“That again? Level with me. What’s up with this proto-African shit?”
“Listen, I just make my way, like every Solomon.” He seemed about to turn away, another attempt at deflecting Michael’s questions. But the red-haired pilot, no taller than Michael, didn’t let go of Michael’s stare. “Fine, Michael. Here’s the score. Thirty-nine colonies. Yes? Settled centuries ago. A plan called ethnic sovereignty. Different races, nationalities, given their own worlds. Sounds like a generous deal. Yes? It was actually about cleansing Earth of all but the Chancellors. In four hundred years, they moved three billion people off this planet. All the tribes they called the proto-Africans offered the biggest resistance.”
Michael’s stomach sank. “What happened to them?”
“What do you think? The ones that weren’t massacred left Earth. They colonized two worlds – Zwahili Kingdom and Moroccan Prime. Today, there aren’t ten thousand people on the entire African continent – and not a one of them looks like you.”
“Great. So, if I wanna meet another brother, I gotta go what – halfway across the damn galaxy?”
“Probably. There are a few among us Solomons. Their families had powerful connections during the colonial migrations, and their descendencies remained, but I haven’t seen one in three, four years. Michael, it’s not like they think of you as a threat. More like, you represent a bad memory. You remind them that everything they spent a millennium building is falling from their grasp.”
Rikard grabbed Michael by the arm and escorted him to the exit. He spoke to Brey.
“Nudge my stream when you finish. Tomelin and the Chief expect everyone in Mod4 for convocation.”
Brey nodded. “Ten minutes and I’ll have the data we need.”
They stepped outside the ship. Rikard kept his voice low.
“There’s no time to tell you everything, Michael. Just know this: We have a symbiotic relationship of sorts with the Chancellors, and it provides us with a comfortable lifestyle if we remain within our legal parameters. If they fear we are pushing the limit … remember, Michael: They are the masters.”
Another gut-punch. “Wait, what? You’re slaves?”
Rikard rolled his eyes. “No. We’re an attendant class. Skilled labor. Service. Design. Engineering. Transport. Agriculture. Michael, we make their lives seamless. They pay us well. We live well but own nothing.”
“Huh? You mean like, no house or car?”
“I don’t know what a car is, but we own no property, no land.”
“Sorry, dude, but that don’t sound like a sweet deal.” He backed away as he studied the giant compartment in which they stood. The rectangular design featured silver walls formed into roundels, the centers of which projected inches off the surface. The projections glowed, creating a milky light. “What the hell is this place?”
“Parking bay.”
“Oh,” Michael said. “You mean a garage?”
“Again, no idea what that is. Michael, I …”
Michael looked aft to see outside, sort of. A cascade barrier vibrated, creating what looked like a wall of illuminated dust. Beyond it, he saw vague outlines of buildings and flashing lights.
“Where are we, Rikard?”
“New Stockholm.”
“Huh? Stockholm? Like Sweden?”
“We’re still in the NAC. Just a few hours east, along the coast. Michael, I want you to …”
“Can I see it?” He pointed. “Out there. Is that a city?”
“Yes. The oldest in the NAC.” Rikard grabbed Michael and leaned in again. “Would you listen to me? Then I’ll show you the city. Yes?”
“Sure. Let me have it.”
“Michael, I’m trying to prepare you. Tomelin has not said it, but if she’s going to protect you without stowing you away, she must disguise you as a Solomon. They’ll set you up with the proper attire, limited stream conveyance, genetic library, the works.”
“Stream what?”
“Enough so you can get around until they slip you off-world. If they even can. I’m not sure Tomelin’s connections are as solid as she’d have us believe.”
Michael examined the t-shirt and jeans he wore since after the disaster in Alabama. “Dude, look. I mean, I reckon I need a fresh set of threads, right? And as for the rest … seriously, Rikard, why are you telling me all this? You never said a word to me until I woke up five minutes ago.”
Rikard started Michael toward the illuminated cascade barrier.
