Branegate

by James C. Glass

  A team of physicians worked on them behind closed doors, and they were pronounced dead shortly after midnight.

  Word went out that Leonid and Tatjana Zylak had poisoned themselves to escape prosecution, but ugly rumors circulated immediately that The Church, in fact, had murdered them.

  This was not a good thing for the reputation of The Church.

  CHAPTER 23

  Freedom was a heady experience for the citizens of Gan.

  Within weeks after the election all underground caverns along the coast had emptied out; there was one continuous caravan of trucks, cars, and hand-drawn carts from the coast to the capital city. Most of the people, those bold enough to come out earlier for voter registration, had established friendships in town and had found a place to live. Many had no place to live, and so refugee camps appeared overnight in parks everywhere in town.

  Established citizens grumbled about allowing refugees to use the parks, but were sympathetic about the plight of these people. The new president played on their sympathy and added to his exploding popularity by using his personal monies to provide food and medicine for those displaced. Four-square blocks of multistoried housing developments seemed to rise overnight. In just a year the parks were open again, and people who’d lived in caves for much of a lifetime enjoyed grand views of the city from the windows of their new apartments.

  For nearly two years, life on Gan was good.

  Industry grew rapidly, and jobs along with it. The government built special training centers for those who lacked necessary skills for the workforce, and it was free to those who were qualified. All graduates were employed. With nearly a hundred percent employment rate, taxes were nominal, a single fifteen percent tax on all goods purchased, and nothing else. The goods were available, the average salaries high. Spending was lavish, but still the banks swelled with what the people saved. The banks were now owned by the government, and there was no net profit in them. Paid interest rates were only a point below rates for a loan, except for special accounts for the purchase of a home, and for these the rates were the same.

  The Church was free and open, after many decades of oppression. President Khalil made a show of attending services, and encouraged his colleagues to do the same. He was quoted as saying, ‘Those in government cannot lead properly unless they achieve spiritual growth and encourage it in others through their example. A good government must be ethical and honest for a state to be stable and strong.’

  The people applauded his words, and flocked to masses in simple block buildings with humble furnishings, all over the city. Church coffers grew rapidly, and no taxes were paid. Such taxation would be a form of oppression, said Azar Khalil, and The Congress of The People agreed with him. Two years after the elections, nearly seventy percent of Gan’s population was formal members of The Faithful. Of the remaining thirty percent, most lived in distant outlying areas where missions had not yet been established. The rest were dissidents and criminals, and considered to be useless elements of society.

  The laws of Gan were fair and just, as approved by The People’s Congress and their president, but there was no tolerance for crime. Those convicted of violent crimes, such as murder or rape, were summarily executed publicly by gunfire. Petty acts were punished by fines and also public service. Thieves, dealers of outlawed drugs, extortionists and the like were taken away and never seen again.

  The people prospered. Nobody noticed that people rising in the hierarchy of The Church prospered even more. Nobody noticed that most of the taxes paid to the government came from the people’s tax on goods. All the businesses, small to large, paid little or no tax because of deductions allowed by the government. And the conglomerates owned by Azar Khalil benefited the most.

  Citizens didn’t see the overflowing coffers of The Church, or the hoard of missionaries flowing to outlying areas and off planet. Few saw any significance when The Council of Bishops was established to oversee rapidly expanding church operations, and even fewer had concerns when The Council began supporting certain candidates for the first re-election of The People’s Congress.

  The Emperor of Galena did notice, for he was continually briefed on the developments on Gan through his embassy there. And he did not like what he saw happening.

  His concern was heightened when he received a visit from his old friend Nicolus, who was now Bishop of The Church on Galena. They met privately in his chambers since, to this day, Emperor Rasim Siddique had never publicly professed his belief in The Source or a strict adherence to church teachings. The people only saw him as a good man.

  They were served tea and cookies, and then the servant left them and closed the double doors behind him. Their table was small, their knees nearly touching, but the high, marble-ceiling room was so large they could hear their voices echoing from the walls. They spoke in near whispers, for the matter was most private, and not for public ears.

  “I have a new concern,” said Nicolus. “There has been a surge in immigration from Gan, and it seems most of them are priests.”

  Rasim bit into a cookie, and savored its sweetness. “Why would they come here, when their church is now free?”

  “When some of our priests inquired, they said they came as missionies to the rural people, since it seemed we’d made no effort to do it. They made it sound like an admonishment.”

  “Is it true?”

  “Not really. We’ve been to all the outlying districts, especially the farm towns. We attend town meetings, tell them about Our Faith and leave our literature. We only establish churches when the people request it. We don’t work to convert people, or impose our will on them. It’s their choice to make.”

  “And I agree with that policy,” said Rasim. “I think religion is a very personal thing. I don’t see what your problem is.”

  “It’s their aggressiveness that disturbs me. They call themselves missionaries of The Church of Gan. They’ve established two churches in as many months, and the monies they collect are for the most part going back to Gan. Their tactic is fear. They tell people that if they don’t convert to The Faith a vast armada will come from The Source and His Followers to destroy them. I don’t like any of it, but how can I stop them?”

