The Synthesis and the Animus (The Phantom of the Earth Book 3)

by Zen, Raeden

  He neared Palaestra Citadel, the largest of a group of five alloy buildings that twisted and turned, like candles, to narrow tips, separated from the city’s geometric ivory-onyx buildings. Down below, the moat shimmered with golden bioluminescence. To Brody’s left, the steam from hundreds of fountains sprayed rainbows over the garnet promenade. He exited the transport and blended in with the Palaestrans, dressed casually in a bodysuit, leather boots, and a transparent cape.

  Above the citadel, the glass skywalks weaved a web of crystal through the buildings. Inside, two marble stairwells curved upward, surrounding a massive ball that glowed with blue phosphorescent light. A Citadel guardsman led Brody through a hallway. Though the air chilled him, it smelled of palm trees and roses, reminding Brody of Beimeni City. The guardsman placed his hand on what looked like a massive gemstone wall. Bright blue lines formed in the wall.

  The wall opened to the minister’s study.

  Tethys Charles sat upon a dais surrounded by crystal glasses, golden candles, and Granville spheres projecting data streams. “Enter, my friend,” Tethys said. He deactivated the holograms and swiveled on his chair. “For what reason would you request an appointment in the middle of the night?”

  Brody bowed, then spied the guardsmen. “I wished to speak with you in confidence, Minister.”

  “My guard cannot leak information from these halls.”

  “It’s not your guardsmen who concern me.”

  “So be it.” Tethys Charles seemed as if he understood Brody’s meaning. “Come, let us walk. The morning is beautiful.”

  He led Brody along a skywalk that extended to a platform with a cool waterfall, supplied by the commonwealth’s coolant piping, in the middle of the tapered buildings. White light obscured Brody’s view, while the noisy falls pelted him with droplets, but he didn’t mind. No one could hear them here, no one but Marstone, and to eliminate this risk, Brody activated his recaller.

  “I know why you’ve come,” Tethys said. “You want me to rid the RDD of Antosha Zereoue after the assault on your strategist. Would that I could act on my own on this one, Captain, but my hands are cuffed.”

  Though this wasn’t the reason for Brody’s visit, he prodded. “The chancellor?”

  “Lady Isabelle. She provided proof in principal that your strategist and striker violated the integrity of the RDD. It took all I had to convince the ministry to dismiss her motion for another Warning.”

  This didn’t make any sense. Lady Isabelle had no interest in Antosha or the RDD, other than ensuring its scientists kept their loyalty with Chancellor Masimovian. Brody shook his head. “What’s your memory of Jeremiah Selendia?”

  “Tough man,” Tethys said, “good man, brilliant scientist—”

  “Dead scientist?”

  “Most likely. How could he survive so long without the Fountain of Youth, even if he didn’t die when they say he did?”

  He tells it true, Brody thought. He could feel the perspiration drip down his neck as the steamy falls sprayed him. “I once thought his banishment was just.”

  “And now you don’t? He betrayed his oaths, his chancellor, and his commonwealth … but he was a good man in most other ways, solid, dedicated. He truly thought he’d lead the people back to the surface, and if he would’ve kept his opinions about Chancellor Masimovian more … diplomatic, he might be standing here now with you and me.”

  Brody knew Minister Charles disagreed with the chancellor on topics ranging from surveillance and security, to the Harpoons, to economic development, to scientific research—but Tethys Charles was no traitor. Even so, Brody wanted to tell him everything. Tethys had always been a source of support and sound counsel.

  He chose his words carefully. “What if I told you Jeremiah Selendia did survive this long without the Fountain of Youth?”

  Tethys folded his arms and rounded the waterfalls. “Wish that were true, my captain, but black-market athanasia could never have sustained a fully developed transhuman so long.”

  “What if he found a way?”

  “I’m not sure what you want me to say. The ministry would know if he did, that much is true.”

  “Do you have the details of his banishment, the timeline of events before and after the occurrence of the … attacks on the commonwealth supply lines?”

  “Somewhere in the citadel’s archive, but I can’t fathom your interest.”