“Because I knew what you were from the start: A fool who showed up on the one planet where you can’t stay. And because I don’t enjoy being caught between Chancellors playing games with each other. There’s nothing in my contract about orbital slews and warring armies of mercs. I’m a pilot, not a peacekeeper. Tomelin and her lot are playing dangerous games, and people like us always find ourselves caught in the middle.” He pointed to the black scarring along the ship’s hull, a product of the slews. “You don’t deserve this, Michael. You should go into this with open eyes.”
Michael turned Rikard’s warning into a comforting blanket when he realized he wasn’t alone. Michael extended his hand.
“Thanks. I already knew these Chancellors were crazy mo-fos, but this helps. You got a last name?”
“Bryznewieski.”
“Cool. As long as I never have to spell it.”
“You are an odd specimen, Michael. Always with the quip.”
“There are worse ways to make a living. Am I right?” He raised his hand for a high-five. He pulled back at Rikard’s confusion. “I’ll teach you that someday. So, how about you show me the city?”
“A pleasure.” Rikard opened his stream amp and fingered codes that brought down the barrier.
Michael took in the urban kaleidoscope and exhaled.
“Sweetness.”
Giant spires with glowing arches rose hundreds of meters above a cityscape dominated by streetlights and roving laser streams that laid out New Stockholm in colored grids. Hums and whirrs rose from the elevated causeways that snaked between the tallest structures, each of which Michael thought looked more like religious temples than office buildings or skyscrapers. Once his eyes adjusted, he realized the interplay of light and form halted, as if they set the city against a giant wall. Or perhaps …
“Is that the ocean? It’s so black.”
“Yes, Michael. The Atlantic.”
“Incredible. You know what’d be perfect? A full moon … the ocean like this giant ghost against the …”
Rikard voiced confusion. “Moon?”
“Yeah, dude. The big gray rock that revolves around …”
“Earth does not have a moon. There used to be myths about Luna. But I know little of pre-history.”
“Seriously? Damn. Guess you don’t miss it if you never had it. So, how old is New Stockholm?”
“Twenty-eight hundred years. The first Chancellory settlement in North America. A beautiful city. Yes. But I find it more satisfying at daytime. The architecture … how it blends a tribute to the old world and the new. You’ll understand. Sunrise is five hours away.”
Everything came into perspective. Michael remembered his last sunrise. The beach at Lake Vernon, saved by his best friend, still processing how he was even alive. Washing the blood away.
“First day on an alien planet called Earth,” he said. “This is nuts.”
A familiar voice rose from behind.
“Nuts, for sure. But also the most amazing day ever.”
Samantha bounded toward him, dressed in a pantsuit of green and magenta, similar to Dr. Tomelin’s uniform. She threw an arm over his neck and kissed him on the cheek.
“We’ve been through the worst, Michael. It’s all going to be better now. We’ve been making plans. We’ll find J before the day is out, and we’ll start the rest of our mission together. Just you wait.”
She joined him near the edge of the parking bay, staring at the city. Michael turned to Rikard. The pilot did not smile.
18
The home offered a spectacular, 20th-floor view of the city, but the interiors fascinated him more. High vaulted ceiling, diagonal spotlights illuminating the room’s elaborate features. Inset aquarium 10 feet long and high. An entire wall of panels featuring sculptures, vases, paintings, and relics in dazzling colors and forms. An island in the center of it all from which sprouted a terrarium twice his height. Tropical trees, miniature palms, succulents, a rocky stream trickling between them. Songbirds flying - red, yellow, white.
Damnation. So, this is how Chancellors live.
Rikard leaned in, as if reading Michael’s thoughts.
“This landing is under charter to my husband Matthias. As I said, they pay us well.”
“Husband, huh? That’s cool. Where’s he?”
“On two-month service attachment in Hong Kong Prefecture. He builds these.” Rikard pointed to the natural island. “EarthIn, he calls them. He has clients booked a year ahead.”
