The Coming Storm_A Pax Aeterna Novel

by Trevor Wyatt

  During the war, we had a lot of downtime in between ops when we were behind enemy lines. One of the things we used to do was watch the vids of an old 20th Century reruns of an entertainment segment called Superman. Alien royalty masquerading as a mild-mannered journalist within what was then the United States of America. It was a show full of hope for humanity, before the dark years of the Third World War and Post-Atomic Horror.

  Sometimes I wish I could leap tall buildings in a single bound (though admittedly, with my nanites, I get about as close as humanly possible to that), or have an x-ray vision.

  Thinking about vision reminds me that the main (if not only) clue I have to who is behind the assassination of Yanik is the dent in the rifle scope. I sigh because having that as my one piece of evidence seems kind of flimsy; in addition, I'm still gritting my teeth over the fact that I didn't get to actually see the scope up close. I'm relying on second-hand information, which is not the way I like to do things at all.

  I do allow myself a moment of smugness, however, when I think about Ambassador Asis. By now I'm sure he's been informed of the assassination (though not by me, I grin at the memory of me sauntering out of his office), but I'm sure even if the details are handed to him on a silver platter he would still have his head up his ass. So while I don't have a lot of clues, at least I have a clue. Which is definitely more than I can say for ol’ Esteban. No wonder he's behind a desk.

  So, I ask myself, what am I going to do with this one clue?

  Time to do some hunting. Alone. That’s how I like to do things.

  I inhale deeply…conjuring my daintier alter ego, Rosaline. I make sure my mask is on tight. It doesn't hide much of my face—it's see-through, but it still feels like I'm putting a costume. Except that like Clark Kent from the pre-war vids, I can never truly hide behind my persona.

  He was always Superman lurking behind those window pane glasses.

  Me? I'm a wolf in a sheep's clothing. You can see it in my eyes.

  I know how to hunt.

  I know how to kill.

  And something tells me I'll be doing both of it very soon.

  My day might be looking up, after all.

  Gresh

  As a Sonali, I do not feel that the need to express my apprehension regarding the future of the Origin movement openly to my Terran colleague; however, given her curious nature, I doubt I will be able to duck her inquiries for long.

  I find myself amused more than annoyed by this possibility. As a member of the Scholar Caste, it is always refreshing to find another, particularly from other species, that shares my passion for knowledge. I never guessed that Terrans place the same value on scholarly pursuit as we do.

  So when Rosaline walks into my office, I smile at her.

  She finds a place to sit. The room is filling up quickly. Unfortunately, I notice more than a handful of my brethren looking at her with disapproving glances.

  While I understand where this prejudice comes from, I fail to see how they can so quickly assign it to her—to a Terran that is obviously not a threat and is just incredibly interested in our culture and way of life.

  If anything, the death of Yankin should make us band together—Terran, Sonali and any others that share our Origin goals. We need numbers to fight this insufferable dictatorship over our lives. The more fighting we do within our own ranks, the weaker we will become.

  Looking around at all of the young Sonali, some of them years away from Ascension, I worry that in their youthful exuberance they are geared up to fight.

  As final members find seats, I address the gathering.

  "Friends, we are gathered here to discuss how we should proceed given the heinous murder of spokesperson Yanik. While we may not have agreed with him, at this point, we also need to protect our movement as we move forward."

  "Gresh, how can you speak of moving forward when his murderer has not even been brought to justice?" says one of the members. Several other members murmur in agreement.

  "Friends, an investigation is underway by Sonali police forces and the Terrans-"

  "Terrans! Gresh, how can we trust a Terran? All they speak of are lies! The weapon found was a Terran weapon. They killed Yanik!" The room is suddenly filled with shouts of "Justice for Yanik!" and “Driving us apart!” More faces turn toward Rosaline. She's a perfect target for all this anger and frustration. I glance at her face trying to see if she's getting worried, but reading Terran emotions is difficult.

  She looks wary, but not afraid. She's calm, not too comfortable, but certainly more relaxed than I would be were our positions reversed. She catches my eye, gives a little nod like she's reassuring me! Terrans, I'm not sure I will ever understand their emotional range.

  Rosaline is fine for now. I need to get my Sonali brothers and sisters to be rational.

  "Friends, brothers, sisters, we must group together, we must stand together against this oppression of our basic rights. Now is not the time to lose our focus, we must not let the need for revenge against speculated crimes consume us—it will dilute our purpose, and those within the Ascension movement will find a way to blame Yanik’s death on us," I finish calmly.

  Harsh shouts greet my woods.

  "Protecting our lives and lives of our members is our focus!" shouts a female member at me.

  "Yes!" joins another, "How can we fight for our rights while letting our movement be hijacked? We must show that we will not allow ourselves to be subjugated by our government or have our political strength manipulated by the Terrans."

  The last of that sentence is delivered directly to Rosaline. Her eyes remain calm, but I do see her shift her body. I have a feeling that she is planning an escape route from my office before things get any more heated.

  Suddenly a chant starts, "Death to Terrans! Death to Terrans!"

