Praise for the Fiction
of Heather Jarman
“Heather Jarman’s narrative is so rich and vivid that it’s quite easy to become lost in the story. As the tale unfolds the tension builds continuously providing moments of satisfying release before it builds again. It is like being on a thrill ride that gives you moments to catch your breath before it races off again.”
“Jarman illuminates important and poignant themes.”
“World building is something Jarman excels at.”
—Jackie Bundy, TrekNation.com
“Besides writing well, Jarman knows how to keep the characters lively.”
—Kilian Melloy, wigglefish.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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To Sara, Allyson, Rachel, and Abigail, who kept saying, “Mom, when are you going to write a book we can read?”
Historian’s Note
This story unfolds between the fourth and fifth seasons of Star Trek: Voyager.
“When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face; now I know in part: but then shall I know even as I am known.”
—The First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians, Chapter 13:11–14
Prologue
1365 A.D., Old Calendar; Delta Quadrant
“I won’t allow you to go into the baron’s fortress unprotected. You must conceal a weapon or allow me to carry one.” Ced fastened the last clasp at the waist of Lia’s heavy bronze breastplate, and then took a few steps back so he could look her in the eye. She wouldn’t be able to deceive him face-to-face. When it came to the battlefield, Lia might be a cunning, unpredictable strategist, capable of wielding the elements like no seer in Ocampa’s recorded history. Ced had discovered, however, after three rains serving her as her adjunct, that his liege was incapable of telling a convincing lie.
“We have nothing to fear, Ced. The baron is yet unallied. We have a chance to sway him to our side.” For a split second, she held eye contact before turning away, shielding her thoughts from him.
I thought so, Ced thought, wondering what excuses or stories she would try to placate him with. She knew his doubts; her extraordinary telepathic abilities made it almost impossible to hide from her. But Ced wanted his liege to know his fears, hoping perhaps that they would dislodge her stubborn determination to go along with her foolish plan. And I will stand by her, even to death.
Kneeling down on the rug before her trunk, Lia searched among her weapons and armor for her rank insignia—a frontlet made of animal skin featuring a three-gem triad embedded in the center. She’d chosen to proclaim her status the ancient way, following the example of such notable warrior-seers as Sie, Mey, and the greatest of all, the female Ocampa Lav. Lav, too, had been born in a time of planetary tumult and had chosen to use her psionic abilities to wage battle against oppression, rallying her followers behind the standard of the three stars, represented by a triad of gems. Lia’s deliberate invocation of Lav in the minds of both her followers and enemies inspired the proper amount of fear and trust. Ced had wondered, as did others, if Lia was Lav reborn, come to save Ocampa in what he believed would be their most desperate fight yet. At the very least, Ced believed that Lav must have been among Lia’s knowledge-progenitors, with her lifetime of learning being among those engrams transferred to Lia during her first year.
Usually the sages kept careful records of who among them held the knowledge of illustrious forebears like General Lav or King Gran the Wise. The sages were supposed to be egalitarian and random about transferring such unique experience and knowledge to newborn Ocampa, giving all Ocampans equal access to their heritage. In practice, the sages hoarded their prestigious engrams, bestowing them far more selectively than they ought to. That someone of Lia’s undistinguished parentage, who at the moment of her birth had been determined to have only the bare minimum psionic skills necessary to function in Ocampan society—a neutral—could emerge as the greatest warrior-seer of her age was proof to Ced that forces beyond understanding were at work in their lives. Ocampa certainly needed the help.
Already five moons had passed without any sign of the rains returning. Rumors had reached Lia and Ced that Mestof had warrior-seer advisors manipulating the planet’s elements in such a way that the rains could be forcibly withheld. Lia and her followers saw the parched western continent as evidence of their power. Already, the moats and canals of their great cities had dropped to historically low levels. Aquaculture factories and processors shut down production as lakes and rivers became too shallow to cultivate. All feared shortages come harvest time. Rationing would address the worst of the problem; few would starve. The Ocampa were helpless, however, to prevent a more deadly phenomenon linked to the elimination of the rains: the ongoing erosion of the planet’s protective cloud layer.
Ocampan evolution occurred in a nearly sunless environment, or so Ced had been taught. For the few rotations where the cloud layer thinned enough to allow more light and thus radiation in, the Ocampa typically lived indoors. Traditionally, the sunny seasons were known as the “hibernation times.” While the low levels of light filtering through the cloud layer were critical to Ocampan growth and development, continuous, direct exposure to sunlight was deadly. Ocampans’ physiology—from their lack of protective skin pigmentation to sense organs such as their radiation-sensitive retinas—wasn’t equipped to handle heavy sunlight. Even neurological functioning seemed to be impaired when an Ocampa absorbed too much sun energy.
