* * * * *
Five hours passed before Orashean’s messenger came to escort me to Sargon’s cell far below the ground, where Tiasenne kept all of her political prisoners. As we descended to the fifth level underground, I shut out the oppressive images coming from the wretched hostages in this lightless, nightmare dungeon.
From the hallway, I felt a link to Sargon’s mind, and I knew that he heard my approaching footsteps. The guard fumbled a while with the skeleton keys, the clattering sound filling the silence.
Inside the cell, Sargon stood facing the wall, his back to me.
After the guard withdrew, he turned around. His face was dirty but unscratched, making his eyes appear even brighter. I supposed he had been deliberating what to do throughout his short captivity. The resolution in his level stare gave me the impression that he’d come to a decision.
“Alessia, you must give Selesta to me.” He said it with such innocent frankness.
“What?” He took me by surprise.
“I can use it to save my planet,” he explained. “To evacuate everyone from Orian. I’ll overcome Tiasenne’s defenses and bring my people here. There’s more than enough room for everyone. We can force Orashean to see reason—”
“Don’t include me on that.” I snapped, annoyed at myself as much as him in some unexplainable way. “Do you think Orashean will allow any settlers to live here? You can’t force people to change their minds or to see reason as you put it, no matter how much power you have. They can only truly change themselves.”
“Orashean won’t ever change,” Sargon said, shaking his head. “And I don’t care if he does or doesn’t. If I can’t make him accept us, I’ll get rid of him.”
He said it so easily.
“Could you really do that? Could you just force him and everyone else to do what you want? Would you force everyone to think like you?” I persisted. Sargon dropped my hand coldly and backed up, lithely coming to his feet. I hadn’t even noticed him holding it.
“Well, what do these things matter when my people’s survival is at stake?” He threw back.
I knew then that there wasn’t any hope. I agreed that his people should survive, and I had no intention of letting anyone on Orian die, but you just can’t do anything you want to people who don’t agree with you, I wanted to tell him. Killing Orashean might be the easiest way to make sure Tiasenne didn’t resist colonization, but it wasn’t the best solution. And it wasn’t guaranteed to work. There were many people on Tiasenne just like Orashean, and they couldn’t just all be killed, either.
And just as worrisome to me was that if Sargon gave in so quickly to his own new power and using it, soon there wouldn’t be any opposing argument that could reach him. I was afraid that he would not have the moral restraint that I had to leave people their freedoms as well.
“You’d have to fight Tiasenne forever to protect your people.” I reminded him. “Think of how many people would die if it came to that. How many Orians would be killed just because you can’t be patient; because you can’t bothered with negotiations.”
Sargon’s eyes remained stubbornly aloof, as though he would not register anything I said.
“Do you have any idea how many Orians there are?” I asked quietly.
Sargon’s eyes flickered. “About one billion, eight-hundred million.”
“That’s almost five billion fewer people than there are on Tiasenne.” I said. “Not very good odds for the underdog in a war, I’d say.” I paused. “Don’t you think you should be more concerned about ensuring your people’s survival for all time?” I continued. “Using my ship to force your people here won’t solve Orian’s problems. It will just carry them here. The last thing your people need is to get involved in a land war in a hostile environment. You’d just jeopardize the future peace and the lives of Orian’s citizens. Be patient, that’s all I’m asking.”
Instead, Sargon stared at me in profound disappointment. It was painful to see myself through his eyes, so painful I almost gave in. But my pride would never let me, even if my moral resolve weakened.
But now I knew that Hinev’s serum had taken hold of him. Sargon no longer believed that any barriers held him except self-imposed ones; his moral conscience would allow him to do anything for his people. Even if he made the wrong decisions, he would feel justified. He was omniscient, so he could condemn others. He didn’t want to understand anyone else, to see that their failings like his had causes, to deal with them.
He wanted to force the world to see it his way, and only his way. And he knew that if he had absolute power, they would be made to see it his way.
Of course, I had no doubts that Sargon would use my ship to save his people and protect them if he could, but it wouldn’t end there. What more he really wanted, what more he was capable of, I did not know, but I saw enough of his thoughts to fear what might come.
