by Frankie Rose
“Incompatible’s a poor choice of words,” he says. “No one else in the entire universe is compatible with me. You’re the only one. And you could look for the rest of your life, Reza, and you’ll never find anyone who fits you as completely as I do.”
I don’t want it to be true. If I shut out his words and refuse to let them in, perhaps I’ll be able to quash the knowledge that he’s right. Why is it so fucking hard? “Impossible, then,” I counter. “If anyone here knew who you really were, the place would be deserted. We can never be us. You’d always have to be someone else, you’d have to change, and we both know you’re not capable of that.”
A flash of anger briefly twists his features, and a troubling thought hits me as Jass blinks down at me. There’s a savage, untamable, raw beauty to him. He isn’t classically handsome by any stretch of the imagination, but the knife straight, strong line of his nose lends his features solidity; the high, pronounced line of his cheekbones tempers that, offering a softness in return. His full mouth is expressive, the cupids bow that forms his upper lip perfect in its line. And his eyes, so mercurial and volatile, calm one moment, wild and extreme in their beauty the next, are more than a little distracting. He’s fascinating to look at whatever his mood, but, worryingly, he is at his most breathtaking when he’s angry.
“People of Pirius, we’re grateful you have been able to join us here today. We are aware that this event wasn’t supposed to happen for another six days, however, as you know, the timeline of the west sector developed rather dramatically last night.” Darius stands on the dais, a mournful look on his face. His robes, which are usually white, are black today, shot through with a single line of red down the right hand side. He wears a mask of worry that looks as if it’s been permanently carved into his face—a mask very similar to the one Col is wearing as he clambers up onto the platform next to Darius.
“This isn’t even faintly interesting,” Jass hisses into my ear.
“Shut up.”
Surprisingly, Jass shuts up, but I can feel a wall of heat radiating from him, burning into my back. He’s not used to being told to shut up. I can’t worry about the repercussions of my sharp tongue right now, though. This tangled mess between us is going to have to wait. All of it will. Darius is saying something, and it sounds important. The woman next to me is crying, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.
“…natural death. However, the cardiac failure Erika and many of her close friends foresaw in her future a long time ago did not come to pass. At some point last night, someone broke into Erika’s rooms and stabbed her in the stomach with a ceremonial blade. She didn’t seek help. She used the minutes she had left to write a letter to her son, followed by a letter to you, her people. Col will open and read that letter to you now, as per Erika’s wishes.”
Muted muttering spreads through the crowd like wildfire, rising to an impossibly loud buzz. I can’t bend my head around the statement that just came out of Darius’ mouth. Erika is dead? Erika…can’t be dead. And what the hell is the healer talking about? Erika foresaw her own death? She thought she was going to have a heart attack in six days’ time? It dawns on me as I try and snap the stubborn puzzle pieces together, that this is what Erika was talking about the night I came to the sub city. She said she was sick, that her condition was worsening, but she looked fine. Darius mentioned a gathering, and the chancellor has been sad. She was filled with regret that she wouldn’t be able to attend the ceremony in person. She was talking about her own funeral procession. Gods, what a terrible thing to know about yourself. And then to be wrong? To have even less time than you anticipated…
“Why has this happened?” someone at the far back yells. “The date of Erika’s death was predicted fifteen cycles ago! Many of us saw it. Why would it happen now?”
“There’s been no murder amongst our people for centuries,” another shouts.
Darius and Col ignore the succession of furious questions that are volleyed at them from around the Appointments Hall. Awkwardly, Col stands in the center of the dais and carefully tears open the small white scroll of people he’s holding in his hands. His hands shake as he unravels the paper. His voice cracks when he begins to speak.
