose face was covered with intermingled blood, tears and grime. With her mouth open wide beneath horror-stricken eyes, Tomadus could almost hear her screams echoing out of the page. Behind her, in the b
ackground, stood a small, shelled-out house still smoldering. Near the house on the scorched lawn lay a silver, mangled Star of David. The second picture showed a synagogue burning, with old women dressed in black robes to the side crying and tearing their garments. Large block letters masked the top of both pictures, reading: “THE TEARS OF A HOPELESS REBELLION: THEN AND NOW.”

  The first picture had appeared over ten years ago when the Demoseps were making another appeal for help from the world. It had been banned in the Three Empires, yet managed to appear in the Romanus press for a brief few days, winning the Margaash Award for photojournalism. The censors had now allowed it to reappear, though perhaps the new spin made that possible.

  Tomadus felt the creature prancing again. He rubbed the soft spot on his belly and grimaced. That infernal thing again. He had always felt sympathy for the innocents among the Tetepians, but now it seemed the creature was arguing that sympathy alone was useless. He knew that despair would attack him again if he tried to ignore the creature. He cocked his head and stopped massaging his belly as he looked back at the pod. Maybe he could help somehow. “How soon is my trip to North Aztalan?”

  “Two weeks, sir.”

  “See if you can work in a side trip for a few days to Tetepe, particularly New Jutland.

  “New Jutland, sir? Wouldn’t that be a bit risky?”

  “Perhaps. But maybe I’ll find an ulcer remedy there.” Tomadus clicked the button on the top of the pod and purchased a copy of the magazine. There, he already felt a little better. He folded the magazine under his arm and walked away.

  Chapter 18

  Yohanan lay in the tall, moonlit grass on a hill beside the Susquehanna River. A pair of binoculars hung around his neck. Next to him lay a young woman wearing a tight black jumpsuit that revealed her athletic curves even in the darkness. A black stocking hat covered her blond hair. Both of them had darkened their faces and hands with charcoal. The two stared at the rail bridge below, listening intently for a distant rumble.

  Yohanan turned his head toward the woman and smiled. Decima almost looked deadly in black although he wasn’t sure if it was deadly to men in the carnal or carnivorous sense. Her blond hair, no matter how artificial in color, perfectly framed the work of art between her slender neck and long forehead. Her nose, tiny for a Romanus, complemented her slender lips. Her brown eyes contrasted with the blond hair, creating an exotic, alluring picture. He had known her for a long time, but more like a kid sister. Now that she had grown so beautiful, it was hard to hold back from less brotherly feelings.

  She caught him staring at her. “What?” Decima asked.

  “This is your first action, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “So?”

  “You seem so serious, so deadly serious.”

  She turned her head slowly toward him. “You find something funny about a little death and destruction?”

  “Look, I despise this more than any Demosep, but what is our choice? They don’t discriminate between the innocent and the guilty. They show no mercy. If they don’t give a damn, why should I?”

  “Remember that little thing in your Torah called the Ten Commandments?” She raised her eyebrows. “I think one of them says killing is a bad thing.”

  “Yeah, I think I’ve heard of that, but we all know it refers to murder, not a justified battle against His enemies. I prefer to take my anthem from Jeremiah:

  Therefore the days are coming

  when I will sound the battle alarm

  against New Jutland of the Juteslams;

  It shall become a mound of ruins,

  and its villages destroyed by fire.

  Demoseps shall then inherit those who disinherited it.

  “There seem to be a few modern references in there.”

  Yohanan looked back at the bridge and the mountains beyond. “Well, I find it a bit more satisfying to substitute the real combatants for the ones named in Jeremiah. I could just as easily keep the Amonites and Israel in the anthem. You know they’re metaphors for our current battle.”

  “You call this action a battle?”

  “Sure. They want to kill us. We kill them instead. What’s it matter that they don’t see it coming?”

  “Aren’t you concerned that innocent people will die down there?” she asked.

  Yohanan snorted. “I doubt it. Many are soldiers of New Jutland. Anyway, they are all secondary to our main purpose here—to destroy the train and stop the shipment of weapons. We can’t let the Juteslams think they can transport the instruments of our destruction through our lands without consequences.”

  “I agree. That’s why I’m here. But I don’t find it funny.”

  The stick in his gut poked him hard. “Nor do I, trust me. It makes me sick, actually.” No, too much. Can’t seem weak. He managed a sarcastic tone. “Hey, I’ll probably even vomit a few times before I return home.” She’ll never believe the truth of that.

