The Heresies of World

by O. A. Beckett

  “OK,” Kaeylor sniffled. She breathed deeply, and her chest leveled. Illyvia continued:

  “Don’t you see? If they wanted us dead, they could’ve had those drones burn us to a crisp on East Mundus, just like they did to my comrades. They didn’t. They brought us back here instead. Why? They must need us alive, at least for a little while. That can only mean one thing, something that our sources have made clear for a while now”

  “What?” Kaeylor murmured, her breath clogged by tears, but her spirits buoyed somewhat by her sister’s enthusiasm and her own curiosity.

  “That these Imperial clowns don’t know any more than we do about this place. About World, about which heresies are true and false, about why energy sources have dried up, about what’ll happen when the polar cap finally melts. They’re scared, Kaeylor, just like we are, and they’re looking for answers. They want to know what you and I know—the rebel leader and the disobedient climate detective. What are we hiding? Can we help them maintain the status quo, keep them in power?”

  “I know they don’t—” Kaeylor started to say out loud, but Illyvia put her hand over her mouth.

  “Whisper,” Illyvia said. “Squeeze my hand when you’re done speaking. We’ll go back and forth like that, and hopefully elude their sensors.”

  Kaeylor shifted, pulling against her shackles to cup, with one hand, her sister’s ear. Her other hand clasped her sister’s own proffered hand, which Kaeylor found comforting in spite of the fetters. “I know they’re clueless on the climate,” she rasped quietly. “That’s why I’m still here. I’m surprised they didn’t shoot me on sight after they caught me snooping at the Observatory. But the temples—why keep them under lock and key if they’re not doing something with them?” Squeeze.

  “It’s all façade. Appearances, the illusion of control. They’re shooting in the dark. The War went on so long, so much knowledge lost and records destroyed, that nobody really knows anything. Not even the Empire. They’re scrambling to stay on top of things, but at this point, we’re a step or two ahead of them. You know this—you took those pictures at the Observatory.” Squeeze.

  They continued like this, whispering and squeezing to say “over,” a kind of walkie-talkie etiquette for Luddites.

  “So you’ve seen them?”

  “Yes. When you passed out, after we found you on East Mundus, we broke into the files on your handheld and scanned your ‘notebook of heresies.’ Then we destroyed the originals.”

  “So the Empire doesn’t have them?”

  “No.”

  “Where are they? The files, I mean.”

  “In you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s what Santor saw at the hospital, when he looked at us through the scope on his pistol. I injected you with a solution of encrypted messenger nanobots. All of our data, every clue we have about the nature of World, is in your bloodstream.”

  “Santor wanted it to be you, not me.” Kaeylor wondered if the disappointment welling up in her voice again was audible to her sister.

  “Yes, but he’s reckless and hot-headed, and he doesn’t understand the plan. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You need to get far away, you and the messages you carry. The Empire doesn’t have a reader. We used to, but it failed us, and we haven’t been able to get it back up. You’ll have to go elsewhere to find one.”

  “Where?”

  “OuterWorld.”

  “So it’s true?” She squeezed much harder.

  “Yes. You saw it yourself in the photos. They were real—the strange sun, the alien constellations. The letters and pictures you photographed belonged to a Federation soldier. His lover, or partner, or whoever she was—she wasn’t of our World. At some point, the Federation must have had extensive contact with the Out-Worlders.”

  “You talk like you know them.”

  “I do. We’ve been in contact with them.”

  Kaeylor was shocked silent for a moment. Then she turned to her sister, almost forgetting to whisper, but catching herself at the last instant.

  “I don’t even know where to begin. Who are they? You just—talk. Explain. I’m so confused.”