Whatever (or whoever, thought Ced) had stopped the rain had also begun dissolving the cloud layer. At first, preoccupation with planetside water shortages had prevented the researchers from focusing their attention elsewhere. All energies were devoted to solving the water crisis. Then the malignant skin lesions and miscarriages proliferated, and sunny days came with more frequency, forcing researchers to face the unthinkable: Ocampa was losing its water. It wasn’t as simple as historical shifts in water distribution due to weather or other environmental factors. What researchers discovered was a steady downward trend in net planetary water resources: The water was slowly disappearing and wasn’t reappearing in the form of water vapor, underground water table reserves, or ice pack.
Many refused to believe the evidence, attributing the changing climate to fluke circumstances that would ultimately reverse on their own. The spiritually minded believed that Ocampa was on the receiving end of supernatural punishment and that an apocalypse was upon them. Some in govern
ing conclave councils believed that these “droughts” would pass. They wanted only to deal with the most immediate concerns: feeding their people and protecting them from the increasingly serious sunlight problem. Others, like those who followed Lia, believed that the planetary environment was being artificially manipulated by the power-mad Mestof and his followers. She vowed to do whatever was required to stop Mestof from systematically bringing all of Ocampa under his rule by this cruelest of blackmail. The most gifted seers dismissed Lia’s allegations as being impossible; no one wielded the kind of power required to diminish Ocampa’s water supply. They labeled General Lia crazy and dismissed her as a radical with political aspirations of her own. In some quarters, her military quests were seen as insane crusades against an imaginary enemy.
Ced, a retired soldier, had been a member of a conclave council that chose to avoid involvement in all conflicts. He’d faithfully executed his council duties, believing he was in the right until a moon ago when he saw General Lia marshal her troops against Mestof’s in an effort to prevent his conclave from being annexed to Mestof. He watched, horrified, as his fellow councillors made no effort to protect themselves or those who had elected them, so he had abandoned his post to fight beside Lia’s troops. When the battle ended, he had pledged the service of his lance to Lia and had never looked back.
Now he functioned as her closest advisor; together they plotted stratagems that they hoped would lead to Mestof’s demise. To this end, Lia would approach the last lineal baron of the western hemisphere to see if he would join forces with her against Mestof. Baron Var had land and resources that Lia would require should she attempt to mount a serious offensive attack on Mestof’s forces.
At last Lia found the rank insignia, carefully wrapped and tied in a bundle of waterproof cloth. Ced watched as she reverently unwound the cloth and removed the insignia. It was no small feat for one of Lia’s ilk to ascend to the command of an army at the young age of three. Centering the gem-encrusted piece in the middle of her forehead, she threaded it over her ears and tied the straps at the base of her skull, beneath the abundant blond plaits streaming down her back. “My gifts will protect us,” she said confidently. “If they attempt to lay a hand on either of us, I’ll invoke a shield around us.”
And when you employ that tactic in battle, we have you surrounded with a squadron of warriors, protecting you from whatever mischief Mestof concocts, Ced thought. “But in the trance state, your self-defense options are limited—”
She placed a finger to his lips. “I trust you to help protect me.” A slight smile softened her serious expression. “The baron will not grant an audience to one who shows up with a militia pounding on his door with fire lances. We go without the others.” Taking a seat on a three-legged stool beside the trunk, she fished behind her mussed sleeping cot until she found her fire lance secured in its carrying case. She discarded the carrying case, slid open the lance’s control panel, and began adjusting the weapon’s circuitry, which she’d previously customized.
“How else can I help prepare for the journey, my liege,” Ced said quietly.
Knowing you are beside me is enough, she spoke to his mind, and returned to her task.
Not for the first time, Ced studied his general’s lovely, youthful face, wishing for all the rain of Ocampa that the sooths had found greater psionic abilities in him so he could be granted the right to offer suit to Lia. She hadn’t yet taken a first, let alone the three or four mates that were the prerogative of one in her position. With her elogium soon at hand, Ced wondered at her continuing reluctance to choose a mate; he personally knew of several suitors with both the required mental gifts and the rank to court someone of Lia’s stature. It had recently come to Ced’s attention that suspicious conclave members, gossiping indiscreetly, had speculated that Lia was a fraud and would be unable to deceive a psionically gifted mate. Perhaps she is simply waiting to see how events play out with the baron before she commits to anyone. Even that didn’t make sense to Ced. Carrying a child should enhance her mental acumen in battle, so why delay? Could it be she hasn’t found the right mate yet—that she might have formed attachments to someone not well suited to her?
Like yourself, came the thought.
In your dreams, came the answer.
As was usually the case when these thoughts occurred, Ced quickly shuttled them aside. Why would a female of Lia’s beauty and exceptional gifts desire a homely mate, one balding, advancing in age, and whose damaged body bore six years of battle scars and poorly healed wounds? He could hardly move without his hot, swollen joints shooting pain into his limbs. Serving Lia and her cause gave him the will to ignore his misery, to put aside his longing to transfer his meager engrams to a sage and embrace the Other Life. His reborn self might not return to location a time or place where he could be close to Lia as he was in this time so he would endure as long as he could.