“Very cool,” Michael said. “So, this ain’t a hologram?”
“Depends upon your perspective. Everything inside is natural, a fully-formed habitat. The flora grows at two percent its pace in the wild. But the birds see a jungle because of dimensional extenders.”
“Whatever you said, sounds cool.” He turned to Samantha. “Sweet digs. Am I right?”
“Beautiful,” she said.
“Your folks ever talk to you about the Solomons?”
“I think so.” She didn’t make eye contact with Rikard. “But mostly, they were concerned about the Chancellory.”
Rikard smirked. “I’ve never known a Chancellor concerned with anything else.”
The three stood together in awkward silence at the edge of the EarthIn, Michael in the center. He reached out to touch a palm frond, and his hand penetrated a magnetic barrier that flickered on contact.
“So, if I get your speed, those birds think this is a whole jungle, right? Can they see my hand?”
“Only what penetrates the barrier. They can’t see us.”
“That’s some impressive shit, right there.” Michael pulled back before he reached the level of fandom. “It’s like they’re living a fantasy. But all this …” He glanced about the room. “The real deal. Damn.”
Sammie interjected. “Michael, let’s talk with Ophelia and …”
He cut her short. “Tell me something, Rikard. Why are you called Solomons? And that symbol you wear on your shirt, it’s …”
“We’re named after the Chancellor who kept us from being cleansed: Foster Solomon. Toward the end of the colonial migrations, he recognized the need for a labor force. He brokered the deal we live by today. The ethnics who stayed behind became a protected class as long we supported the Chancellory, followed birth quotas, and agreed never to own property or seek governmental representation.”
“And that symbol?”
“Mr. Solomon’s family seal. His way of assuring immortality.”
“You have to wear it all the time?” When Rikard nodded, Michael sighed. “Dude, on my Earth, when people have to wear symbols on their clothes, ain’t nothing good coming of it.”
Sammie grabbed his arm. “Michael, you heard him. They made a deal. It’s a good arrangement for everybody.”
“Yeah,” Michael mumbled. “I reckon a Chancellor might say that.”
She squeezed his arm and pulled him away from Rikard.
“What is wrong with you, Michael? I know this hasn’t been what you expected, but we are trying to sort things out.”
“Who’s we?”
“All of us. This isn’t about Chancellors and Solomons. We came through the fold with a plan. Jamie’s plan. Remember?”
“Sure, but he was kind of vague on the details – and he’s … well, where he is, Sammie? Does Ophelia know?”
Sammie hesitated. “She says it’s complicated, but we’ll be able to find him before the day is out.”
“You’re not helping. And what about that admiral who knows I killed his son? He’s got J. So, what are we doing about that guy?”
“We’re getting there, Michael. I promise. Things don’t work the same way here as they did back home.”
He smiled. “Sure they do. There’s people in charge, and people who ain’t. People who got all the bucks, and people who don’t. It’s the same damn game, Sammie. Just different names. You get that, right? You ain’t lost all your sense?”
Her eyes widened, as if reaching an aha moment.
“You think I’m getting carried away with being a Chancellor,” she said. “You think I’ll turn my back on you because you’re not.”
“I never said …”
“But that’s what you’re thinking. I felt it earlier. The way you looked up at me after I put down that mercenary. And the way you were talking right before those slews came down on us. I knew something was off, and it wasn’t just because you were scared. I’m just trying to help you, Michael. I’ve been one of your best friends.”
His blood boiled as the weight that fell upon him moments after crossing the IDF neared the surface.
“I don’t know about that best part. J was the one you had the hots for. Otherwise, I reckon you wouldn’t have given me the time of day. But seriously, Sammie. You hear the tone in your voice? You’re already high and mighty – and I’m two years older.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, but things have changed. I have duties now. There’s a way things are done …”
“Don’t,” he said, pulling away. “Don’t go there, Sammie. Y’ know, you were cool when you were Wonder Woman with an AK. Shit. ‘There’s a way things are done.’ ’” He channeled his grandfather, who always thought racial harmony was a pipe dream. “You sound like every Cracker who ever told somebody like me, ‘There’s a way things are done.’ But what she really meant was, ‘There’s a way us white folks say things are done, and the rest of you people keep your traps shut and play our game.’ ’”
Sammie tried to interrupt, but Michael shut her down.
