He stopped in front of Galan and turned to face them, his glowing silver eyes flicking up and down the ranks of men and women.
“As you’ll soon recall, your ship, the Ventress was attacked and destroyed by an unknown enemy. Your mission was to explore the neighboring Getties Cluster. That mission has failed. Your Lifelink data is being analyzed to determine the nature of the enemy that destroyed your ship, and to determine whether or not any of you are to blame for starting an intergalactic war. Strategian—why didn’t you cloak your vessel as soon as you realized you had encountered hostile forces?”
Galan belatedly realized the Grand Overseer was speaking to him. “Flay . . .” His tongue flopped uselessly in his mouth for a moment before he remembered how to use it. “They surprised us, sir. The enemy was cloaked and they had surrounded us before we even realized they were there.”
“Cloaked?” That seemed to surprise the Grand Overseer. “Even so, your sensors can pierce a cloaking shield.”
“They can, Overseer, but we were not expecting to find alien warships at the jump point, let alone cloaked alien warships. We weren’t looking for them.”
“Very well. You will have to explain yourself to Omnius, not me.”
“Yes, sir.”
The scene faded to black, and Ethan’s identity had a moment to rise to the surface and wonder about everything he’d just seen and experienced.
Then he was Galan Rovik again, standing before the Avilonian high council, this time fully dressed in his Peacekeeper’s uniform and armor. He was surrounded by the twelve overseers of Avilon, all of them seated on floating chairs and basking in a blinding white light. That light was cast by the eye of Omnius shining down through a transparent dome ceiling. From that, and the panoramic view of the city, Galan realized that he’d been summoned to the top of Omnius’s temple, the Zenith Tower.
A booming voice rumbled through the council chamber. “I have sent a drone fleet to the Getties to assess the extent of the threat that the Ventress discovered. It has since found no less than eight different species of sentient aliens living there. It is hard to find a world they have not yet settled. Even worlds that should never have supported life are crowded with towering alien cities. Their fleet is thousands of times the size of ours.”
Urgent whispers filled the room, and Galan turned in a slow circle to see the Overseers reacting to the news in varying states of shock.
“Are they at war with themselves?”
“No.”
“But Master, then what are those warships for?” Galan heard the Grand Overseer ask.
“Since they greeted us with hostility as soon as we appeared, I can only assume that they’ve known about us for some time. It is likely that they are preparing for war with us.”
More urgent whispering. Another overseer spoke, “How can we hope to face such a vast enemy?”
“Our technology is more advanced than theirs,” Omnius replied. “But their numbers are sufficient to wipe out both us and the mortal Imperium without even deploying one percent of their fleet.”
“Then there is nothing we can do. If their intention is to kill us, they will, and quickly.”
“I will not suffer that to pass,” Omnius replied. “We are already hidden here on Avilon, concealed with a wall of gravity fields and sensor distorting nebulae. My reconnaissance shows that these aliens do not have the technology they would need to reach Avilon through those obstacles. For the time being we are safe. The more imminent threat is to the Imperium of Star Systems. Their technology is comparable to that of these aliens, but their population and their fleet are far smaller.”
“They are not our concern, Master,” Jurom replied.
“Heartlessness is not becoming of a Celestial, let alone one who is an overseer of my kingdom.”
“Forgive me, My Lord. I meant that they are mortals, therefore, they are not your children, and they are not your responsibility.”
“Not yet. I have decided to begin implanting these mortals with cloaked Lifelinks. When war comes to them, and they lose, I will resurrect them on Avilon. The aliens will think they have won, and we will have the time we need to formulate a plan to fight them.”
Another overseer spoke up, “Master! You cannot seriously expect to add the entire population of the galaxy to ours! There are trillions in the Imperium! Where would we put such a multitude? The three cities of Avilon already span the globe.”
“Indeed? Then we will build our cities higher.”
“It would take a thousand years for us to complete such an undertaking, and we don’t know how much time we have.”