  Although etymology is not my field, I do enjoy learning colloquialisms common to different species. In my brief contact with Terrans, I have learned that they often refer to situations of chaos by referencing fecal matter in some fashion. Specifically, I have heard "shit" used repeatedly both as a derogatory adjective (this is shit) and also as a derogatory noun (what is this shit?).

  However, there is another phrase I have learned from the Terrans regarding shit.

  Apparently when it "hits the fan" (it can fly?) really bad things happen.

  As I see my brethren turn blood-thirsty and hell-bent on letting their frustrations take hold, I realize that at this moment the shit is indeed hitting the fan.

  Sonali Prime may not have been touched by the war with the Terrans, but nearly all 8 billion residents of the home world felt it in some way or another.

  We’ve all felt the loss of war. Either a relative dead in a far flung colony, or knowing a soldier returning with hollowed-out eyes and a vacant stare. Food rations were decreased during the war and more than once the populace was told that protecting ourselves from the Terrans would mean that families would go hungry and cold.

  The anger is real. It is stirring this shit that is hitting the fan.

  And at the center of it is my colleague, Rosaline, a Terran, one whom I am beginning to hold in great esteem as she has shown such a keen interest and appreciation of our culture. Her earnest concern regarding this very issue of ascension has particularly made me look at Terrans in a whole new light.

  I regret that my fellow Sonali have not had such an opportunity to get to know her. No, to them she is nothing more than an outsider. She is a threat and a danger. I would not put it past my fellow Origins members to justify holding her responsible for what happened to Yanik and condemning her of trying to sabotage our movement. I cannot even imagine Rosaline holding a gun. But just her presence here makes her a target. I feel like a fool for thinking it would be safe for her to be here. I need to get a handle on this situation before she gets hurt.

  "Friends!" I shout to get the attention of the chanting room. "Please listen to me. Terrans are not our enemies.

  No one is listening. Their hat
e is too strong.

  I need to show them something. To give them an idea why they should not hate the Terrans. Something that I know that no one else does.

  “Please give me a moment. There is something I must show you." The room has quieted. I can still feel the tension, but at the moment I have everyone's attention. I go to the locked case to the right of my desk. I key in the sequence that unlocks the cabinet containing many of the most recent relics I have unearthed. I have shared some of these with Rosaline, but have kept some of them hidden until a moment presented itself to reveal my findings to my fellow Sonali. I feel that now is the time to show them. I need to make them understand.

  I pull out two artifacts. They are ancient crusted fossils, similar to the petrified matter on Terran world. I unwrap another fossil—this one is Terran. I turn to my desk placing each sample carefully side by side. I can tell that I have the room's interest and attention. Good, I need to be able to explain this in terms everyone can understand. As a scholar, I am used to speaking among peers, but right now I must make my speech readily understandable for all.

  "My fellow Sonali, before you I have placed three fossils. Two are from Sonali Prime—I know this because I recovered them myself." I cannot help the bit of pride that seeps into my voice regarding these two pieces. They are among my prized possessions, though in truth I do not feel that they belong to me, they belong to all Sonali. This is a record of our past.

  "The third was loaned to me to study at my request from the Terran Academy of Xenoarcheology. It is a Terran fossil." There are some slight grumblings when I mention this, but I continue. "As a xenoarchaeologist, I am curious regarding the origin of all species, not just ours, so I felt very fortunate to have been given a chance to contrast our ancestral lineage with that of Terrans."

  I pick up two of the artifacts, careful to make it look at those I picked up both Sonali relics. "Friends, regard the indentions in these artifacts."

  I hold up rocks of different hues and composition, but on the face of each is matching circular indentation with wide wavy lines. "The imprint on these finds are nearly identical. While it may look like an odd symbol carved into the rock, what you are looking at now is, in fact, a skeletal imprint of the first life form. The beginning of our species."

  There are murmurs of awe. "Looking at these fossils, it is hard to imagine that we are looking at a precursor to our species. Our evolution has taken us far from being a simple prokaryote biomass, though I have a feeling our ancestors would still consider us to be primitive, evolutionary speaking." There are a few laughs, but I can tell the room is still tense. Which makes me anxious to continue, but I know I must.

  "We have an advantage over Terran fossil dating. Since our atmosphere has more argon, we do not have to create simulated lab environments to measure fossil decay. We can use a spectrometer to directly assess the amount of argon within an artifact. This composition allows us to count backwards to the beginning of the fossil thus establishing its age with almost pinpoint accuracy." I hear polite murmurs, but I realize I need to speak plain regarding the true revelation of these relics.

  "These two fossils come from the same period. They share similar mineral make-up and obvious visual similarities. They are not just cousins to one another; they are twins. Do you know what this means?" I ask eagerly.

  There is a moment of silence, then a female Sonali member speaks, "Does it not make sense for them to share so many traits, even if they were found on opposite sides of Sonali—would not our fossil record be similar throughout?" Her observation and confusion are shared. She is not alone. I must make them see.

  "This one was found a year ago by myself and my team," I place the lighter of the two fossils in my hands back on to the table. “And this one," I slowly lower the darker, reddish fossil on to the desk next to the other, "This one," I say, pausing to look at my audience, "This one is not from our planet. This one is Terran."