“Did you ever notice how the black folks lived on one side of Albion and the white folks on the other? Reckon that’s how we kept things nice and peaceful. Walk down Main Street and the white folks be all smiles and waves because they figured, ‘Hey, at least we ain’t got to live next to them.’ Last summer, the Harrises – not three houses down from me – found a noose hanging from a tree in their front yard. Never figured out who done it. Sheriff didn’t do shit.
“You see, Sammie. You got no idea. I weren’t on this planet five minutes, and some white chick looks at me like I ain’t got the right to breathe her air. And they’ve been piling on ever since. I’m already sorry I came, but I can’t go back, and I got to figure out how to live here. If you can help me do that, great. But don’t talk down to me. You ain’t my mom, and I ain’t your Negro. Got my speed?”
Michael regretted making a scene, but not for speaking the truth. Albion wasn’t as segregated as he made out, but he didn’t care. He turned to Rikard, who raised an eyebrow. Was he impressed? Could he relate? Michael figured they would talk later.
Ophelia Tomelin intruded upon the tension.
“Michael, you strike me as someone who longs for an audience. I assume I am the ‘white chick’ to whom you’re referring. As I told you before, I apologize for our first encounter. I know nothing more about your home than you know of mine.” She slipped Rikard a darting glance. “But I suspect you’ve been learning. Understand this, Michael. Ever since we set foot in this landing, Samantha has been insistent that your safety and comfort be as high a priority as any other. She has not put her interests above you or James.”
His shoulders sagged.
“OK. Fine. Look, Sammie. I didn’t mean … hell, I don’t know what I meant. I j
ust want a square deal. I feel like a redshirt.”
Sammie and Ophelia shared their confusion.
“A what?” Sammie asked.
“Redshirt. The dude who gets whacked before the first commercial break. Sorry. It’s a Star Trek thing.”
“No bother, Michael,” Ophelia said. “I’ll never understand your colloquialisms. Here, all of you. Come with me. I want to show you something important.”
On the other side of the EarthIn, a holographic projection rose from a cube on a round dining table. Patricia, AKA the Chief, swiped her fingers through the intricate web of graphics while sipping from a mug. Ophelia led all three around the table, behind Patricia.
“What’s all this?” Michael asked.
Ophelia laid a supportive hand on his shoulder.
“Our plans. Our contacts. Our new hires. Everything is almost in place for our next move.”
“Which is?”
“There’s another Jewel, like James. She crossed the fold in the Ukrainian Expanse shortly after you arrived. Our people are attempting to find her and transport her to the NAC. The same faction that tried to kill us will try to take her out. When the time comes, we need to intercept them with mercenaries and provide cover until we can get her, James, and both of you to safety. Preferably, off-world.”
“Wait, what? How does J fit into this?”
“He’ll be there, too. Plus Augustus Perrone.” She faced Michael. “You fear him, but you’re not alone. I’ve had an epiphany, Michael. I realize why he wanted James so badly. You need to be prepared.” She placed her other hand on Samantha. “Both of you. We’ll make this work, but not everyone may come out alive.”
Michael stiffened his shoulders. “No problem. I should’ve been toast a couple days ago. I’m down with whatever we gotta do. Just one condition: You don’t put me off to the side. Whatever uniform I need, or whatever crazy-ass tech you gotta put in me. Whatever training. I’m all in. Whatever it takes.”
When no one objected – Rikard even smiled – Michael realized he found a role in this new universe. It scared the hell out of him.
19
Great Plains Metroplex, NAC
The Risen Gods Page 10