  “The Out-Worlders are just like us, Kaeylor. They’re a big part of why I came back here willingly, or would have if the drones hadn’t hauled us in. The Empire wants to find out what it can from us, then put us to death as heretics, discourage anyone from pursuing the truth any further. But they can’t stop the cat once it’s out of the bag.” She paused a moment to look at Kaeylor, but didn’t squeeze her hand. Then she continued: “This is the part that’s going to be hard for you, but just listen. You’ll have to testify against me and my comrades. That’s the only way you’ll get any kind of reprieve, no matter how temporary. The Empire has to show some favor to moles and informants, otherwise it wouldn’t have any. Once you’re out, one of our people will contact you. The plan’s already in place. They’ll bring you to safety and get you in contact with the Out-Worlders, who are sympathetic to our cause. As for me—” she paused again, then did her best to convey gentleness in her tone despite being limited to whispers, “I’ll be condemned. The trial won’t be public, not after that little stunt Santor pulled. But the execution will be. And that’ll give me a chance to share some truth with the masses.”

  “No.” Kaeylor was not whispering or squeezing anymore. “Ivy, I can’t. You can’t. I won’t do it.”

  “You have to,” Illyvia replied out loud, as heavy footsteps approached the cell door. “The alternative is that they execute both of us, meaning that we both gave our lives for nothing.”

  Kaeylor didn’t reply. As the guards marched in, she lay silent, still gripping her sister’s hand.

  9.

  …Heresy 62 (a): ‘World’ is a hell, a place of punishment for the damned souls of dead sinners. This heresy is often repeated angrily by prisoners condemned by the Empire to die…

  The trial unfolded exactly as Illyvia predicted. There were no media, no jury, no attorneys, and no public audience—just three judges appointed by the Emperor himself. Before being ushered into the judges’ chamber, the women had been corralled into another holding cell for a long wait and a longer final interrogation. Kaeylor had pleaded with the interrogators, referencing her signed agreement with the Inspector General ensuring her own immunity and Illyvia’s right to a trial under pre-emergency law. The interrogator had produced the document and burned it before them.

  “Null and void,” he had said, crushing out a cigarette on the metal table before them. “Never existed. You really think that would stand after your terrorist buddy’s stunt at the hospital?” He had left abruptly then, sending in three legionaries to “prime” them for the judges, a euphemism for some textbook-standard slapping, slugging, shoving and hair-pulling. Then, bruised, scraped, and disheveled, they were herded at truncheon point before the judges for their arraignment.

  That had been the first day of their “trial.” The next had been a circus of haranguing and condemnation, with questions begged and verdicts pre-supposed, but at least there had been no more “priming.” Today was the third, and ostensibly last, day when the capital sentences would be laid down. Kaeylor wondered if the judges who would condemn them were even the same as those who had presided over the previous two days. It was impossible to tell. Their hooded cloaks were Imperial crimson, and they wore gleaming metal facemasks sculpted to resemble an idealized portrait of the current Emperor, Athanacteon II. This device was intended to enervate the accused, a reminder that the judges acted out the will of the Emperor himself, with the full force of his drones and legions behind them. But to Kaeylor it seemed cowardly, not to mention darkly comic, these hooded bureaucrats anonymously passing judgment, staring down unblinkingly like droids whose CPUs had frozen up.

  The judges sat on a massive raised dais, twenty feet above the ground, using microphones to amplify their unimpressive voices. The first to speak had a carping, nasal pitch that reminded Kaeylor of Tribune Randin Torr, or
perhaps, she thought, it was simply that all of these Imperial martinets were beginning to sound alike.

  “Accused rebel, Illyvia Lirin, terrorist and enemy of the people. Do you admit to denying the Unconquerable Sun God, Sol Invictus, as your one true Lord and savior, creator of World, sculptor of man in his own image, and sustainer of the glorious Mundian Empire?”

  “I admit that your Sun God is complete bullshit,” Illyvia replied with a sardonic smile. Kaeylor could not believe how much fun her sister seemed to be having under these grim circumstances. No matter how ridiculous it ultimately was, these men had the power to end both of their lives, and would likely hand down an increasingly sadistic sentence for every insult and indiscretion Ilyvia hurled at them. But perhaps that was the anarchic rebel in her, always capable of laughing in the face of obscene power.

  “You know it, and I know it,” Illyvia went on. “So why don’t you all cut it out, the bullshit that is, and get to the point.”

  “Blasphemy!” cried one judge.

  “Heresy!” cried the next.