  “I’ve just been demoted—”

  “You just earned your Mark.”

  “And Jeremiah and Atticus were as close as brothers.”

  “What’re you suggesting?”

  “Minister, your people, my team, thousands of deaths, countless demotions over centuries, exiles—we’ve all sacrificed, we’ve all suffered so much in our battle with Reassortment. Did we give up too much?”

  “Nothing matters but our return to the surface, we’ve given up nothing until we’re free.”

  Brody stopped. “Knowledge is freedom, Tethys. Choice is freedom. If we don’t claim it now, we’ll never have it up there, even if we do reach the surface. Grant me access to your archive and your confidence in this regard. No one can know of my research.”

  “It will be part of the official record—”

  “Then you will see to it that it isn’t.”

  “Some may consider such alteration of the logs … treasonous—”

  “I’m not asking you for this favor as the People’s Captain or as a supreme scientist or a member of the ministry … I’m asking you as a friend.”

  Tethys looked down, thinking, Brody imagined, of Seuelia, his eternal partner, and their children, Octavio, Veru, Sonata, and Charlotte. He was asking his friend to risk them too.

  Minister Charles looked up, finally, and led Brody by the elbow, his expression more sad than afraid.

  They entered a marble-floored and marble-walled room with steps carved into the walls and ceilings in a manner designed to give the appearance of infinite space.

  Brody activated a Granville sphere and searched for Jeremiah Selendia in the archive—as Palaestra was Jeremiah’s home territory, its archive would have more detailed information than the one in Beimeni City, where Jeremiah had served as an honorary minister, or in Livelle City, where Jeremiah would’ve been buried had he not been demoted. Brody pulled the Beimeni Press articles and videos. The commonwealth, Brody recalled, had accused Jeremiah of treason. His speeches contained hidden messages, codes for secret meetings. He’d been at the center of a plot to depose the chancellor, according to the press. Brody searched for more information on the circumstances that had led to the banishment. Jeremiah helped build the commonwealth. Did he also birth a terrorist organization while he was supreme scientist of the Ventureño Facility? Chief Justice Carmen had issued the banishment order due to conduct unbecoming a supreme scientist, but what did this mean?

  Brody rubbed his head. He telepathically flipped through hundreds of thousands of articles, publications, dissertations, decrees, reports, and other files. What was he missing? All the citadel archives were linked through the network. He shifted to Piscator’s and searched for recent arrests ordered by the DOC. He found none.

  Had the old man lied about Jeremiah’s arrest in Piscator Square?

  Brody didn’t know Minister Blaylock, the newly elected official in Piscator.

  But there was another minister near the South he could visit.

  Portage City

  Portage, Underground Central

  Brody arrived in Portage at dawn. He’d been absent from its capital city so long he forgot about its silver Granville sun, the way it altered the territory and somehow sucked the life from all it touched. He walked along the main skywalk that led into the citadel, its bronze spire bursting with lavender light at its core, the daggers around the edges built at a slight angle toward the center. The cylindrical base could fit thousands of Portagens inside. Copper-toned graphene weaved down into the earth. Golden phosphorescent light emanated like flame behind concave triangular glass wi
ndows, broken by the flow of engineers, managers, and workers inside. The long skywalks attached to the citadel in layers like a spiral staircase down to the base, where the factories hummed. Beneath the skywalks, Portagens hustled from building to building, kicking up a haze of clay dust, which, mixed with the territory’s silver sun, reminded Brody of Mars.

  He checked in with the Janzer post.

  A keeper bot led him into a hall lined with windows, heavy curtains, coolant piping, skywalks, and Citadel Guardsmen.

  “Son of Portage,” Minister Kurt Kaspasparon said. He bowed before Brody could. “Welcome home.”

  But for the gemstone-lined bands around his arms, the minister seemed the same man Brody had met over a century ago, a workingman of Portage, like Brody’s father. His hair was slicked back and fell to broad shoulders covered with an emerald cashmere cape. He raised a blue eyebrow at Brody.