  Rasim munched a cookie, and thought for a bit. “For the moment, I see nothing I can do. We have religious freedom, and these people are representing Gan in a way. Their new president has shown a great deal of enthusiastic support for The Church.”

  “Some say he’s a zealot himself,” said Nicolus.

  “Perhaps. I’ve heard nothing from him since his election. He keeps a low profile with us for a reason, I think. His business empire, and those of his colleagues, have been extending friendly ties to us for months.”

  “You know there were rumors that Galena participated in the coup that eventually brought him to power,” said Nicolus.

  “Nonsense,” lied Rasim. Right now, I can’t even understand why I participated in that operation when the man I indirectly helped now ignores me. “Political rumors, used against Khalil’s opponent, nothing more. I know he’s expanding the horizon of The Church, and I certainly don’t want Gan exporting zealots to stir up trouble here. Keep me informed. If they raise monies here and send them to Gan, give me proof of it and I can step in. The monies must be reinvested here, and the law is clear, even for The Church.”

  “I can get proof,” said Nicolus.

  “Fine, but otherwise you must compete with them for followers. That is also the law.”

  “I respect that,” said Nicolus, then paused, averting his gaze from the eyes of his emperor.

  “There’s one thing I can say for Azar Khalil. He inspires attendance of services by example. He openly professes his faith.”

  Rasim put a hand on Nicolus’ shoulder. “I don’t have to prove my faith to you, old friend, or anyone else. I choose to show it in the way I live my life, and the way I treat those who depend on me for leadership. My ego does not require I appear holy, and to openly espouse one faith is to
denigrate others. That’s not a part of our teachings.”

  Nicolus smiled. “I must say I agree with you, but I suspect The Church on Gan does not share your views, or mine. I think they have a mission to convert everyone to their particular faith, and will not be tolerant of other beliefs.”

  “That is Gan’s concern, but it will become my concern if it spreads beyond their borders. You must be my eyes and ears on this matter.”

  “I will,” said Nicolus. “I was also wondering if you’d heard anything about Zylak’s son. We’ve had no contact with him since he left here, and his task was to free his people on Gan. Now that it has happened I wonder if he’s returned there.”

  “I’ve heard nothing,” said Rasim. “He’s likely with his own kind, now.”

  “Connected to us by faith, yet distant. The Immortal ones are strange; they are not of this world.”

  “Indeed,” said Rasim, “but they are friends.” He sipped the last of his tea. “It’s good to talk to you, Nicolus. We don’t do it often enough. Your presence warms me.”

  “As does yours for me,” said Nicolus. “And as you said, I will be your eyes and ears.”

  They stood, and embraced. When Nicolus closed the door behind him, Rasim pressed a button beneath his table and in seconds a servant arrived. “Bring me a telephone,” he said, and the man returned quickly with it. Rasim punched in four numbers linking him to his Defense Secretary, and the call was answered instantly.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Nadir, but there’s a matter that needs to be discussed. Right away. I’ve just heard something that makes me think we need to monitor closely the policies of the new government on Gan. No, it’s not an emergency, but come as quickly as you can. I’ll be in chambers.”

  He hung up, gave orders to a servant for more tea and cookies, and relaxed. It would only be a moment before his Defense Secretary arrived.

  CHAPTER 24

  Myra heard the gunshots from her second floor office, and rushed to the window to look down at the street. A company limousine was standing at the curb, its back door open. The driver was leaning over a prostrate form by the door, and shouting something. Three men ran from the building, two of them security officers, and they were looking down at something else she couldn’t see because her view was obscured by a short hedge. The driver stood shaking, still shouting. A security officer knelt by the man at the driver’s feet. The man’s back was covered with blood. The officer rolled him onto his side, and Myra gasped when she saw his face. TRAE!

  She bolted from the room, past the elevator, raced down the stairs and outside past an astonished guard who tried to stop her. Meza was already there, kneeling beside another body, and beyond it were three others. By the time she reached the limousine she was crying, and her head pounded behind her eyes. She knelt by Trae, her knees in his blood, and saw his glazed, dead eyes. Her chest was tight. For a moment, she couldn’t breath. She reached out to touch him, but an officer grabbed her under her arms, stood her up and pushed her back.

  “Pardon, ma’am, but the ambulance is coming in.”

  Her vision was blurred. She felt numb, stood helplessly by as ambulance attendants gently placed Trae in a body bag on a gurney and zipped it up. His body and three others were loaded in one ambulance, a fourth man still alive went into another. Meza talked to both drivers, and the ambulances sped off in different directions.

  Meza spotted her, then. He came over and put an arm around her. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed for what seemed like a long time, but was not. Her heart had never ached so, crushed in the grip of some invisible hand.

  “There, there, let it out. It’s a shock for me, too. I never imagined this could happen. You can be sure we’ll find out who’s responsible. You’ll see. There, there. Be patient, dear. You know he isn’t gone forever, but it will be a while. Your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone how you felt about him. I’m sure Trae knew. And he’ll know it again.” Meza squeezed her gently, and she looked up at him.