  “The Gods weep at your folly,” yelped out the nasal one, not to be outdone.

  “Natural Philosopher Kaeylor Lirin,” intoned the judge who cried “blasphemy,” his attitude supercilious but his voice commanding a soothingly deeper pitch than his colleague’s, “accused collaborator and traitor. Do you share your blood-sibling’s disdain for the State Religion?”

  “No, your illustrious Honor,” Kaeylor replied, just as Illyvia had coached her, “my sister is a wicked criminal. I disown her, and disavow any and all filial bonds between us.”

  “The same to you,” Illyvia replied flippantly. Although she had maintained this cheeky disregard throughout the trial, Kaeylor worried that her sister might be straining credibility. She cut Illyvia a nervous glance, then continued:

  “My loyalty is to the Emperor and to all the Gods who protect the State. I have been a loyal subject, serving the Emperor for years at the Institute. More recently, I collaborated with State security in apprehending my terrorist sister, and I have the injuries to—“

  “Yes, yes, we are well aware of your service to the Empire” interjected the nasal judge derisively, “and we will keep it in mind when determining your fate. However, your close friend and confidante at the Institute—” he paused and shuffled through a stack of papers, evidently looking for the name, “Dr. Santor Yarril, yes? He broke into your hospital room and killed a legionary in a botched attempt to free the woman you describe as your ‘terrorist sister.’ We find it exceedingly difficult to imagine that this man, now a wanted fugitive, was able to operate a terrorist cell for years in secret, right under your nose, and that you knew nothing. More suspicious still is the fact that your very sister is also involved in this sedition. We would say that the circumstantial evidence implying your own involvement is quite damning, wouldn’t you agree, Dr. Lirin?”

  “Quite damning,” echoed the judge with the deeper voice, seemingly answering for the accused.

  “Quite damning indeed,” the third judge chimed in, his voice muffled, like he was suffering from a cold.

  “I don’t know how to answer that,” Kaeylor replied. “But I am prepared to prove my loyalty to the crown once more, if it pleases your Honors.”

  “And tell us, how do you propose to do that?” the nasal-voiced judge squeaked impotently.

  “Speak!” the deeper-voiced judge thundered, underscoring his colleague’s command.

  Kaeylor straightened her back. “Your Honors, when I was on East Mundus, before the drones extracted us, I was able to gain my sister’s confidence for a time. She mentioned a plot her group is planning, an attack to take place here in the Capital. It involves three State officials, double agents who are working with the terrorists to plan a deadly marketplace bombing in the Merchant district. Hundreds of civilians will die. Fortunately, I was able to learn, and memorize, the first names of the traitors and the agency they work for.”

  The judge with the cold sneezed loudly into his microphone. All three huddled for a moment, and Kaeylor and Illyvia could hear their hushed voices conferring unintelligibly.

  Then the deep-voiced judge broke the silence:

  “This is intriguing intelligence you offer, Dr. Lirin, although it is suspicious that you only raise the alarm now. Nevertheless, we will act on the specifics, once you present them. If, as you say, these men are guilty, and their apprehension circumvents a cowardly attack on the Capital, you will be rewarded with your freedom. Until then, you will remain in custody. Now, the names.”

  “Yes, the names” the nasal judge and the judge with the cold erupted in unison. The latter judge sniffled. Kaeylor glanced at Illyvia, with great regret, and a little consternation, in her eyes. Illyvia’s gray eyes met hers, but they smiled with the certainty of conviction. Nothing to be done, thought Kaeylor. She addressed the judges.

  “The names, your esteemed Honors, are as follows,” she began…

  10.

