Branegate (7 page)

“I don’t know,” said Petyr, and Trae shook his head.

Now Evan leaned forward, his face an angry mask. “Two years is what you have, and likely less than that. We’ve tolerated the Emperor’s spies and our own defectors beyond reason. Expulsions from our ranks will cease. The killings will begin within the month, and our enemy is sure to retaliate in kind. There will be war in the streets, with or without your help. Tell this to your father, or any other Immortals you meet. The Lyraens on Gan will live free, or they will all die.”

Darian, the man with the gentle eyes, nodded somberly in agreement with Evan.

“We understand,” said Petyr, and his body became rigid as stone.

They were taken to a small lounge apparently reserved for them in the outer ring of the complex and only a few steps from their departure tunnel. There were plush, leather chairs and lounges, and a bar with bottled water and juices. “Your luggage has been checked in for you,” said Evan, and handed them their pass cards.

“We have no luggage. It was destroyed in the car,” said Petyr.

Evan only blinked. “There are four suitcases, black, two for each of you. Each has a short strip of yellow tape on one end. Be sure to pick them up on Ariel right away. Use your diplomatic papers to bypass any search. This is important.”

“We presume someone will contact you there about your final destination,” said Darian. “You have our number. We don’t expect you to tell us where you’re going, but you should contact us when you have information we need to know.”

“Yes,” said Petyr. “Thanks for getting us this far.”

“Your thanks will come when you bring an army to fight with us. All our hopes go with you. Please don’t desert us.”

“We won’t,” said Trae.

“I’m sure you mean that. We’re leaving two men by the door to see you to your departure lounge. Diplomatic servants such as you are accorded such a service. Have a safe trip.”

They shook hands. Darian’s eyes made him look sad, while Evan’s were hard, like his grip. Evan leaned forward at the last second, and whispered into Trae’s ear.

“Two years, maximum. We’ll be waiting.” The men left the room, and shut the door behind them.

There was a long silence. Petyr went to the bar, poured juice into two glasses and handed one to Trae. “Evan is an impatient man, but he’s a good soldier for The Church, and he’s right about one thing. Time is getting short for the Lyraens on Gan. I wish I could give them some hope.”

“They seem to think the hope should be coming from
me
, and I don’t even know where I’m going.”

“You’ll know how to do it. The method just isn’t conscious yet.

“We know little about what’s going on inside you, and your father isn’t here to tell us about it.”

“Because he ran away to save himself. That’s what they think,” said Trae bitterly.

“Maybe,” said Petyr, and put a hand on Trae’s shoulder. “Maybe not. I think your father has gone away to prepare for the freedom of all his people, not just the Lyraens on Gan, but other planets as well. Our Emperor Osman is certainly not the only tyrant in the universe, and I think we’re being sent to discover that. Your father has left you a mission to accomplish before our release can come, and you’ll know in time what it is. I can’t tell you, and neither can anyone else.”

“We’ve never talked about other planets,” said Trae. “I thought all Lyraens were here on Gan.”

“It’s our newest world, the one your father came to build. There could be many others, dozens, even thousands.”

“You’re speculating. you don’t know that for sure.”

“It’s logical. The Immortals have come from far away, and the Lyraen philosophy goes back before our history. My whole life has been on Gan, Trae. I’m speculating, but if I’m right the problem is much larger than that of a single planet.”

“In hours we head to Ariel II, Petyr. It goes around Bode, a ball of cold gases, no civilization, so we can eliminate that one.”

“Nobody told you that,” said Petyr, and raised an eyebrow at him.

It was the first time he’d experienced space flight, and Trae was thrilled by it: the explosive acceleration, ground dropping away, then the lesser yet steady acceleration at high angle until the sky outside was black and the great sea on Gan was shining blue far below him. In two hours they made rendezvous with Han, the interplanetary vessel with open framework and cylindrical living pods pushed by eight mammoth thermonuclear engines. There was a slight bump at docking; a young woman gave them their compartment assignment and showed them to a tunnel leading to it. Their luggage was being transferred as they spoke.

