Cosega Source: A Booker Thriller (The Cosega Sequence Book 5)

by Brandt Legg

  “It would make all the difference in the world.” The Arc shook her head. “This is something you should know.” She made a mental note to review guardian training. However, she knew that historically the guardians would not have needed such knowledge. Cosegan life was almost exclusively peaceful, other that the rare incursion or seditious act from a Havlos, the “primitive” people who populated the other side of Earth. Yet things had changed rapidly once the Terminus Doom was identified, seemingly injecting its poison into the Cosegan world overnight, like a mutating, newly powerful virus from another era.

  Although convinced the woman was dead, Tracer gave the order.

  “Report back directly to me,” the Arc said.

  “When we find the body?”

  “I don’t care about bodies—you get me that globotite!”

  Thirteen

  Circle-member Welhey and Trynn stood on the balcony of Welhey’s tower apartment. The extravagant home commanded a view of Solas and the rolling hills beyond, and stretched out to where the land met the sea. The city glowed in its muted hues, seemingly matching the colors of the sunset over the ocean.

  “I love to stand here and look at what we’ve done,” Trynn said.

  “I imagine it is strange for you to see into the future and find our descendants occupying a more primitive world,” Welhey said. His long fingers wrapped around two small spheres, constantly spiraling them in his palm.

  “I don’t think I will ever get used to it. And as much as I’ve seen, it’s hard to understand how it got that way.”

  “The answer must be in there somewhere.”

  “That is why I don’t understand The Circle,” Trynn said, reluctantly turning away from the view to face his host. “They have teams of thousands of scientists within the predictive league studying the future and the Doom, yet they don’t allow them to pursue Eysen insertions as part of a potential solution. How do they not think that would benefit us? There is so much to learn, and even if all we did was search for the change-point . . .”

  Welhey only knew what the change-point was because of the many hours he’d spent listening to Trynn speak about the future. “As you know, I am fascinated with the change-point, the moment in time, the unknown event that changed the trajectory of the Cosegan civilization from advancing to even higher enlightenment and technological wonders, to that of a primitive reset that became humanity eleven million years from now.”

  “Yes.” Trynn reached for an odd-shaped nut, cracked it with the utensil in the large, crystalline bowl, and popped it in his mouth.

  “I so envy you having ventured, via the Eysen, to that future, and admire you for seeking to alter the outcome.”

  “It is because of your interest and faith in my work that I can even continue.” Trynn found his eyes as he cracked a nut for his friend. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry I cannot do more. Do you really think the change-point is something we can fix?”

  Even though Welhey had asked the same question dozens of time, Trynn's expression took on that of childlike excitement. “I know we can. Once we find it, we can change it.”

  “As many times as I’ve heard you say it,” Welhey said, “I still don’t understand how that saves us.”

  Trynn was moved by the admission. Welhey’s undying support of Trynn’s work came even as he did not understand it. It was simply faith in Trynn, his character, accomplishments, and the Eysen. “It’s not really the future,” Trynn said.

  “I know, but it’s so far away.”

  “I want you to come and look in the Eysen. You will see it is right there.” Trynn held out his hand a foot from his face, as if holding an invisible sphere. “You can view everything, see that it is not far away at all.”

  “You know I cannot. Even being here with you, I am risking so much. But for a member of The Circle to actually look into an Eysen, to gaze past the Missing-Time, after the decree to halt all far future work . . . I don’t think even you, dear Trynn, can imagine the consequences of that.”

  “Why won’t they even let me look for the change-point? I don’t have to alter anything, and we would know so much if we could find that point.” He brushed his hands together and sat down.

  “But the temptation. You cannot even resist the manipulations of distant generations. How could those lesser-learned among us be expected not to tinker, and the disastrous effects could seal our fate in an instant instead of leaving us with the time we have.”

  “We have so little time, it’s hardly worth all that The Circle is paying for it. They horde and scrape together the days remaining as if they’re protecting something, but they’re actually letting it slip away because of one thing: fear.”

  “I know.”

  “Can you propose they allow us to research the change-point? There could be safeguards.”

  “Not enough.” Welhey looked back out across Solas. “The Nostradamus incident destroyed that chance. It stole ninety percent of our remaining time from the Terminus clock. You are right, The Circle is scared. And perhaps they fear you the most.”

  Before Trynn could respond. Welhey received a message. “Bad news,” Welhey said, opening a 3D projection so Trynn could see it. A guardian report, filtered through Circle channels, explained that a suspected Etheren globe runner had been pursued in the canyons south of Solas.

  The two men watched the images that had been recorded by one of the closest guardians as the woman ran onto the arch bridge and then jumped what was now known to be four hundred seventy-two feet. No body had yet been recovered.

  “She couldn’t have survived that,” Welhey said sadly.

  Trynn, recognizing Julae, closed his eyes. Losing her meant almost unbearable grief. Losing the globotite she carried potentially meant the end of all human life.

