“If you agree to this mission, we’d arrange for you to be stranded, fake a heliplane crash or some nonsense, in the southern Marshlands of East Mundus, where we believe she is hiding. The rebels are cagy, but they have a meticulous operation and a tight grip on the territory. We expect that they’d find you within a day or two. We will of course provide survival gear, a subcutaneous tracking and signaling system—they’re perfectly undetectable, mind you—everything you need. It says in your file that you’ve had emergency response training?”
“That’s correct.”
“That should be more than sufficient. When the rebels find you, you signal us, and we bring all of you in. Very simple. Open and shut.”
Kaeylor wasn’t sure which she felt more poignantly, anger or confusion. “So let me make sure I understand you, sir. My sister, who I thought was long dead, who I’ve grieved for, my entire family has grieved for—we had services for her and even a grave marker set—you’re telling me that she’s alive, and that you want me to go ‘bring her in.’ Why? So you can parade her around in one of your show trials and then kill her—for good this time?”
“All we’re asking is for your help in bringing a known terrorist to justice.”
“What justice? The crucifix? The guillotine? The Bronze Bull? Your justice and their terrorism, I can’t tell the difference anymore. It’s all a blur to me.”
“Treasonous words. But I suppose it runs in the family.”
“That’s a vile thing to say. But I suppose it makes sense coming from a vile little man.”
“I would remind you, girl, that I could have your tongue for contempt of Imperial justice.” He paused, smoothed his tie. “But, in the interest of this investigation, let’s try to be civil, shall we? Let me start again. You are an eminent scientist, yes? And you also have a pet project that involves cataloging the religious heresies infecting our fair society?”
“My work on heresies is not a secret, if that’s what you’re implying. I’m just doing my job. Heresies can’t be separated from the problem of climate change. They may provide clues. It’s all in my reports.”
“Quite right. The Empire values your patriotic contributions, and we are by no means eager to be rid of you. And, you, I assume, value your own life, and the lives of your loved ones. But… as it stands, you were recorded committing a capital offense, namely trespassing on restricted, sacred ground. The Emperor cannot, and simply does not, allow such transgressions to go unpunished. Further, your sister is actively involved with a group of radical zealots who wish to see our way of life destroyed. This also cannot be overlooked. We’re offering you a chance to make things right. The alternative is—well, you know the alternative. You’re a rational woman. I am confident that you will make the right choice.”
“Choice? You’re threatening the life of my child. Your joke of a justice system is holding my family hostage. How dare you talk to me about choice?”
“There is always a choice.” He eyed her over his spectacles with a look that was almost empathetic. “For whatever it’s worth to you, I do not intend to be cruel. I am laying out the facts as they are. The choice, however distasteful to you, is real. Your sister—the violent criminal, who you’d long given up for dead—weighed against the lives of innocents. I admit, it may not seem like much of a choice. But it is yours to make, all the same, and I hope you will realize that your interests, and the Empire’s are in fact aligned in this matter.”
Kaeylor shook her head in disgust, and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling “Aligned? Don’t make me laugh.” She breathed in hard, then stared coolly into the Inspector’s eyes. “Fine, then. Unshackle my hand”—she clanked the chain defiantly—“and bring me a pen and paper. For whatever reason, you people have decided you need my help. I’m not sure I get it, but you make it impossible for me to say no. So let’s make a deal, shall we? I have a couple demands of my own. And I want it all in writing.”
5.
…Heresy 78: …Corollary (b). The Empire serves the interest of this superior intelligence (as administrators? hostages?)—thus their actions are clues to the goals and desires of this higher power…
Santor looked concerned, his furrowed brow filling up the top third of Kaeylor’s handheld display. He was still at base camp, and the snowy landscape was like a white curtain behind him.
“So what assurances did you get out of them exactly?” His voice came through clear and crisp. The guards hadn’t just lifted the blockade of the surveillance net—evidently they weren’t even monitoring her calls anymore, though she was still confined to her room.