  “Where are they taking him?” Tears came again when she looked down at the pool of coagulating blood near her feet. Trae’s blood.

  Meza whispered like a fellow-conspirator. “Around the block to the other side of the complex, both of them. It might be difficult with the bodyguard; the back of his head was blown away. Trae was shot in the chest, so we should save something. Scans are being done in the ambulance. We have all their other records, Myra; you know we’ll do the best we can for them.”

  “I know,” she said, but it won’t be the same. He won’t be Trae anymore.

  “The first medical report will come out later today. Do you want to be there for it?”

  “Yes.” He won’t remember me.

  “Let’s get some tea and quiet, let our hearts calm a bit.”

  She nodded numbly. Meza led her to the basement cafeteria where they sat silently in a corner booth a while before he finally spoke. “It’s a strange thing, this field of energy binding us together. The resonance we experience, even at vast distances without time lapse, and all of our science has not yet explained it. One is tempted to say we’re a group mind, but we’re not. We’re individuals, attuned to one another by choice, even at short distances. Do you ever wonder why that is?”

  “I’ve never wondered about it,” said Myra, knowing he was only trying to distract her from her sadness, her grief. “I can speak to any of my own kind at short distance, and they to me. Thoughts can be masked, of course, but that’s a learned process.”

  “Everyday interactions,” said Meza. “That’s not what I mean. I never felt a part of anyone except family until the day I met my wife, and it was a second lifetime for both of us. After that day she was constantly in my mind and I in hers, but as far as I know we didn’t meet in our previous lives. It makes me wonder if we had lives we’re not even aware of. There was an instant connection, a resonance, if you like.”

  Like I felt for Trae.

  “It takes no effort to communicate, and distance isn’t a factor. Perhaps it’s an heriditary thing.”

  You mean like being related?”

  “No, no, but it could be a specific coding in our DNA. I even asked Wallace to give it some thought as a project for our medical people, but he just sighed at me. Dear Wallace. He’s going to be very upset by this. Trae was his most important information source. The delay will be agonizing for him; they were close to the field testing phase.”

  “How long?” asked Myra. Not that it matters. He’ll be a new person. Anything we had between us will be gone.

  Meza took a sip of tea, then, “Months, years, I don’t know. It depends on the genetic material on hand, and how developed we want the clone to be. The stock for the Zylak family is quite complete. And we need Trae soon as possible to continue what he was doing. Do you want to pick an age?”

  “No—well—adulthood, of course. He’ll have to be changed. If the people who had him killed know who and what he was, they’ll be looking for his reincarnation.” Trae had not just died, but had been foully murdered. For the first, and not the last time she felt a surge of anger within her.

  Apparently it showed in her face. Meza reached across the table to put a hand on hers. “Only a dozen people knew who Trae was: you, Wallace, myself and our Board of Directors. That narrows things down a bit, and hopefully the one assassin who survived will live long enough to answer some questions. I suspect whoever plotted this might well anticipate a reincarnation. Trae will have to be returned secretly, and will be known to only three of us. I have my suspicions about who might be involved with the assassins, and our medical people aren’t among them. They’ll also be sworn to secrecy.”

  He patted her hand. “You and Trae had unfinished work. Finnish it for him. Be ready. When he returns you must never acknowledge who he is, either verbally or mentally, at least not until we eliminate the criminals behind this assassination.”

  “I can do that,” she said softly. I will never open myself to anyone, ever again. She pu
lled her hand away from his as she thought it.

  Meza noticed the move, and smiled a thin smile. “I have to leave, now. Security is waiting for me; they’ve either questioned the surviving gunman by now, or know when it’s possible. If you like, I can take you to the clinic tonight and we can get a prognosis on Trae’s cloning possibilities.”

  “I’d like that,” she said, tried bravely to smile, and failed.

  Meza touched her under the chin. “Chin up. Meet you here at seven. We’ll have a snack after.”

  He left her, and the booth closed in on her. The cafeteria was empty, the entrance barred closed while the staff prepared to put out the evening buffet. She smelled fish cooking.

  Trae’s face wouldn’t leave her mind: his sparkling eyes, an eyebrow raised in a question, the way he chewed at his lower lip in thought. She’d been a part of him and he hadn’t even noticed, had been too shy to say what he felt for her, but getting closer to doing it day by day. A body could be cloned, rejuvenated, but personalities so often did not survive the process. She was living proof of it, the iron maiden in her previous life, dedicated to work, no involvements, dying alone in a dark apartment after a century of personal isolation. So why had she been cursed by being born again as a person wanting to love, only to find it and then lose it again so quickly? Oh, Trae . . .

  Myra came out of her reverie only an hour before she was supposed to meet Meza again. She went back to her office, sat down and stared at her monitor. Scattered fractals, a pattern emerging as she moved the mass sims around, looking for a symmetry that refused to come. She tried large masses, planetary size, still no good. Only with the masses of several suns could she achieve a stress topology remotely resembling the portal she was after.

  Trae would have had it figured out in minutes.

  Myra turned off her computer, and began to cry again in the darkness.