  Fourteen

  Circle-member Shank, a tall man, young by Cosegan standards, looked thirty-five, although he was nearly two centuries older. He greeted Circle-member Jenso formally.

  “Circle-member, thank you for your time.”

  Jenso smiled. They were old friends, although ‘allies’ might have been more accurate. Her dark, perfectly smooth skin and long, snow-white hair always intimidated him for some reason. He called her “the moon mystic,” but never to her face.

  “We are running out of time,” he said, always trying to sound more confident than he was. Women considered him handsome in that way all tall, physically honed men could be. Most thought him of average intelligence, but they were wrong. Although, he had obtained his seat on The Circle mostly due to his father, who, prior to his death, had been a longtime respected Circle-member. The family connection caused some people to underestimate him, yet he was accomplished enough to have made it on his own.

  “Is Trynn still getting globotite?” Jenso asked.

  “The guardians are tightening their nets, but the Etherens have so many routes.”

  “We should round them up.”

  “That would never work. Like bugs, there are too many of them. But I’m told they are getting more of the new detectors in the field. This will give us the capacity to detect finished globotite within a range of miles.” Shank’s wisdom was not as apparent as the other members of The Circle, though he possessed a certain intuitive intelligence. The Arc had once described him as “genetically fortunate,” and once told her deputy: “Shank doesn’t always know the right thing to do, or the right thing to say, particularly if he’s thought about it too much, but the right thing usually occurs to him at the right moment, accidental or not.”

  Jenso, the opposite of Shank, exuded brilliance and wisdom as if wearing perfume made from it. An average looking woman, most would describe her as incredibly beautiful, unaware that it was her brains that made her stunning. The two were so unalike: her dynamic, flashy, strong, and him mild-mannered, cautious, and reserved. It was surprising they were such strong allies against Trynn and his Eysen aspirations. Welhey had long insisted that if it were not for the two of them, Trynn might have b
een able to sway the rest of The Circle into supporting him.

  “I’m certain he is working still, defying us, risking us,” Jenso said bitterly as they strolled through the natural gardens outside the great hall, surrounded by high walls of sound. The garden walls seemed to be built of clear blocks joined with pale blue mortar, reaching high above them in a sloping curve that almost gave them the appearance of a silent, breaking wave. And yet there was nothing solid about them at all.

  The Cosegan’s mastery of building techniques with light was complimented by their abilities to use sonic construction and its related methods. Jenso was one of the most accomplished and respected building engineers, having helped design many of the newest and most beautiful sections of Solas.

  “Of course, but he manages to hide it.”

  “Just how is he doing that?” she hissed.

  “He has much help,” Shank said. “Trynn will never give up.”

  “Welhey. He is a traitor.”

  “We don’t know for sure.”

  “Yes we do,” she snapped. “We should petition the Arc to have him detained, both of them!” Jenso stared above the walls to the spires of the city she believed belonged to her. Solas was the Cosegan’s largest city, but she had worked on many others, and perhaps understood the foundations of building and creating with light better than anyone.

  “The Arc will not detain a Circle-member, nor someone of Trynn’s stature and mind,” Shank said, as if the words sickened him. “At least not until we can prove it completely.”

  Jenso was momentarily distracted by the sun, caressing parts of the high structures of Solas. She had created the upper forms so that just such a thing would occur at this time of day. It was her favorite part about building with light—the interplay with the sun. She had once explained it in a presentation to lesser designers: “As the great star moves through the sky throughout the day, and the earth circles it throughout the year, the changes will reflect in the buildings and skyline so that the city is ever-changing and never appears the same way twice.” She made a slight bow to her memory of the work.

  “The proof may be difficult to obtain, and may come past the time. Even now he could be stumbling into another catastrophe.”

  “Proof . . . this should not be too hard,” she said, her voice confident, yet childlike at the same time. “He cannot move civilizations through the veils of time without creating notice.”

  “Are you sure?” Shank asked, knowing Jenso would never speak such a thing unless she was absolutely certain.

  She smiled, as if amused with his silly question. “Do you recall the Nostradamus ripples? We felt them even here.” She raised her hands as if to indicate more than just where they were standing, to encompass Solas and beyond.

  “Yes, the light cities shimmered, and these very sonic walls vibrated.”

  Still smiling, her expression somehow conveyed disappointment. “More than just our structures. We are all different because of Nostradamus,” she said, her attention drawn back up to the light show taking place above the city. So minute were the flickers, color changes, and intensity shifts, that almost no one else would have noticed the parts of the spectrum she was witnessing, yet she was experiencing them in internal ecstasy.

  “There is no proof that the Nostradamus incident affected us,” Shank said defiantly.

  “Of course there is. Do you really believe that the ripples from the Nostradamus incident affected all other times and human cultures, but not ours?”

  “Yes.”

  For an instant, her aghast expression frightened him. “How do you explain that?” she asked, greatly surprised he still held that belief.

  “Because it originated from us. Therefore, the ripples met resistance and stopped.”