“Friends. I have anticipated the arrival of this day for half a lifetime. I’ve had a long time to consider the words I will leave behind to guide you, and yet now, at the hour of my death, they seem insufficient. For the past forty-three cycles, it has been my greatest honor to serve my people. No other path could have led me to such joy, satisfaction and happiness. I dearly hope I have lived up to your expectations as a good leader, and that I have always steered you in the right direction. Occasionally, our pathways are obscured, and the future is uncertain. As for all species and peoples across the galaxy, moments like these are frightening. Uncertainty is always frightening. When we can no longer see the road ahead…” Col pauses, blinking, batting his tears away with the back of his hand. He clears his throat and then continues. “When we can no longer see the road ahead, we are paralyzed by fear and indecision. Which is the right choice? How should we proceed? Should we stand and fight, or hide ourselves away, to fight another day? I say to you, friends, that we are a good people. A righteous people. The coming days might be dark and fraught with tough decisions, but we are still a mighty force to contend with, even without our visions. There is always a clear line between right and wrong. We will always know which side of that line we stand upon, because we do not allow the weak and the voiceless to suffer. We do not pass by those in pain on the wayside without offering our assistance. The doors of our houses are always open to those in need, and our hands are always outstretched to offer help. It is who we are. It is who we must remain. Always. No matter the cost. Remember this, people of Pirius. My fondest farewell, Erika Pakka.”
You could cut through the silence hovering over the hall with a knife. You can almost feel the texture of it in the air, like greasy smoke. For a long time, no one says anything. We all watch as Col sheds his grief, his tears streaming down his face, his shoulders shaking as he weeps. Beside him, Darius places a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, and he closes his eyes, bowing his head.
Slowly, Chancellor Gain places his hand in the middle of Darius’ back, bowing his head and closing his eyes. A pattern forms, the woman standing behind Gain copying him. Considerably shorter than the chancellor, she has to reach up to place her on his back, but she bows her head and closes her eyes all the time. The person behind her follows suit, and then the person behind him, and then the person behind him. It doesn’t take long for the movement to flow down into the people surrounding the dais, and in a chain of sorrow suddenly everyone is connected. The men and women pressed in around us all mimic the gesture in silence, and soon Jass and I are the only ones untouched, standing with our heads held high.
On the dais, Col’s pale blue eyes find mine. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, his shoulders hitching as he obviously takes in a huge breath. A long time passes. No one breathes a word. No one twitches. No one moves. Not even Jass. I risk a glance at him out of the corner of my eye and his face is grave, his expression void of the disgust I would have expected from him in a situation like this. He looks like he’s taking everything in, absorbing it, cataloguing the sounds and sights within the great Appointments Hall. It’s so strange to have him standing next to me. So strange. It’s hard to accept that he’s even really here, apart from the Construct, and just…standing there next to me. My senses scream that I should put as much space between the two of us as possible. My sense of self-preservation would have me on the outer reaches of the galaxy if it were at all possible. On the other hand, my sense of curiosity would have be standing right here, waiting to see what happens next. My need and my deep, frightening affection for him demands that he remain by my side.
He’s been a facsimile for so long. A ghost. A dreamed up man in a dreamed up field, or a dreamed up city, or dreamed up darkness. Now that he’s here, his hand less than four
inches away from mine, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. How I’m supposed to react.
As if he can feel my gaze on him, Jass looks askance, mirroring my own covert move as he watches me out of the corner of his eye. “You think very loudly,” he murmurs.
“My shields are up. You can’t tell what I’m thinking,” I whisper back.
Without any warning, the thousands of people in the crowd suddenly all lift their heads in unison, releasing their hold on their neighbor’s back, and a loud buzzing fills the hall as everyone begins to chatter and argue all over again. Their moment of grief is over. I jump at the unexpected activity after such a somber silence, and a ruinous smile spreads across Jass’ face.
“Your shield’s pretty good,” he informs me. “But it’s like you’re carrying water in a bucket filled with holes. You conceal most of your mind, but your thoughts and ideas still leak out all over the place. I can’t be held accountable if I trip over a few of them here and there.”