The accommodations were small, but luxurious: two beds, gimbaled to accommodate directional acceleration, pneumatic bath, a bar stocked with snacks and drinks, a television with a grand library of entertainment programs and books in core, and two chairs. Meals were taken in the central dining room at the hub of the living module array twice a day. There was a gym, and two courts for a game called Carrom, played with a hard rubber ball in a small, cubic space. Petyr played well with his cat-like reflexes, but Trae had several bruises to show for his efforts before the trip was over.

They were in transit at one gee acceleration for six Gan days and nights. Trae slept soundly each cycle, controlled by the light spectrum in his compartment, but the cycle before his first glimpse of the great pinwheel of Ariel II he was troubled by a strange dream. He was not a little child, but himself, and he was sitting at a table on a stone balcony overlooking green fields lined with trees flowering red, and there were two moons in a sky so blue as to be nearly purple. A glass of juice sat on the table in front of him. He tasted it; the drink was bubbly, and had a sharp tang he didn’t recognize. Petyr suddenly appeared, as if condensed out of vapor in the air, and sat across from him.

“Do you like it?” asked Petyr. “Has a bit of a bite.”

“What are you doing in my dream?” asked Trae, and Petyr smiled.

“Well, it’s not exactly a dream, and I’m not Petyr. You seem so relaxed around him, so I thought his presence would be good for this. You and I are going to be having some serious conversations from now on. Your mother won’t be here for them, but she sends her love, and she’ll come to you at other times. You’re going to be busy, Trae.”

Trae felt drowsy, even in his dream, and he felt amused by Petyr being there. “Are you going to tell me something I need to know?”

“Oh, yes,” said Petyr. “Yes, indeed.”

And he told him.

Trae awoke with a start. Light was dim in the compartment, all of it coming from the video screen that showed the page of a book. Petyr was lying in the bed next to his, reading, turning pages with a remote in his hand. He glanced at Trae. “Did I wake you? I couldn’t sleep.”

Trae shook his head, and Petyr looked closer at him. “You had a dream.”

“Yes.”

“Anything?”

“When we get to Ariel II we go to Port Four, Station Six. Our passes are waiting for us there. We’re going to Galena, and someone will be taking us to the court of Emperor Rasim Siddique.”

“Ah,” said Petyr, and smiled.

CHAPTER 6

I
t was not the first time Fedor Quraiwan had been the bearer of bad news for his master, but this news was worse than bad and he feared for his safety. Emperor Khalid Osman was not a merciful man, and was subject to outbursts of temper in lesser circumstances than this. Bad news could be dangerous for the bearer, for Osman’s rage was often manifested by the act of throwing any object at hand, be it knife, cup, or small furnishings. Good news, on the other hand, could generate a hearty laugh, a hug for an old servant, a trinket or gold coin kept for minor rewards in a small, oaken chest on his desk. Alas, today’s was not good, and Fedor Quraiwan could only hope his master was in a peaceful state.

He’d been waiting for more than an hour, sitting on a bench by the great double doors of the judgment room, now closed. Osman was inside with an emissary from Nevice who had traveled four weeks to meet with him on a trade matter. Another step in the expansion of Gan’s trading influence, and it would undoubtedly create new wealth for the intimate circle of supporters of the planet’s monarchy. Osman made business simple for them, with few restrictions and generous tax benefits for those who created jobs, and higher taxes for those who were employed by them. It all seemed to work well, despite the unrest of the masses, despite threats in the past. But today there was a new threat. Fedor was about to announce it to The Leader of All The World, and he was afraid.

The doors opened and Osman came out with his arm around the shoulders of a small, dark man with amazing amber eyes. They were laughing at some private joke. The small man bowed and pumped Osman’s hand vigorously, whispered something and walked away with a smile on his face. Osman was smiling, too, rubbed his hands together, then turned and saw Fedor sitting there. Beckoned to him.

“Come in, come in. Took longer than I expected, but was worth it. Those Neviceaens do love to bargain.”

Osman seemed pleased with himself. That was good. He closed the tall doors behind them, a golden robe spilling over the curves of his bulk. There was no one else with them in the room: domed ceiling held up by eight, marble columns, a rosette window of stained glass covering a wall, a floor of polished, black marble with the huge, oaken desk at its center. There were two chairs and a roll-in bar with carafes of coffee and tea. They went to the chairs. Osman glanced twice at Fedor, then poured tea for both of them without asking for a preference.