Omnius replied, “No, we don’t know how much time we have, and our workforce is not up to the task. We will need the drones to do the work, and I will have to increase their numbers exponentially.”
The Grand Overseer spoke once more, “The law states that there must be 100 people for every drone.”
Galan began to wonder what he was doing in the room. No one had asked him what he thought, and no one had spoken to him yet. Whatever the reason, he had a feeling that this session of council would go down in history.
“Human insecurity and faithlessness was the reason for that law,” Omnius replied. “The drones are not independent. I control them. The only reason to limit their number is to limit my power, but I have long since stopped depending on humanity to survive, so you needn’t fear that more drones will make me more independent. If I had wanted to destroy your species, I would have done so already, and the fact that humans outnumber my drones a hundred to one would not be enough to stop me.”
A long silence followed that speech. During that time Galan decided to remind them all that he was there.
“Omnius is right,” he said. All eyes turned to him, and he felt suddenly very small. “We have trusted him with our lives for thousands of years, and our trust has never been misplaced.”
Galan felt a warm glow beaming down on his head, as if the sun were out and shining brightly above the Zenith Tower. That sun was Omnius.
“Listen to this Strategian. He was an overseer once—before he began to doubt and chose to become a Null. Years later he begged my forgiveness and returned to me. Now he is the most decorated Strategian in the fleet and, I am proud to say, a good friend.”
Galan watched the Grand Overseer bow his head. “Master, forgive us, perhaps the real issue is not that we are upset at the idea of you building trillions of drones, but rather that we are feeling put aside. We, your children, have lived with strict population controls for generations, and now all of a sudden, you are suggesting that we turn Avilon upside down in order to accommodate trillions of mortals who would sooner spurn you than accept your rule.”
“Would they? Would they indeed, Thardris? That remains to be seen. The only difference between them and you is that they have yet to meet their god. As for feeling left out, it is because of laws you created that I have not been able to expand the Ascendancy faster. I am proposing now that we rewrite those laws, not just to save your mortal brethren, but to give you all greater freedom. I envision a future where Celestials will be able to own more than one home, and where breeding licenses will cost as little as a loaf of bread.”
“That would be a welcome change, Master.”
“I will build a New Avilon, with ten times as much space as we currently inhabit.”
Even Galan found himself smiling at that thought. “Great is Omnius,” he whispered.
“What of these aliens? What will we do when they discover us?” the Grand Overseer asked.
“They still need to find a way to traverse the gravity fields that separate us from the greater galaxy, and by that time, we will be so numerous and so powerful, that nothing will threaten us!”
At that, all the overseers chanted, “Great is Omnius!”
* * *
Ethan awoke bathed in a cold sweat, with the echoes of the overseers’ chants still reverberating in his ears.
He stared up at the ceiling, breathing
heavily, his eyes blurry with sleep and his head pounding with an awful headache, as if someone had been screaming in his ear while he slept.
He sat up and Alara’s hand slid off his chest. She moaned and stirred, but didn’t wake. Ethan wondered what time it was, and the digital clock he’d been watching before he fell asleep appeared on the ARC display at the edge of his field of view.
04:01.
Ethan frowned. Just one minute after Sync had ended. The timing was convenient, like maybe he’d been trying desperately to wake himself up ever since he’d fallen asleep, but Omnius had kept him under, forcing him to experience Strategian Rovik’s final moments, the horrors of resurrection, and his meeting with the Avilonian High Council.
Of course, all of that was exactly what Omnius wanted him to see, so Ethan didn’t trust it one bit. He shivered involuntarily and turned to look over his shoulder at Alara. She was sound asleep, but her normally smooth forehead was vaguely furrowed, as if she were troubled by something. Ethan didn’t have to wonder what. Omnius was showing them all the same things while they slept. He considered waking her, but if he did, he suspected she couldn’t or wouldn’t want to go back to sleep, and just four hours’ sleep wasn’t going to be enough for her or their baby.