I scowl, looking away from him. How dare he talk about accountability. Jass Beylar doesn’t consider himself accountable for anything, least of all his own actions. I know that perfectly well. I’m about to try and slip off into the crowd, to make my way closer to the dais, but Darius steps forward and raises his hand, urging the Pirians to calm themselves.
It’s not until peace has returned that he speaks softly, his soothing voice carrying to every corner of the Appointments Hall. “Since Chancellor Pakka departed us earlier than expected, we’ve not had time to accept nominations for her successor. There are rules that must be followed, however—”
“Chancellor Farren!” someone shouts close to the dais.
“Yes! Farren!” follows another voice.
Darius smiles tightly. “As you know, a chancellor may not preside over more than one sector. That means that Chancellor Farren is unfortunately ineligible to take over Chancellor Pakka’s responsibilities.”
A number of voices are raised, calling out their dismay, arguing the point with Darius. My friend on the dais simply shakes his head, dismissing them out of hand. “As healer of the first sector, I am not eligible for the position, and neither is Chancellor Gain. The new Chancellor of the first sector must not already hold a position of power. That’s our way. It has always been our way. We will not turn away from our traditions and our politics now, when we should be adhering to them all the more rigorously.”
Darius’ words are not well received by some of the crowd, but there are others who agree with him. A woman with pronounced brow ridges and almost completely black eyes spits on the ground at her feet. “Farren’s a crook. A thug, who throws punches to solve his problems. He’d only lead us to destruction and war,” she hisses.
“War’s already coming. War is already on our doorstep,” a short man with a bulbous nose and tattoos marking his cheeks replies. “We’ve never had a leader with military experience before, because we’ve never needed one. Things are different now. We need someone who knows how to protect us.”
An argument breaks out, and voices climb higher and higher, inflated with anger, frustration and fear, so loud that Darius’ desperate cries for peace nearly go unheard. “Friends! Friends! We will proceed with the nominations as we always have. As you leave the hall, you will be able to write your nomination for chancellor upon a token and cast it anonymously into the ballot box.” Darius pauses, his eyes roving over the hall, his mouth parted, as if he’s about to say something else. He closes his mouth, frowning, and then a look of determination takes over. “I’m aware that it’s unusual to share your nomination, but in this instance I feel compelled to do so. When I cast my token into the ballot box tonight, I already know the name that will be written upon it. That name will be…” Everyone holds their breath, waiting for what Darius will say. The man stands a little straighter, takes a deep breath, and completes his sentence. “Col Pakka.”
Pandemonium.
Instant madness echoes from the dirt beneath my feet, up, up, up, vibrating off the high, vaulted ceilings of the hall. The name is a surprise to all. A shock that no one knows how to process. Even I’m a little taken aback by Darius’ decision.
“Col can’t be the next chancellor!” someone hollers.
“He is not one of us!”
“He is not Pirian!”
Some members of the crowd look to one another, confusion written all over them as they clearly consider the validity of this strange announcement. Col himself looks stunned, still clutching hold of the scroll of paper his mother asked him to read out loud. He looks at Darius, his mouth hanging open, like he can’t comprehend Darius’ announcement. Darius is steadfast in his conviction, though.
“Col is a man of great courage. He’s repeatedly shown great love and affection for the people of this planet. He has sacrificed and suffered for a people he shares no blood with, when he did not have to. He’s shown greater dedication and commitment to the continued safety of our people than anyone else I know. Before you reject Col as a candidate for this position, ask yourself this. What have you given to ensure the safety of your neighbors?” Darius pauses for a moment, waiting for his question to settle in the minds of his people. His voice is steeled by conviction when he continues. “Erika Pakka was a revered, much loved leader of our people. She was honorable, benevolent, honest and kind. She will be greatly missed, and it will be almost impossible to find someone to fill her shoes. But who better than her son? A man formed and molded by Erika’s own hand, since he was less than three cycles of age? A man within whom she has instilled a fierce love for this planet and its people? Col’s faith in our way of life is unshakeable, just as his mother’s was. I can’t think of anyone more qualified and suited to take her place.”