  “Pleasure, Minister,” Brody said, noting his courtesies, doing his best to push aside the sadness his return to Portage brought forward.

  This was his first trip home since his mother’s execution and father’s suicide in 257 AR. The day his father had killed himself, the Janzers had arrested Brody and Xylia, his childhood friend, and brought them to Minister Kurt Kaspasparon. The minister found a home for the ten-year-old Broden Barão, an illegal, in the prestigious House Variscan. Lady Eulalie and Lord Rueben sought to add to their legendary status by developing illegal orphans, of which it seemed the commonwealth had a plentiful supply. But, Brody later learned, the minister couldn’t place Xylia with House Variscan or any other house of development, and she was sentenced to serve the commonwealth in the Lower Level.

  The minister and Brody ambled through the citadel with the employees, scientists, artists, and neophytes, most all dressed in silk tunics, lab coats, or capes.

  “What news do you bring me from Phanes?” Kaspasparon said.

  Brody paused. “May I speak with you in confidence?”

  “If not in confidence, how would you speak to me?” Brody smiled. The minister looked him in the eye, and Brody expected a familiar lecture. “They developed you in the Northeast, but they didn’t change you. You’re still that little boy who came running through my citadel.” Kaspasparon pointed to the balustrade at the far end of the hall. “Up there, do you remember what you said?”

  All Brody recalled of Portage were the days his parents died, the others a wash of feelings, as if part of a nightmare. The more he grabbed, the more the memories slipped away.

  The minister continued, “You said, ‘I’m the king of the world.’”

  “I’m sure I felt that way, back then.”

  “What troubles you?”

  Brody could never address the BP with Minister Charles directly, for Tethys would never compromise with the terrorists. Too much Palaestran blood had flowed on his watch, and the chancellor reminded him so at every opportunity. Something about Minister Kaspasparon’s manner and tone made him feel more comfortable, though he couldn’t help but notice the stares from Portagens who roamed the skywalks. Brody activated his recaller.

  “I wonder if we could speak … away from here … someplace where all eyes may not see us.”

  “Follow me.”

  They trudged up a spiral staircase with open views to the city and entered the Grand Parlor. Inside hung crystal chandeliers and heavy curtains decorated with dragons amid colorful caves. Golden tables, chairs, and fabric on the backs of the chairs, woven and shaped as phoenix feathers, filled the space.

  “This confident enough for you?” Kaspasparon said. Brody took a seat. The minister offered Brody a glass of whiskey. When he refused, Kaspasparon set it on the table before him. “Take it, Captain, you look like you need it more than I do.”

  Brody sipped and pondered his comments in the context of this unofficial visit. Many Portagens had recognized him already. He’d heard their whispers upon his entrance to the citadel. His visit was sure to arouse curiosity among the public, the ministry, and anyone else who might be watching. It was a risk coming here. He needed to make it count.

  Kaspasparon placed his hand over Brody’s. “You seek knowledge and counsel in these dark times, and you shouldn’t feel traitorous for doing so.” He removed his hand, and Brody leaned back.

  He’s in this with them, Brody thought.

  Kaspasparon brought his glass to his nose and inhaled deeply, then took a sip. “You’re wiser than you realize, Captain Barão. These halls and territory and citadel are friendly to you and the justice you seek.”

  “I seek information, not justice.”

  “Not yet, but you will. I know you as well as you think you know yourself. I was here with you in those early days, after the Janzers brought you in. I contacted the Variscans. I told them to take you, turn you into a Harpoon Champion. I knew you could become one.”

  “They taught me well, and I’m forever grateful to you.”

  It occurred to Brody that Minister Kaspasparon kept close contact with Chancellor Masimovian, ever his ally in ministerial affairs. His directness in this discussion might not be as friendly as it seemed. Brody stood, walked to the windows, and took in the scene outside.

  “Then why did you banish yourself from your home?” Kaspasparon said. “Pride? Disgust? Fear? Or was it to make sure you solidified your place in a commonwealth that doesn’t share the ideals you think it does, a commonwealth that turned against you?”

