by Jenn Lyons
that he was probably right? Do you have any idea what it’s like to feel that helpless?”
I gnawed on my lower lip. “Only in that I’ve had someone I love put that trust in me—and I failed them.”
My eyes met his again and we stared at each other while Vanessa, wiser than either of us, said nothing.
“Nobody’s perfect,” he finally said—which was almost funny, coming from him.
“He said you made him very happy.”
A ghost of a smile haunted his lips. “I tried.”
“You should know—I don’t think Paul was an entirely innocent bystander. He was murdered by those Sarcodinay for a reason.”
Alexander nodded, leaned back in his chair. He looked angry and grieved, but not surprised.
“Maia-Leia Shana’s experimenting with human DNA, isn’t she?”
He swallowed and looked away. “Yes.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
Something on his desk beeped. He leaned forward, looked at it, and then scowled. “It will have to wait, I think. That’s a message from the Temple.”
“Yes?”
“She wants to speak with you.”
THIRTEEN.Shana
My first glimpse of the Temple had not truly captured the scale of the place, which was monumental by any standard. Rhodes had dropped me off by sled and then beat a retreat so hasty I wondered if he had an allergy. Only when I set foot inside the Temple did I begin to understand the reason for his discomfort.
Wilders who have no more contact with the Sarcodinay than fighting with knights or human MOJ ghosts sent into dead cities are often shocked to learn that the Sarcodinay are deeply religious. Conversely, Sarcodinay have on occasion expressed incomprehension at the idea that humans consider science and religion to be unrelated fields. The Sarcodinay have worshiped the same set of gods for as long as the Sarcodinay have existed (at least according to their own beliefs) and the most holy and chosen of those Sarcodinay were “blessed” to be the telepaths whose descendants rule their people to this day. Possession of telepathic powers constituted instant and irrefutable proof of one’s worthiness to be considered nobility. The stronger the power, the higher the rank.
Where many human religions touch on the idea of rebellion, of disobedience, of a lack of faith and a fall from grace, the need for redemption, the Sarcodinay Tridates tell the story of a people raised up by their deities, given the garden, told that theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven in this lifetime, not the next. It is in their very holy books that their duty is to protect and rule over all other races in the Universe.
With that kind of mandate, it’s really no wonder they turned out to be such jerks.
So with that background explained, let me state quite simply what it was about Maia-Leia Shana’s “temple” that made my hairs stand up on end: this was a real temple. It just wasn’t a real Sarcodinay temple.
This was human.
I wasn’t particularly familiar with Russian Orthodoxy (my striketeam had been active literally on the other side of the planet) but I was reasonably certain that none of the iconography present was Christian, Catholic or otherwise. The red, white, and black theme continued inside, although it was offset by a rather extraordinary amount of gold leaf (which often did form that highly blasphemous white and gold combination). Long glass windows broke up the expanse of wall at regular intervals, letting in faux sunlight to wash the mosaic tile floor. Intricate etchings on the walls seemed to illustrate the story of the temple’s centerpiece: a 10 meter tall alabaster statue of a goddess, dressed as Earth Mother, her feet resting on the globe of Terra surrounded by candles, her left hand filled with stars, her right hand raised in benediction. On her head was an impressively realistic copy of the Sarcodinay Imperial crown, and behind her, on the murals on the walls, Keepers knelt down behind her as if to pay homage to a new, greater, master.
I looked around and whistled. “And here I thought the rest of the hospital was impressive. Now this—wow—this is just hands down the biggest, grandest, most ostentatious piece of heresy I’ve ever had the honor to witness. Should I wipe my shoes?”
I was trying for antagonism, but the Sarcodinay gene-priestess smiled. “Ah, Mallory. Welcome to Zarcovalla Kovaal. I’m so glad you’ve come.”