  Decima shook her head and curled her lip, looking away.

  He paused, turned his head toward her again and smiled wryly. “But I do find you funny.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You’re the daughter of Quintillus, a prominent Romanus merchant, beholden like other Romani to both the Three Empires and their local lackeys, the Juteslams. Absent clear and convincing evidence, the Jutes wouldn’t dare touch you or your immense wealth, let alone oppress you as they have the Tetepians. Yet here you are, ready to destroy your empires’ allies. Don’t you find that funny?”

  Decima turned her head slowly back toward the train tracks. “Romani are neutral. We are not one of the Three Empires.”

  “No, Roma is not neutral. It pimps for the Three Empires and their allies. Quintillus taught you that much. I know he understands that Roma is but a tool of the Three Empires, carefully crafted to keep the peaceful image of the empires free from our spilt blood.”

  “Keep my father out of this. You sound like one of those Anarchist nuts. If Quintillus heard you, he would give you a tongue lashing himself. Has he taught you nothing?”

  Yohanan stiffened, his eyes narrowing.

  She stared back at him. “Sorry. You’ve said you love him. How can you hate his country?”

  Yohanan bit his lip hard. “I hate the Jutes. Roma and the Empires arm them. So how can I not hate Roma?”

  Decima shook her head slowly. “You’re wrong. Roma is just trying to keep the balance, what with the Aztecs and all, but the damn Juteslams want more. Roma may not be able to support you because of its position in the world, but plenty of us Romani still do.”

  Yohanan snorted. “And why do you fight?”

  “I believe in the promise of democracy and the plight of the Tetepians.”

  “So do many who sit and watch from afar, as you could have. You could be in Roma right now toasting the First Consul’s latest champion in the Colosseum. Instead, you live in squalor by the Susquehanna River. It’s more personal for you, isn’t it?”

  “Let’s just say Quintillus never wanted his only daughter destined to a lifetime of subservience to men. He raised me no differently than he would his only son, who you know he never had—except maybe for you.”

  Yohanan smiled softly. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah, well now that I am of age, I do not, like many Romanus women, long for the harem of a rich man in Roma or the Three Empires.”

  Yohanan shook his head with a smirk. “Can’t see you doing that.”

  “No, fortunately my father did not seek such a match for me. You know he raised me to be independent, but where in the world could I truly do that except here? I want to be part of the answer, not getting fat and lazy in the inner courtyards of some old estate where Sharia law would protect—and restrain—me.”

  Yohanan laughed. “And so you kill to show the world it cannot restrain you?”

  “I’ve never killed anyone.”

  “And yet, here you are.” When Decima closed her eyes, he added, “At least I kill for the right reasons. The Juteslams deserve
it.”

  Decima shook her head again. “You still act like the boy on the cover. You should grow up.”

  He grimaced. “We need to listen for the train.” But he couldn’t listen over the drumbeat of his own thoughts. That damn cover. He relived the old horror every time someone shoved it back into his face. His heart beat out of his chest and his body stiffened, the hatred looking for an outlet. They had found neither of his parents’ corpses; instead, only a couple of limbs remained intermingled with the charcoaled debris. His night terrors were filled with the sound of the shell just before it hit, whistling through the space above their village. He had heard the siren and was running for the shelter with his sister Jochi in tow. When the blast knocked them over, he had rolled his sister under him to protect her from the burning debris raining down on his legs and arms.

  What had his parents done to deserve the barrage? Nothing. Had they not avoided the Demosep shaitaanists and tried to live normal lives in Tetepe? But that was impossible in this constant war zone. People just died. Senselessly, without reason. At the hands of your enemies, death reeked with the same odor of despair no matter why it came.

  His mind kept racing. The Tetepian politicos had found him quickly and begun using his newly famous face to further their ends. He had become one of the voices of the movement before he had turned twenty. Eventually, his unwavering hatred had led him to volunteer with the militant arm of the Demoseps. A voice of the Tetepian people by day, he had become an instrument of Juteslam destruction by night, though the regret chewed slowly away at any sense of triumph. Before each operation, he flooded over these fits of regret by opening a well-worn valve to a cesspool of despair that ten years had not managed to drain from deep within his troubled soul. The ritual had always pushed him through, but afterwards he knew another piece of his humanity had ebbed back into the sludge. But what of her?