Suddenly, the fabric door of the tent parted, admitting Lia’s senior counselor, who was flushed and panting. He clutched at his abdomen in an effort to regulate his breath. Not good news, Ced thought grimly. He turned, met Tel’s sober gaze. “Speak, Patriarch.”
The counselor righted himself and inhaled sharply. “The messenger has returned from Palal,” he said, his voice gravelly with fatigue. “The city fell to Mestof’s forces less than a moon ago but our allies in the region have already been routed out and killed.”
“Mestof must have sent in sooths to thought-probe the city’s residents,” Lia said. “That’s the only way they could have so readily identified those who sympathize with us.”
“Not possible,” Ced said. “No sooth has the ability to ascertain such specific information.” If they can, our efforts to stop the war and fight the warning will amount to dust. There will be no place we can go where the enemy can’t know our plans. As Lia’s adjunct, he had to always consider the worst possible potential outcomes, especially since Lia was such an idealist.
“And recall how I was designated a neutral when it came to the gifts. The sooths sent me to the factories, where I labored for several seasons before my gifts manifested themselves. These are strange days, Ced. Anything is possible.”
“We can’t risk going into the baron’s fortress, General,” Ced reiterated. “Should Mestof have spies in the court with the ability to thought-probe us, all our intentions will be known.”
“There is something odd about how Mestof is proceeding. I believe if all his servants had the gifts displayed at Palal, he would have destroyed us already instead of engaging us in the occasional skirmish or minor battle. No, I believe that Mestof hasn’t found a way to create an army of psionically gifted warriors, rather that someone in Mestof’s ranks has abilities we’ve never seen before.”
“There are stories, General,” Tel said, “of two such warriors whom Mestof counts among his closest advisors. It is said that they can use their gifts to create hallucinations in the minds of many simultaneously. They can direct water from out of a streambed into the sky and call up fire from the ground.”
“I’ve heard those rumors too, Tel,” Lia said. “And while there are those that discount them, I’m inclined to believe there is truth in the stories somewhere. Just how much, I cannot say. We must persuade the baron to come over to the Alliance—that much is certain.” Are you ready? she spoke to Ced.
For a brief moment, she unshielded her thoughts and Ced felt her anxiety.
I will defend you to my death, my liege, he said.
Should it come to that, Ced, we will die together.
As they traveled through the outlying villages and past the farms and factories on Baron Var’s land, Lia felt reassured. Many Ocampans paused from their labors to wish them well. She could sense the stress the drought had brought to their lives and their desire for a quick resolution to the conflict they believed was the cause of the drought. They needed to look no further than to the eastern hemisphere to know what kind of autocrat Mestof was and how he threatened what limited freedoms th
ese peasants had under Var’s rule. Mestof took generous tribute for himself from every field tilled in his districts. Var wasn’t nearly as greedy.
Though he was a generous and reasonable governor, Baron Var had granted little autonomy to those who worked his lands; they had a long struggle ahead to obtain the rights that those in Lia’s district had obtained. Still, there was no question that all would suffer if Mestof won in the end. Lia counted on the baron having come to the same conclusion.
She and Ced were admitted almost immediately after they appeared at the gates. There was no question in her mind that they were expected, that the baron’s spies had informed their liege of every move they’d made within his lands. He’d probably made up his mind whether he had any interest in their cause. Even utilizing her powers to their fullest, she’d yet to learn what the baron’s intentions were. She’d have expected to overhear an indiscreet thought among those who lacked either the gifts or the mind discipline to protect their privacy. After a long winding trek through the grand and spacious palace, she entered the baron’s inner chambers without any of the advantages that she usually had, a fact that she diligently hid from Ced. He worried enough without having to know how precarious their circumstances were. As was required, she surrendered her lance to the guards at the entrance. Then doors banged closed behind her, and she heard the security bars slide into their slots with a jarring clang and a click: there would be no easy escape from this place.
How she could move freely on a battlefield overrun with spear-wielding warriors intent on slaughtering her and feel safer than she did now in this nearly silent place might be amusing were circumstances less dire. She looked around the circular perimeter and saw Var’s advisors studying her intently, their beady dark eyes, buried in wrinkled pockets of pallid gray skin, intently following her every step from their perches on stiff, high-backed chairs. From above, a cold blue light pierced the translucent marble dome, shrouding the room in catacomb-like half-light. She walked slowly across the stone floor, her feet shuffling over the ornate inlaid patterns of green and gold and white. At the center of the room, at a point directly beneath the dome, she stopped.
String Theory, Book 3: Evolution Page 1