  …Official Imperial doctrine, against which all heresies are judged: …World was created over six thousand years ago when the Unconquerable Sun God, Sol Invictus, conjured himself out of the void by shouting his own unutterable name into the Infinite Deep. He slew the Hydra of Chaos, and from her broken remains sculpted World. Her teeth became the Mountains, her icy breath congealed into the polar Glacial Wall, her guts and womb became the oceans, and her bones crumbled into the fertile meal from which He kneaded the soil and clay of ‘Mundus.’ Out of this clay he sculpted Man and the lesser gods in his image, that all might serve Him. Satisfied with His craftsmanship, on the seventh day He rested, retiring to the Heavens to preside over the majesty of Creation…

  Because she had decided to cooperate with the State in bringing the three “traitors” to justice, Illyvia was spared the indignity of her body being drawn and quartered after her hanging, or of her decapitated head being placed on a pike outside the Capital. Simple hanging would suffice for a cooperative and repentant terrorist, she had joked when she met with Kaeylor for the last time, the evening before her execution, in the heavily-guarded underground bunker that served as her holding cell. The Empire had already been embarrassed by Santor’s assault on the hospital, and they were determined not to allow any more interference. An example needed to be made of the violent heretic, just as an even more brutal example had been made, three days earlier, of the three Imperial “traitors,” whose crucifixion, painting in tar, and subsequent immolation the Emperor himself had overseen directly, his stern countenance unmoved as their choked screams spasmed out of their broken and disintegrating bodies.

  It hadn’t mattered that they were innocent of crimes against the Empire. Illyvia had explained this to Kaeylor in their holding cell just before the trial. The men had been Imperial spies, part of the Emperor’s secret intelligence apparatus, the Black Hand, trying to entrap members of the People’s Front for the Liberation of Mundus, an underground urban guerilla group loosely-aligned with Illyvia’s people on East Mundus, into buying bomb-making materials. The East Mundians had a mole inside the Black Hand who alerted the PFLM to the plot. The PFLM then responded by leading the Black Hand agents on a wild goose chase, ostensibly to conduct the bomb sale, but slowly enmeshing the agents in a web of underworld associations of “questionable moral integrity,” including black market trades involving prostitution and narcotics. Unwisely, the agents had made the trades without pre-approval by their chain of command, acting instead on bravado and personal initiative. The Emperor couldn’t afford the bad publicity if these incriminating facts came to light, especially since the Black Hand operated outside the aegis of the wealthy patrician families that propped him up. In fact, officially the Black Hand did not exist, even though the Emperor secretly deployed its agents to extort and blackmail potential upstarts and rivals among his powerful patrician support base—a fact that most patricians suspected, but lacking proof, quietly resented. Thus, when Kaeylor offered the names at trial, the Imperial cronies acting as judges
, themselves complicit in Black Hand affairs, saw no choice but to accept the information and retreat to privately counsel with the Emperor, who was more than willing to sacrifice the reckless Black Hand agents in a bloody public spectacle. This spectacle served the convenient dual purpose of asserting Imperial power to the public and reining in adventurous elements within the Black Hand. By tacitly agreeing to go along with the farce, even providing additional details about the concocted bombing plot, Illyvia managed to negotiate a more “humane” execution and to secure the right to make a final public statement from the scaffold.

  Still, her death was, like the other executions, a planned public spectacle, and the Empire needed to minimize any further disruption. She was therefore granted only one hour for her final meeting with her sister, who was the only permitted visitor, and only after Kaeylor submitted to a humiliating strip search by a paid midwife under the watchful eye of two armed, male legionaries. Of course, the legionaries’ presence was, in official parlance, a regrettable formality, since security was necessary, and women were simply forbidden from serving in the Imperial army—a part, Kaeylor thought, of the socially regressive tradition that the Empire was slowly reviving across its territories. How long would it be before women were banned from the Institute, she wondered. Would someone of her abilities be grudgingly permitted to stay? She remembered that her sister’s ideological forbears in the Federation were famous for practicing strict equality between all genders, and judging by Illyvia’s respected position among her comrades, this tradition had not been disrupted. But here, in “civilized” West Mundus, Kaeylor was being forced to disrobe and endure the prodding and poking of the midwife’s cold, knobby fingers, all the while being leered at by twenty-something male legionaries, clutching their phallic electric truncheons and grinning their awkward grins. The experience had been enough to make Kaeylor consider running off right then to East Mundus and joining the rebel insurrection. But she suffered through it, teeth gritted and eyes defiant, for the chance to see her sister again, and in the hope of figuring out something, anything, to stop the inevitable from happening.