Ethan got up from the bed, found his Avilonian sandals, and retrieved his white robe from the back of the chair where he’d left it the night before. Once dressed, he padded up to the door. He raised a hand toward the keypad, but the door opened automatically, as if someone were watching him. He dismissed that thought as being overly paranoid. Avilonian doors all opened automatically so long as you had the proper clearance.
Hurrying down the hallway beyond his and Alara’s bedroom, Ethan tried to ignore the light paintings on the walls. Despite his best efforts, some of them caught his eye. The colorful abstracts once again looked to him like human faces. This time all the faces wore expressions of agony and despair, and their eyes looked accusing.
He reached the stairs and stopped on the second floor balcony, staring down into the foyer. The marble floor at the bottom shone with reflected moonlight pouring in from the mansions’ many windows. Ethan considered going downstairs to look for some caf. He wondered if he’d be able to figure out how to make it without the Peacekeepers’ help. Ethan turned the other way, looking up to the next flight of stairs. He wondered what was up there, and before he knew it, his feet were carrying him up.
On the third floor he found another long hallway, this one lined with windows. Out those windows lay a long balcony that ran the length of that side of the house, and at the end, a tall, rounded parapet that towered over the mansion. Another balcony lay at the top. Wondering about the view from there, Ethan started down the hallway to a pair of doors that looked like they might lead to the parapet. He reached the doors and they slid open automatically once more.
He walked into a small, semi-circular room. The doors slid shut behind him, and a display appeared before his eyes. It was a diagram of the tower, showing four separate levels. Text at the top read, Please choose a floor.
Ethan thought about the top of the tower, and the floor beneath his feet immediately began to rise. Just a few moments later it came to a stop, and the other side of the lift rotated open. A warm breeze caressed his face. The top of the tower was open to the air, with railings rather than walls. In the center of the floor lay a familiar golden dome. Ethan recognized it immediately. It was a transporter dome—no, that wasn’t its name . . .
It was a Quantum Junction. Yet another term that had been downloaded to his brain without his permission.
Ethan crept up to the junction. He didn’t know how to use it, and even if he did, he was certain he didn’t have the necessary clearance.
Walking around it, Ethan watched his distorted reflection in the smooth surface of it. Remembering how he’d seen the Avilonians activate these domes before, he stopped and placed one of his palms against it.
The dome vibrated at his touch, and his reflection became blurry. A sudden hiss of escaping air tickled his feet.
Startled, Ethan jumped back and watched wide-eyed as the dome hovered off the ground, rising on four shining pillars of light. He stared open-mouthed at the dome, and then at his palm. Why would the junction respond to his touch?
He turned to look behind him, half expecting to see a Peacekeeper standing there. . . .
But there was no one.
Ethan turned back to the dome. It had hovered up to a set height and stopped, as if waiting for him to walk under it. A part of him was suspicious enough to wonder whether or not he should. He was fairly sure this was Omnius’s doing.
Curiosity got the better of him. Ethan ducked quickly under the edge of the dome, and hurried to the middle of the green-glowing circle in the center of the raised black podium underneath. He thought back to what the Avilonians had done next, and he raised his hands, as if beckoning to the sky—to Omnius, he supposed.
The dome began glowing with ever increasing brilliance, and a whirring noise filled the air, rising quickly in tempo and pitch. Suddenly the junction fell over his head with a boom! and the light inside of it became painfully bright, forcing him to shut his eyes.
The whirring noise screamed in his ears. The air inside the dome whipped around like a tornado, tearing at his robe and hair. Then his ears popped with a sudden change in pressure, and the light shining through his eyelids faded to black. He opened his eyes to see the dome rising once more on four pillars of light.
That light was the only light he could see. Wherever he was, whatever lay beyond the quantum junction—it lay in complete and utter darkness.