“Immunity for mom and Selenia. Dropping all charges and sealing all files regarding my, uh— extracurricular activities.” They both chuckled. Kaeylor noticed how youthful and handsome he still looked when he smiled, a fact that was often obscured by a weather-worn, exhausted look that clung to him when he traveled. Since he traveled frequently, as did Kaeylor and the rest of the Institute’s climate science faculty, it was easy to forget that Santor’s rough, wind-sanded features possessed a stark beauty.
He was eleven years older than Kaeylor, and had mentored her in the earlier part of her career, but she had progressed so quickly (she was “half droid,” he always teased her) that she actually ranked higher now than he did at the Institute. Although, she reminded herself, such distinctions at the top were trivial. And anyway, he would always outrank her in experience, a fact that also imposed upon their personal relationship. Even though they had become close friends over the years, he always provided an emotional support that she felt unable to repay, no matter how she might try. The truth was that he never really needed the help, as far as Kaeylor could tell, his reservoir of emotional solidity being deep enough, it seemed, for both of them. He tended to speak to her like an older brother, or at least like an idealized fiction of one, who possessed a knack for saying what you needed to hear even if you didn’t want to hear it. But now, facing a dangerous mission half a continent away, Kaeylor felt a tenderness for him that was more than filial. Maybe it was just stress, but for the first time in their decade-long acquaintance she wished that he was next to her, and could scoop her up in his strong, solid arms…
“So that’s it?” He pulled her back to reality. “Seems like you could’ve milked a little more out them.”
“Well, I also demanded a fair trial for Illyvia, if I bring her back. Under the old rules, pre-emergency law. Representation, jury of her peers, media presence, all of that.”
“And they agreed?” His incredulity was genuine. Most trials now were military tribunals, held in closed chambers before a panel of generals. They rarely lasted more than two days, and almost always ended the same way: swift, brutal, and public execution.
“Yeah, I know. Hard to believe, isn’t it? I figure it’s because they’ll relish the chance to make an example of a ‘rebel leader,’ you know what I mean? But it’ll give us the best chance of defending her.”
“Yes. That’s good.” He seemed disturbed, or distracted. It wasn’t just emotional solidity that he possessed, Kaeylor realized. He had a way of maintaining distance, keeping an arms-length away even when you got close to him.
“Well, I’ve got to go. I have less than an hour, and I need to call my mom.” It was true. What she didn’t say was that talking to him had suddenly made her unbearably sad.
6.
…Heresies and the Climate—Notes: …The decline of geothermal energy sources on Mundus (the “geopause”) has no known cause—maybe natural processes, like seismic changes? Some forgotten cataclysm? Or a deliberate artificial process carried out by those in power? (some heretics claim this) The last one is the least likely; the Imperial authorities lack scientific expertise outside of us at the Institute, and we have no idea what caused it. Although it’s always possible that they have access to ancient records that they’re keeping secret. But that wouldn’t explain why they seem so concerned about the loss of clean energy sources and the warming caused by carbon fuels—after a
ll, they do fund climate research pretty avidly. That alone suggests ignorance about what or who caused the geopause. Regardless, the consequences are well understood: low geo-power to the Reflector meant lower Reflector output (‘sunlight’), thus the mini-Ice Age, buildup of polar ice cap, dropping sea levels for centuries…
The creaking heliplane crawled low over the trees, avoiding detection. Every few miles it clipped some vines or branches off one of the taller specimens, and the whole vessel shuddered slightly.
“We won’t miss this heap ‘a junk,” the legionary confided in Kaeylor as he prepped her for descent. “Command shoulda scrapped her a long time ago.”
No argument there, she laughed inwardly. The legionary paused, looking Kaeylor up and down critically.
“You’ve got everything y’need. ‘Cept a glider pack—I’ll grab ya one a those in a minute. Just remember, when ya get down there, follow the compass and keep going south. They’ll find ya in no time.” Kaeylor wondered what grim fate awaited if whoever found her didn’t know her sister, or simply had no qualms about shooting the sibling of a comrade, but she tried to push these thoughts from her mind.