“I presume you have news for me, but I’m not encouraged by the expression on your face, my friend,” said Osman.

They sat. Osman handed him a cup of tea with pudgy, ringed fingers, and took a sip from his own cup. “The news isn’t good, but is also inconclusive,” said Fedor.

“They haven’t been found? We had five different sources of intelligence on this.”

“Oh, they were found, Excellency. We could have taken them on the beach, but you wanted as much information as we could get on their supporting network. We’ve identified two cells in the operation, and arrests are being made as we speak.”

“So why are you frowning at me?” asked the Emperor of Gan.

“Our principle targets have suddenly disappeared. The boy and his bodyguard got away when we attacked their car on the highway to the shuttle-port. The car was burning so furiously it took hours to discover the remains inside weren’t theirs. They killed six of our people and escaped to the shuttle-port in one of our cars. It was found at the shuttle-port. Our men didn’t see them. They might have flown out, or been taken somewhere else. We’re going over passenger lists there and at spaceport. We’ve found unused tickets that might have been theirs. It’s possible they’re still on Gan.”

Osman sipped his tea, and though he spoke softly there was a dangerous glint in his closely spaced eyes. “I think that would be a poor bet. If they have any intelligence at all they know we’ve penetrated their cells. Their structure is crumbling; a year or two, and we’ll have all of them. This so-called Church of Lyra will disappear forever.

“Meanwhile it’s important we get the boy in our hands. He’s a figurehead, a symbol to them.” Osman shook his head, and sniffed. “They think he’s an Immortal.”

“We’ve put agents on every flight since we discovered their bodies were missing from the car,” said Fedor, “and our listeners in the cells have been alerted.”

“The longer he’s free the more hope these fanatics have, and the more people we’ll lose when we bring them down. Eventually we can dig them out if they remain on Gan; the difficulty lies off planet, especially on Grenolda and Galena. The League is fragile, Fedor. You’ve been with me long enough to know that. There are some who at least sympathize with the democratic and anarchy preaching of the people who came here out of nowhere to stir up trouble. My father fought it for twenty years, but I don’t have his patience, Fedor. Any remaining Immortals must be arrested and killed, their followers arrested, their caverns emptied out. I want their church destroyed, and their philosophy erased from our history. I want
order
on Gan, and I will have it. That boy is to be found, and killed, and his body brought to me.”

“I understand, Excellency. It will be done.”

“Of course it will, old friend. I trust you. We’ve been together too long for you to fail me. Who was in charge of the attack on the car?”

“Del Onsager, Excellency.”

“I want him arrested and shot without delay.”

“He’s dead, Excellency. He was in a pursuit car, and it crashed into a tree, killing four operatives.”

“And who was his overseer?”

“Captain Kirman planned the operation.”

“Then have him arrested and shot instead.”

“But Excellency, the Captain—”

“Symbolism, Fedor. Every action is a symbol of leadership. My leadership. And failure is not tolerated. Now carry out the order.”

“Yes, Excellency.”

Osman made an effeminate gesture of dismissal. “Don’t report on this matter again until you have something positive, but that must be within a month. You have one month to show progress, Fedor. The responsibility is now yours. You’re an old friend, and it would grieve me to make a symbol out of you.”

Fedor stood. “I will not fail you, Excellency.”

“A positive attitude is a good attitude,” said the Emperor of all Gan, and he turned towards his desk.

Fedor hurried from the room and closed the doors softly behind him.

His armpits were soaking wet.

CHAPTER 7

E
verything happened the way his father, in the guise of Petyr, told him in the dreams, or whatever fugue state Trae was now experiencing with increasing frequency. Mostly it was like daydreaming, a lapse of consciousness of only seconds, but something would happen. He would become aware of a face, a scene, a sequence of numbers flashing past his consciousness so quickly he could only recognize their presence before they were gone.

Trae slept soundly each cycle on the way to Ariel II. If there were dreams, he didn’t remember them, but each time he awoke to find Petyr watching him, and each time the man would ask if he’d learned anything new. Trae answered patiently, realizing once they’d left Gan his teacher and guardian had no plan to follow, and was relying solely on his ward for direction.