  Brody’s chest pounded. Kaspasparon’s words were enough to send them both to Farino Prison at the best, the Lower Level at the worst. He turned to the minister. “Did Jeremiah Selendia survive his banishment from Palaestra?”

  “Yes.”

  Brody sat back down. “Is he the leader of the Beimeni Polemon?”

  “Yes.” Kaspasparon spoke with power, without hesitation.

  Brody put his hands on the smooth, frigid table, troubled to draw breath in this parlor, which was as cold as the arctic depths. “What are you to them?”

  “The same as you—”

  “I’m nothing to them—”

  “You’re here, that’s more than nothing, that speaks louder than any thought, any idea that Marstone might learn, overhear, or conjecture from your conversations or your dreams—”

  “Does the commonwealth hold Jeremiah Selendia captive in this Permutation Crypt?”

  “It does.”

  “Did the DOC and DOP inform the ministry?”

  With all his assignments, all the stress of Reassortment and Regenesis, the Mission to Vigna, Project Silkscape, and Damy’s pregnancy, Brody wondered if he’d somehow misplaced a discussion on Jeremiah Selendia, if some key fact had been lost to his insomnia, like so much else.

  “You didn’t miss anything,” Kaspasparon said. “Lady Isabelle and Chancellor Masimovian break the Formation daily, spit on our founders, wipe the floors of Phanes Territory with the spirit of dissent against his administration. The commonwealth preaches conversion and progress and the ways of the gods, but beneath the show lies the Lower Level, where Beimenians die en masse, where the poor and unprivileged and underdeveloped exit our society, where—”

  Brody held up his hand. He could listen to this no more. He walked to the window, seeking air. What could he do?

  “If this is true,” Brody said, “you should go straight to the ministry in Phanes and demand Chancellor Masimovian return Jeremiah Selendia for a proper hearing and justice for whatever wrongs he committed.”

  “We both know the chancellor better than that, Captain Barão.”

  “But the ministry—”

  “Is at his mercy, don’t fool yourself.”

  “What if I could provide proof, indisputable evidence of the chancellor’s treason—Jeremiah himself!”

  Minister Kaspasparon stroked his chin. “If you seek Jeremiah, you might contact those with whom you share a common goal. I’m quite sure they’re waiting to hear from you.”

  Part III:

  Even Deeper

  On the Surface: Summerr />
  In Beimeni: Second Trimester

  Days 210 – 211

  Year 368

  After Reassortment (AR)

  ZPF Impulse Wave: Isabelle Lutetia

  Beimeni City

  Phanes, Underground Central

  2,500 meters deep

  Isabelle gathered a Janzer division—one which she cut off from Marstone and Atticus—and marched across Artemis Square to the First Ward. They took an elevator up to Captain Barão’s floor, and she strutted along the wide skywalk, then into a corridor. She slid her fingers along the smooth marble wall, savoring the moment. Atticus still thought she lived by his rules, fool that he was. One day she would reveal the extent of his error. Until then, she would do her job. Her reign would go that much smoother if she eliminated the BP threat now.

  She hoped to find Captain Barão in his unit and save herself a trip to Palaestra, but she would go where she must to confront the so-called People’s Captain. Atticus might need Broden Barão to sway the citizenry, but she most certainly did not.

  After overriding the unit’s security systems, she ordered the Janzers to conduct a search. One of them removed a Granville sphere from his pack, held it in his palm, and tilted his head, communicating with it. Sheets of light and radiation emanated from the sphere, and a holographic map of the unit formed in a real-time rendition. The Janzer divided the search among his division, depending on the indications of interest the map generated.

  Isabelle sashayed about the great room, into the kitchen, and through the master bedroom, where Supreme Scientist Damosel Rhea slept. Isabelle didn’t disturb her. She ordered the Janzers to move silently while she searched the bedroom. Wooden ornaments. A crystal chandelier. Glyphs along the trim. She looped through the great room and onto the terrace. The Janzers scurried to and fro, using ultraviolet viewers, alloy detectors, infrared scanners, organic and inorganic analyzers. They deactivated Merrell, the Barão keeper bot.