Ethan blinked, and forced his eyes wide in a vain attempt to see. He wished he had more light to see by. With that thought, the shadows fled and he saw the world around him revealed in the faux color of a light amplification overlay. The contacts he wore continued to surprise him. . . .
But nothing surprised him more than what he saw beyond the edge of the dome.
Chapter 12
Bretton and Farah walked up to a pair of mean looking sentries, their illegal plasma rifles tracking, their glowing blue visors turning to keep an eye on them as they approached. With one hand Bretton held his fake ID card high, so they could scan it with the sensors in their helmets. With his other hand, he held the grav gun that he was using to levitate Commander Lenon Donali, the Sythian agent, ahead of him. Once the sentries had scanned Bretton’s ID, they turned away, having lost interest in the newcomers.
The Underlevels were not a pleasant place to be, and usually far too dangerous to venture into, but Bretton and Farah were currently protected by the fact that they were walking through the territory of a little-known criminal organization called Havoc.
Bretton’s ID card was his passport through Havoc territory. It said he worked for a fuel mining company called Gencore. The ID was counterfeit, but Havoc recognized it because they were a branch of the organization that had given it to him. That organization was known simply as the Resistance, and their operations were located deep in the abandoned bowels of the planet, where miners had once toiled to extract valuable deposits of dymium.
Bretton and Farah continued down the foul-smelling corridor in the flickering yellow light of old glow panels. Somewhere up ahead water dripped from exposed pipes. The end of the corridor lay obscured by shifting clouds of steam leaking from an ancient heating system. They walked past a bank of lift tubes that were out of order and went for the stairs instead. They descended, heading for Sub Level 50.
The Underlevels used to be fit for habitation, but they were now officially abandoned. Unofficially they were home to Psychos, scavengers, and criminal organizations like Havoc.
At the bottom of the stairs they stepped out into an alley crowded with rubble, garbage, and bad-smelling puddles that hadn’t made it to a working lavatory or drain.
“Almost there,” Farah said beside him, using her glow lamp to check the holo signs and phosphorescent graffiti on the nearest wall.
Bretton nodded. “Good, I’m getting tired of this smell.” He shifted his grip on the grav gun he was using to levitate and carry their prisoner.
“We’re not going to stay long, are we?” Farah asked.
“Maybe, maybe not. Depends if they need us to.”
She sighed. “You know I don’t like getting involved with these people. They’re fanatics, and there’s always two or three of them whose job it seems to be to ask me when I’m going to get my commission.”
“When are you going to get your commission?”
Farah sighed theatrically. “Why would I want a commission? It’s a lost cause. What are they hoping to find, anyway? All the information we have access to is already public on the Omninet.”
“Public in Etheria maybe. Nulls don’t have access to the Omninet at all.”
“That’s because we don’t want access. You think Etherians are the ones Omnius tells all his dirty secrets to? If he’s hiding something, he’s hiding it from everyone.”
“They’re working on slicing into Omnius’s private archives.”
“Yea, I can see how a group of human slicers are going to break through the network security of a super-intelligent computer. You shouldn’t waste your time, Bret. They’re never going to get anywhere.”
“How I waste my time is my business. No one’s forcing you to hang around with me.”
“That’s gratitude. I bust my ass saving yours all day long, and you tell me you’d be just fine without me.”
“I didn’t say I’d be fine. I said you’re free to go.”
Farah grunted, but left it at that.
Up ahead, the end of the corridor came swirling out of the putrid steam hissing through the alley. They came to a pair of reinforced doors with warnings written on them in flickering red holotext:
Sutterfold Mine
RADIATION HAZARD!
STAY OUT!
Bretton set Donali down on the ground and stepped up to the entrance with his ID card in one hand and the grav gun in the other. Using his fingernails to peel away a fresh growth of green slime, he found a small gap in the seam between the doors and inserted his ID card there. Something clicked and a loud groan came from the doors. They ground halfway open, leaving a narrow space for them to walk through.
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