“He isn’t blessed with sight!” an elderly woman wearing a black robe calls. “How would he guide us?”
Darius splays his fingers, holding his hands out, palms upward. “None of us are blessed with the sight at this moment, grandmother. Who knows if our talents will return? We’ve relied on our visions to guide us for so long that without them we are trapped by our own indecision, just as Erika said in her letter. Col has always had to rely on his intuition, his gut and his own common sense to make his way through life. He is in a far better position to lead than anyone else because of that alone.”
A rumble of disquiet spreads through the gathering. Jass laughs softly under his breath, shaking his head, dark waves of hair tumbling into his face as he looks at his feet. “So pointless,” he says softly. “All of this bickering and sniping. If the Construct finds this dusty, bleak outpost, it doesn’t matter who’s leading the first sector, or any of the other sectors for that matter. It doesn’t matter who can see what coming, or who is a completely fucking blind. There won’t be a single thing they can do about it. They’ll be wiped from the annals of time. Their civilization will scattered like grains of sand. Or rather they’ll be buried beneath the sand. Regis won’t even have to break a sweat to make it happen.” Jass sees my face and stops laughing. “You look like you want to tear my head off. You think I’m being unkind. I’m not, though. Your anger’s misplaced.”
“My anger is definitely not misplaced. It’s perfectly warranted. You’re an unfeeling asshole with no conscience.”
Jass shrugs. “Took me a long time to learn that people don’t like hearing the truth. The truth can be unpleasant. I’m sorry that the reality of this situation is so difficult for you to stomach, Reza. I’m sorry for that at least. If these people really are about to attract the attention of the Construct, then there’s absolutely no hope for them. You know that.” He looks around, a faint air of disinterest pouring off him now. His gaze lands on Col, and a gentle line forms between his dark eyebrows. His face has paled significantly in the last few moments. “You’d better go hold that poor bastard’s hand,” Jass says. “He looks like he’s about to cry again.” With that, he pivots on the heel of his boot and he walks away.
EIGHTEEN
REZA
/> BLOOD SUN
I’m aware that people like to place bets on things. The Construct doesn’t allow social fraternizing amongst its members, however we’ve raided numerous drinking halls and brothels throughout the galaxy, and there are always creatures of varying races and species gathered around tables, chancing the contents of their pockets on random, seemingly unimportant games of luck.
I’ve never placed a bet in my life—I’ve never seen the point in risking anything on something you can’t be certain of—but right now I’m not so sure. I am willing to bet I’ll be dead before the end of the night. The odds seem pretty good.
My body’s revolting against me. I am so goddamn weak, it takes actual effort to walk without weaving. I’m freezing from the inside out, which makes no sense because I’m sweating from every pore, barely able to tolerate the thin layer of fabric I’m wearing without passing out.
Two days have passed since the night Col was nominated for chancellor of the first sector. Apparently, to be considered for the role, a nominee has to receive at least five tokens from the population of Pirius. A teacher, a slight woman with a pinched look about her, received eleven hundred tokens. An elderly man, a former Commonwealth fighter with a shock of white hair, received seven hundred. Despite Darius’ words, Chancellor Farren received nearly two thousand tokens in the ballot box. And Col? Col received just fourteen tokens. There’s to be a vote in a week’s time. I’m really hoping I’ve figured out a way to take Reza from here by then, or that I’ve died in my sleep. The politics of this dreary place depresses the hell out of me.
I haven’t seen Reza since the Appointments Hall. She hasn’t beckoned me to her in her sleep. I’ve thought about constructing a dreamscape and pulling her into it, but it costs energy to do that, and energy is one thing I don’t have right now. I need Light. I need it like I need oxygen, and if I don’t get it…