At the same time, his voice still betrayed pain, and his growing anger. He had changed. Where had the reasonable, logical man I had known gone? The one who had cherished his own sense of fairness and wisdom? The one with a wry sense of humor? The serum seemed to have awakened all of the dormant aspects underneath his humanity; in that process, his emotions had gained a greater intensity, and he had little defense against being overwhelmed by them. At the same time, absolute power was pushing him towards all kinds of new possibilities.
“How can you let my people die?” he hurled accusingly, his voice strained with raw emotion. “You say that you love me. You said you cared about the Orians. If you refuse me now and will not help us, then your words are as meaningless as wind, and how can I ever again believe what you say?” For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of fear and vulnerability in his eyes, the uncertainty of the child I had known so long ago.
But the guard was coming back. I had only a moment more to try to put things right.
“I won’t let your people die. You have my word on that, no matter what else it might cost. But give me time.”
“Your word? That’s all you’ll give? Empty words instead of action.” He said.
The words stung me.
To him, my answer was the same thing as a refusal. To him, my promise was nothing. It meant little to him, but to me, my word was now and forever a binding oath. And the fact that he still little understood my intentions—little understood me—upset me more than any coarse insult could.
“You have hurt me, more than I would debase myself to admit to you.” He continued, equally absorbed with his own injured pride and not afraid any more to hold back secret thoughts. “And of course, you must know that you leave me no other choice but to do as I see that I must from this moment on. Keep your ship.” He said stonily, keeping all trace of anger controlled and from his features; only his eyes were beginning to betray his lie. Sensing this himself, he quickly turned back towards the wall, his back now to me.
I despised whatever instinct it was that compelled me to hide what I thought and felt for fear that exposing my emotions would render me vulnerable. Vulnerable… was it possible for one with absolute power at his command to be vulnerable? Yes, it was. I would argue that one was even more vulnerable then, for absolute power has a way of smothering the power and identity of the individual who wields it.
After years of commanding that power, which Sargon had only recently come to know, I had grown so terrified of abusing my power and of forgetting my own identity behind it that I would not tempt myself to use my powers under almost any circumstance, and yet… after so long, I was secretly beginning to fear that every vital feeling within me would die beneath all the defensive walls I had raised to protect myself.
I understood the torrent of confusion Sargon had been thrown into! His world had changed too quickly: the moment he awoke from the metamorphosis. He had tried to preserve himself from the inevitable transformation of his personality, but almost inevitably, he had failed. It was true that his reasoning capacity may have soared to an infinite plane above that of ordinary humans; it
was also true that his emotions had also been highly charged, and this change in his emotional state for some reason seemed more immediately noticeable. But what human being would not have reacted so strongly to losing his reality as he had formerly known it? Innocence is not something that can be given back again, and oh, how one can regret the loss! For as Sargon’s body and mind changed, he had felt every precious, sacred memory or dream he had once entertained slowly strangled by the invading memories of a thousand different realities.
Only two dreams remained, and they became of the utmost importance to him. One was securing the freedom and survival of his people.
The other I knew was to secure my love and fidelity for himself. For I was the one person who was quite literally the only remaining mystery in his life, a person who was also the only object that lay beyond his powers to control or obtain. And even after the metamorphosis, even after what I had done to him, I knew that he loved me still.
Should I reconsider helping him? I wondered briefly. No! I commanded myself after a moment’s hesitation. I would not be forced into hasty foolishness just to prove my loyalty to him. And his atrocious arrogance, his misunderstanding of me, had stung my pride. At the time, I thought this was the main reason I refused to reconsider. But, in truth, it may have been that I was mortified by my sudden inclination to sacrifice all that I believed in just to keep his approval and affection.
Meanwhile, Sargon had kept his back to me to encourage my departure and remained silent.
The approaching guard called to me and led me through the door. He let it clang shut, then adeptly turned the clattering keys until the lock clicked.
I knew that this primitive, filthy little cell would not hold one of Hinev’s immortals for long.
The next morning, the “Political Star” reported that Sargon Suraeno, nephew of the Orian Leader Lucianvar Beren, had escaped his cell by force, killing two guards in his flight, and had taken some other Orian prisoners with him. The renegade Suraeno had disappeared sometime during the night, and Fer-innyera Orashean assured the people that Suraeno would be re-caught and brought to trial.
From that moment on, I knew that Sargon and I would be enemies.
One has to requite good and ill; but why precisely the person who did us good or ill?
—Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil
Chapter Fourteen
The Last Immortal : Book One of Seeds of a Fallen Empire Page 33