  Jenso studied him for a moment, possibly deciding whether to laugh or not. She had heard this theory before, of course, but it made no sense. She understood light and energy too well. “Do you really believe The Circle would have stopped his work had we ourselves not been affected?”

  “I don’t really know, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? It either happened or it did not. The point is the damage he did is severe.”

  “The damage was not all his alone.”

  “He was the responsible party. He never should’ve been leading the project! We must stop him before he does any more damage, kills us all!” Shank’s uncharacteristically quick anger concerning Trynn always bothered her.

  “Agreed,” she said, because she did. There were many areas in which they differed, and their understanding of the situation certainly was one. However, the main thing they were both determined to do was stop Trynn from using the Eysens for even a single additional far future manipulation. “And mark my words, we will stop him.”

  Fifteen

  In what could only be called the equivalent of a back alley of a Cosegan city, “the slights” were places the engineers had missed, slivers of small areas where the light didn’t reach. Normally, even in the overnight hours, Cosegan cities exuded a glow, more like moonbeams than rays from the sun, a sleepy kind of photonic hue that seemed entirely different than how it was lit during the day. However, even with incredibly advanced artificial intelligence, and their fully engaged, enlightened minds, the engineers could not defy the true laws of physics, which resulted in places that the light could not find.

  And because there was no light there, surveillance was also absent.

  Cosegan society is built on trust, Trynn thought as he worked his way through the dimly lit Solas streets, steering his way toward a slight. But the trust goes both ways. Everyone has access to everything that is happening. Perhaps the city builders created the slights intentionally.

  Trynn had been to these places many times, but they always seemed strange to him. It was not a totally dark space, as the city’s iridescent energy permeated everything, even the darkness. Still, it was that very faint light one might find in a valley meadow just before daybreak.

  The main walkways skirted the unlit areas, so it took great effort to find a slight. One would never accidentally just wander into one. They weren’t easy to locate even if you knew where to look, but because Trynn had frequented this particular little patch of urban seclusion often, he knew just how to slip in.

  When he first arrived at the slight, Trynn was not able to see much, but he refrained from using his light. It might attract attention, and it would take longer for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He made a conscious effort to concentrate on his vision, focusing on the muted details.

  Then he saw the old man waiting in the far corner. Even in the vacant shadow, Trynn saw Ovan’s smile.

  Always delighted to see Trynn, Ovan’s eyes filled with excitement. Trynn could not see his eyes that clearly in the slight, but the two had shared enough conversations in daylight that each knew just what the other’s eyes would hold at their meeting.

  “I’ve heard The Circle is watching you extra closely now,” Ovan said, amusement in his voice, as if this was a silly thing for The Circle to do.

  Ovan, a senior scientist who had acted as both mentor and student of Trynn for years, looked older than most Cosegans. Although born in the same year as the Arc, whose age was reportedly near three hundred, he appeared ancient compared to her. The Arc maintained the youthful looks of someone in her thirties by utilizing the Cosegans’ mastery of cell control and healing to create a timeless body. Ovan had decided to forego those techniques. “I prefer a more rustic appearance,” he told anyone who asked.

  “Yes, apparently being so near to the Imaze launch, The Circle is concerned that I might push things.”

  “It’s a good thing we don’t have jails or prisons then, isn’t it?” Ovan said, followed by a slight chuckle. He had learned quite a bit about the far future. “It is a shame long ahead descendants have the need for such things—prisons and jails and execution techniques.”

  “Theirs is a different world,” Trynn said. “When wars would befall humanity, crimes would b
e committed, and humans set about stealing from one another, misunderstanding their neighbors, punishing their fellow citizens, killing one another . . . ”

  “We fouled it up for them.”

  “Did we?”

  “It must be us.”

  Trynn shook his head. “You are too generous, my old friend. We are their hope. We can save them.”

  “And ourselves.”

  “If we succeed.”

  “But if we fail . . . ”

  “We cannot.”

  “Then, you see, it would be our fault,” Ovan reasoned. “We will be the ones who created the destruction. Remember, it is a circle. There’s no escaping it.”

  “Let’s not debate that now. Our time is short.”

  “Prisons . . . ” Ovan said, not wanting to let it go. He rubbed his gnarled fingers in twisting movements. “Prisons are such terrible things.”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure that punishment would be worse than what I face now,” Trynn said, knowing Ovan would understand the frustration of having to work in secret in their attempts to save humanity, working in the darkness when their cause was so just, yet all it did was make their task more difficult, creating more urgency, which in turn required more secrecy. The convoluted nature of it all meant delays, which could mean they would be too late.

  However, Trynn was not a complainer, and Ovan was definitely not one either. In fact, Trynn believed that Ovan secretly enjoyed the clandestine aspects of the Eysen project, and Ovan had as much at stake as Trynn if he were caught. Either of them—most likely both of them—would be banished permanently to the backwards Havlos side of the planet.

  Approaching footsteps silenced them. Trynn looked over his shoulder, back out into the bright colored walkway he had left, wondering if guardians might be approaching. They had no way to be sure until it was too late.