Suddenly, a shrill alarm erupted from the front of the heliplane. “We’ve got incoming,” shouted the pilot, a solid-built battle droid. “Attempting evasive maneuvers.”
“Looks like they’ve found you already,” the legionary joked nervously. The heliplane lurched and hauled, sending Kaeylor and the legionary tumbling.
The droids multi-hinged fingers jumped wildly between controls. “I can’t lose it,” it called out. “Ascending.” The heliplane shot vertically upward, pinning Kaeylor to the ground. The legionary jumped to his feet, scooped Kaeylor up, and thrust a glider pack in her hands. He dragged her to the escape hatch and popped it open. The trees below were shrinking at a dizzying pace.
“Brace for impact,” the droid shouted. Kaeylor thought it sounded panicked, though her rational mind told her that droids lacked emotions. Then she saw a flash, and everything went silent.
The trees below her were spinning. She thought she saw the droid’s misshapen head roll past her. The legionary’s mouth formed the words “good luck,” though she heard nothing. She felt him push her out the hatch. Green, brown, and blue swirled around her. Mist and rushing air, warm. A thud.
Darkness.
She didn’t know how long she had been out, but she awoke with a crushing weight pounding in her skull. Her eyes were bleary. She could make out some moving shapes and shifting light patterns, but nothing clear yet. She coughed, and felt thin mucus dribble from her lip, past her nose, and up over her forehead. She was hanging upside down.
She shook her head and blinked vigorously, looking upward at her toes as her vision cleared. In her panic, she must’ve tried to activate the glider pack, but she had been too low already, and the fabric had minimally broken her fall before tangling in the branches of a cypress. She was suspended ten feet in the air, the glider fabric wrapped cruelly around her over-extended right ankle. When she saw the shape her foot was in, she half-consciously clenched her calf muscles, trying to free herself. All this accomplished was to send waves of blinding pain down her leg and up her thigh. She felt sick, meteoric sparks shooting in her peripherals, and blacked out again.
The sound of voices brought her back. She looked down, and saw below her a muscled man in a balaclava, standing in muddy, waist-deep water, aiming a long-gun in her direction. She tried to cry “no,” but could only muster a weak yelp. A shot rang out—a projectile, not blaster fire. She felt a violent jerk, and then fell, splashing helplessly in the water below. Hands reached down, pulling her to her feet. Hot pain ripped like current through her ankle. There were several people holding her, but the water and mud prevented her from seeing clearly. She felt an arm around her throat, gripping her in a chokehold, and she could see, dimly, a slender figure approach from her right and jam an electric truncheon into the thigh of her injured leg. There was a crackling sound, and searing pain, as the current burnt out the circuits of her subcutaneous tracker. They then let go of her, and she doubled down in the water, her head bobbing under, then emerging again, gasping, above the muddy surface. The water was cool, and soothed her wounded leg, although she didn’t know if she’d be able to stand. She decided against it, for the moment, and blinked away water and grit, trying to get a good look at her captors. She could make out at least five, probably less than ten (although there could be more in the trees), a motley crew of militants decked out in captured and repurposed battle gear, and all of them masked like bank robbers. The slender one bent down in front of her, and removed her balaclava. It was her sister, Illyvia. Her gray eyes were older and sadder than when she had last seen them, but they still shone with the intelligence and empathy that Kaeylor remembered.
“Kay, it’s been so long,” Kaeylor heard her sister say before passing out again.
When Kaeylor awoke this time, it was nearly dark outside. She tried to get up, but realized that she was bound. Through the dim light, she could see that she was tied to a kind of wooden stretcher, like a giant snow shoe. Her right pant leg had been cut off entirely from the crotch down, revealing her state-issued, white cotton undershorts. They were splotched, like the rest of her, with mud. Fear and shame cut through her as she imagined being disrobed and handled while unconscious, but then she noticed the healing poultices that had been wrapped around her ankle and her burned thigh, and felt a hint of cautious gratitude. Her eyes were acclimating to the dusk, and she was now able to see beyond her immediate space to assess where she was. It appeared to be some kind of encampment in a drier part of the swamplands. There were trees around her, and rocks, but no muck or muddy water. There was also very little grass; just firm, wet-smelling ground covered with green, soft mosses. She could smell a fire nearby, and she could see a thatched lean-to structure erected against a rock face. Perhaps this was one of those rebel bases the state media liked to spin such lurid tales about. She had always assumed that these reports were exaggerated. Now she hoped sincerely that she had been right.