From across the extraordinary length of the temple I could hear the electronically magnified whisper of Maia-Leia Shana as she floated out from behind the statue. She was riding in an elaborate golden chair with spinning, glowing stars circling the undercarriage, hiding the machinery that made the whole thing hover a meter off the floor. She was ancient, ancient even for a Sarcodinay, dressed in an unflattering luminescent khani that was probably meant to look impressive but only emphasized how frail and transparent she was. Maia-Leia Shana was so old her skin had turned to pale gold, and her hair was the color of rusted iron. She was without a doubt the oldest Sarcodinay I’d ever seen, and I found myself wondering if the skiff she was using was meant to be a throne or a wheelchair. Of course, it was ridiculous to think it was a wheelchair, not for someone as important as Shana. There was no medical surgery, no limb replacement, no known rejuvenation outside her reach.
She advanced towards me with great solemnity, and then, about ten meters from me, grinned at me in a manner that I’ve never, ever, seen a Sarcodinay grin, opened her arms, and exclaimed: “Come closer. Come closer! I want to see you. My, how you’ve grown, my dear girl!”
I felt chill. “You have the advantage of me.”
She smiled at me with sweet indulgence, but with her coloring, her hair, I was reminded less of a doting grandmother than a fairy tale witch. “You were just a child at the time, I’m afraid, all wailing and fiery temper. Are you all right? You look upset.”
I looked behind me quickly—just to make sure there wasn’t someone else she might have been addressing.
“You know how it is,” I said, listening to my voice echo in the massive hall. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by, catch up on old times, ask you why you were blackmailing Alexander Rhodes and what you did to my DNA.” I looked at her meaningfully. “If we have time, maybe I can even stop an assassin from killing you. Maybe.”
“You’re very blunt, aren’t you, child?” Again, she was not insulted as much as mildly amused, and frankly, didn’t seem to be particularly concerned at the idea that there was an assassin gunning for her. She drifted closer.
I shrugged. “Why dance around a subject that’s staring us both in the face? Speaking of things staring me in the face, what’s with this place? It looks like a church.”
“That’s because it is a church, child. Do you like it? I have been so hoping you would.” She shifted to peer down at me, a flexing motion which did not reach below her waist, and I reassessed my opinion on the purpose of her throne.
I licked my lips and looked around, my eyes pretending to slide over the High Guard standing in a shadow behind the giant statue. “It’s uh...um...”
“Yes?” She looked eager to hear my opinion.
“...Russian,” I finished. “It’s very Russian, isn’t it?” I gestured towards the large pillars and the statue with its candles. “We’re in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. If you were going to go native on us, whatever possessed you to pick a Russian goddess? There weren’t any Hawaiian deities who struck your fancy?”
“Oh, I did not pick my goddess. She found me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “My, my. You must feel very special.”
She either missed or chose to ignore my sarcasm. “Blessed, really.”
I frowned. She wasn’t joking. I wasn’t witnessing some unusual example of Sarcodinay humor, some practical joke of sorts. “Nice,” I agreed absently, and then my focus sharpened. “A little crazy though. I mean, this isn’t exactly considered sane behavior for a Sarcodinay, is it? We humans might have our little cults and closet faiths, but you Sarcodinay only have your Keepers. They made you. They gave you your toys and told you the universe was your destiny. Put you all on the path a
nd told you to stomp anyone who crossed it.”
She nodded. “I no longer believe that act deserves my gratitude. I suppose one might say I lost faith, or rather perhaps, I discovered too much.”
“So how it is that you’re still here? That the rest of the Sarcodinay haven’t carted you away or sent someone like that High Guard—hello, by the way!” I waved to the High Guard. He studiously pretended I didn’t exist. “—standing in the corner to rearrange your brain, to literally change your mind. I know you’re a gene-priestess, which means you’re a telepath, but you’re what? Vela-class? I bet he’s probably at least Shinu. So...why hasn’t he?”
She all but patted my head as she answered. “He’s not here for me, child. He’s here to stop Zaladin. I’m just the duck.”
I was distracted by the razor-sharp recognition: she knew who was coming for her too. Shaniran had as well. These people all knew their murderer. “Uh, repeat that? I could have sworn you just said you were a duck.”
Maia-Leia Shana nodded indulgently. “Duck. You know: quack, quack.”
I’ll say.
She activated her hover chair and slid over to one of the etchings on the walls, showing a pretty young human woman running through the woods, being pursued by darkness and terror. The style was very strictly pre-plague, but the accents hinted at more modern events: the girl had a rifle slung over her shoulder and a duffle bag hung off one arm. Her