  Silence shatters as shouts, screams and violent chaos break loose. Members begin tearing apart my office. Two members reach for the artifact to destroy them. Before I can reach it, the third relic—the other Sonali find—is snatched from the desk and thrown into the wall. It explodes into dust.

  Horrified, I jump in front of my desk as two young male Sonali charge. I hear noise behind me. I turn, still fearful for the relics I am protecting. I'm shocked to see Rosaline gathering the remaining Sonali and Terran twin relics.

  She turns to put them back into the locker. The door is ajar, and once she closes it, no one can get in without my code. She has both hands in the locker, setting the pieces down, when I see hands grab her shoulders. I watch helpless. The other relics will now be smashed as well.

  Rosaline removes her hands from the relics, places her palms above the hands on her shoulders and then in a move so fast I barely see what she’s doing—twist-throws off her attacker's hands.

  I watch as she closes the door. The lock sets to green. There is no way anyone can get to the relics now. I catch her eye as she turns away. I cannot read her expression, but regardless, I want to thank her. I nod at her and start to speak.

  My voice rasps as I begin coughing. I feel like I'm suffocating.

  The look on Rosaline's face tells me something is seriously wrong.

  Suddenly, I feel something on my back.

  I swat at it, hitting something cold and wet.

  My hand comes up to my face. It is covered in blood—thick blue blood.

  Sonali blood.

  My blood.

  I see Rosaline lean towards me. Her mouth is open, but I can't hear her words.

  I can't hear anything.

  There is a moment of fear as I fall.

  Then—there is nothing at all.

  No-One

  I hate hospitals. I mean, who doesn't?

  Good thing I don't need to visit them too often. However, I send a lot of people there. I smirk on that thought until I remember why I took an air car to this one. Gresh.

  He was stabbed—by one of his own.

  These Sonali …they are just like humans.

  By the time I got to him after he was stabbed, he was already falling unconscious. Luckily there was another Sonali who helped me load him into an aircar for emergency transport to a Sonali Renewal Center.

  Given the glares I was receiving, I decided the best thing I could do is leave and let them work on saving Gresh. So here I am, stepping off an aircar to enter the Renewal Center to visit him a day later. I should’ve brought flowers. I wonder if they have a gift shop.

  I wonder how Gresh is doing. He lost a lot of blood.

  I hope he's all right.

  Whoa, I catch myself mid-thought and stop mid-stride, why the hell am I worried about this guy? Of course; he's my best resource for getting information on the current political situation. That's true. But I also find myself generally concerned about his well-being. I feel another odd emotion.

  Guilt.

  Now that's weird.

  A part of me wonders if things would have turned as ugly as they did have I left the meeting or not even showed up. I can't hold myself accountable for the actions of his comrades, but the feeling persists.

  Well, fuck. I'll just have to deal with that introspection later. I've got a job to do. And independent of any of my feelings, Gresh is my best resource.

  So I need to keep him alive.

  I enter the Renewal Center. I gape because it has little in common with a Terran hospital. The building gleams white, but what really grabs my attention is all of the plants. The center is bursting with green. I even see a courtyard with a mini stream and a waterfall. There are bright flowers too. The center seems more like a spa retreat than a hospital.

  Before me sits two Sonali, a male and a female, at a curved slab of a desk that seems to be built from the same material as the building.

  I'm reminded of a paper that I—I mean Rosaline, wrote on regarding these hand-made Terran houses from hundreds of years ago. As part of my cover story, I
needed some white papers to complement my fake accomplishments.

  What were they called again? Cog houses? No, Cobb houses. That's right. They’re houses built with a mixture of sand, clay, and soil. I remember the interesting part was that you could sculpt your house anyway you want and build furniture from it too. Part of my paper included speculation on the current rumors that the colonies were trying to bring the tradition back.

  Most folks involved were those who wanted total independence and were preparing for the long haul. And I do mean long, as those original Cobb houses are still standing, even after the environmental deterioration and Third World War of the twenty-first century. Not bad for a house made of mud.

  First, concern and guilt—and now I'm thinking about ancient architecture? I need to get a hold of myself. This mission is fucking with me in ways I could never have anticipated.

  I need to stay on track. I look at the two Sonali behind the desks. It pleases me that I’ve already calculated in my mind the speed, distance and strength I would need to use were I planning to take both of them out.

  Fuck.

  My mind has enough to think about to bother worrying about things like that. I smile at the two Sonali as I continue to catalogue ways to take them out. It's as natural for me as breathing.

  I smile sweetly and demurely, "Hi,” I say with a squeak. “I'm looking for my colleague Gresh. He was brought in yesterday bleeding with a stab wound."

  The Sonali female looks reluctant to help me. It hits me that after the assassination everyone is on edge. Right now she doesn’t see me as a concerned friend of Gresh. Instead, she's assessing me a possible threat to his health. For all she knows, I'm the one who hurt him.

  But I need to see him, so I'll make this decision easier for her.

  "You know this center is so big. I'm afraid I'll get lost even if you told me where he is. Do you think you could walk with me to his room?" I do my best to put on my most disarming smile, the one that says "Look at me, I'm a naive Terran. No threat here."