But then she saw the mound. It was just next to where her stretcher lay, a freshly packed layer of uneven dirt protruding above ground level. A rusted shovel poking obliquely out of it erased any doubt in her mind—it was a grave. Was she to be buried next? She almost screamed reflexively, but squelched it, with some effort, into a gasping yelp. She heaved as hard as she could, rolling onto her side, and began kicking wildly, trying to find a hard surface to push against and hopefully launch herself upright. Her injured leg throbbed, but her time resting, along with the panicked rush of adrenaline, gave her the strength to push fiercely. In her mad flailing, she accidentally kicked the shovel, which twirled out of its perch and clanged loudly on a boulder.
“Kay! What the hell are you doing?” It was Illyvia. Night was coming on fast, and Kaeylor hadn’t seen her sister approach.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” she replied indignantly. “Trying to get up before one of your comrades puts me in a hole.” She nodded her head at the adjacent grave.
Illyvia shook her head sadly. “We’re not monsters, Kay. That’s the guy from your chopper. The legionary.”
“So you killed and buried him. Am I supposed to feel better?”
“No, he would’ve been more use to us alive. But he was hurt pretty badly in the crash. We brought him back here and tried to help him, but he didn’t make it.” Kaeylor did not look convinced. “Look, you’ve been out for four hours at least. If we wanted to slit your throat, dear sister, don’t you think we could have?”
“Yes. I suppose so.” Kaeylor was flushed red, feeling defeated and a little embarrassed. She paused a moment, trying to catch her breath. “Look, Ivy,” she began, looking away, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s going on, really. I can’t even believe I’m seeing you in front of me. You were supposed to be dead. And right now I’m hurt, I’m filthy, and I’m half naked. Can you just untie me please?”
“Of cours
e,” Illyvia draw a small buck knife and cut her sister’s bonds. Kaeylor pushed up with her elbows, wincing as the pain of her injuries welled up again, and sat upright. Illyvia kneeled down, facing her. They looked each other over, almost awkwardly. Then Illyvia cracked a smile. They embraced fiercely.
“Oh, Ivy,” Kaeylor whispered into her hair, “I can’t believe it’s you.”
“I know,” her sister said. “I can’t believe it either.” She pulled back and looked full in Kaeylor’s face. “Now, do you mind telling me what the hell you’re doing here?”
Kaeylor grinned mischievously “I’ll tell you anything you want for a drink of water and a pair of good pants.”
“Bargaining now? With your own sister? You sound just like one of those greedy nobles in the Capital.”
“I’m still a pleb, just like you. But we can’t all be socialist revolutionaries.”
“Yeah. A damn shame, isn’t it?” They had fallen effortlessly back into sisterly teasing, as if no time had passed at all. But Illyvia saw that her last comment had a strange effect on Kaeylor, who was now staring off blankly into the twilight.
“What is it, Kay.”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t ‘nothing’ me. I know you, even the past god-knows-how-many years doesn’t change that. What did I say?”
“You didn’t say anything. It… it’s not what you said. It’s just. After you died—or left, I mean—I found someone. I was married, Ivy. I have a little girl. And her father, my husband, died out here. Fighting you guys.”
“I’m so sorry, Kay.”
“I mean, I get that— how could you have known? But still, it’s—“
“I’m sorry,” Illyvia cut in, “I truly am. If I had known he was there, when the attack happened, I would have stopped it. I would have called off it off, taken it all the way to the Commandant if I had to. I just didn’t know, we didn’t know, that he was going to be there.”
The Heresies of World Page 3
