Micah Trace and the Shattered Gate

by Eric Swanson

  Nervousness and shame took over Davin’s face and Garreous recognized the change immediately. Both the King and Queen looked to their son with measured disapproval. “Davin, the Crown is not in the habit of changing the social schedule of important members of the Royal Court.”

  “Of course, Mother.” His face still flushed, Davin avoided the eyes of his parents and Garreous alike for a moment. Davin collected himself and straightened his back against his granite throne. “The ideal solution would be for Garreous to join father and I at the Antisar game later this week and move other engagements to some further date.”

  Garreous perked and a smile brushed his lips.

  “That appears satisfactory to our dear Garreous.” Queen Hanani said. “Susa, would you like to join them?”

  “Uh-“ Susa stuttered for a moment. “Mother, I really only attend Scorch games.” She shrugged a bit.

  “Very well,” Hanani replied.

  “If there are no other matters to discuss,” King Artax broke in with a short sigh before he spoke. “I call to a close this gathering. The Crown thanks the Court for its counsel, wisdom and time. I understand tomorrow Pollai and Kaymar will return to Court. It seems they bring news from Earth.”

  The Royals left the Court Hall first to a bit of musical fanfare. Everyone else shuffled out through other exits. The King’s mention of Earth flushed Micah with an unfamiliar nervousness and a powerful dizziness came over him. Micah blinked hard a few times and shifted his hood back into place as he left the Hall.

  Chapter Four

  (The Third Day)

  0550 Hours

  By 0555, Micah had been awake and pacing his apartment for thirty minutes. Just after 0500, Micah’s eyes had snapped open, followed shortly by a rush of energy. His foot tapped beneath his sheets at an unnatural speed for a minute or so before Micah almost leapt out of his bed.

  “Good morning, Micah.” SAMI greeted him right on schedule. “You’ve been up for a while. Would you like me to dim the lights in the bathroom? 50%?”

  “Seventy-five, SAMI.” Micah spoke absently, lost in thought. Unformed thoughts of Earth filled his mind. As he had never seen the planet, he couldn’t picture it in great detail. Micah imagined vast oceans lit by a young, yellow sun. He imagined billions of humans, slightly shorter than him and all peering skyward every few minutes.

  He imagined the broken gate hanging in the Terran sky.

  While he imagined the people, the oceans and the specter of his ancestors’ abduction, Micah paced. His fingers balled and splayed, back and forth unconsciously.

  “Micah, your shower is ready.” SAMI broke into his thoughts, the flat voice suddenly disconcerting. “I’ll turn on the news.”

  “No,” Micah blurted as he walked toward his bathroom. “Can—Can you just read me the headlines, SAMI?”

  “Of course, Micah.”

  Micah stripped his slept-in clothes off and dropped them on the floor near the shower.

  “Thank you.”

  “Capital Headlines: Peaceful Sit-In demonstrations by Hybrid Separatists stretch into their Third Day.” SAMI’s reading of the headline came without bombast or tone, unlike Micah’s newscast experience yesterday. “Traffic on the Blue Loop is increasing and will worsen with Antisar Hybrid Playoff preparations later today.”

  “SAMI, I think that’s enough for now.”

  “OK, Micah. You have Mimic Training with King Artax in three hours. Eaton is expecting you for breakfast before that.”

  “Just like yesterday, SAMI.” Micah said as he left the shower. At some point, a system intelligent enough to pick up on sarcasm and tone changes in Micah’s voice should know that his schedule never changed. Without fail, Micah’s days mirrored the days before them. SAMI read his calendar like it was day one, just the same. “Thanks.”

  Micah dressed in silence and left without another word from him or the AI.

  “Morning, guys.” Micah greeted Roomen and Reeman as his door clicked shut behind him. The orange sun shone down on him a bit brighter this morning and he squinted against the light before pulling his hood into place. “Are you ready for today?”

  The twins weren’t sure if Micah was asking them or if the question was directed inward.

  Micah was just as unsure.

  The Royal Simulation Field

  0945 Hours

  “Greetings, people of Ceres.” King Artax addressed a massive crowd below. The balcony upon which he stood looked out over the main thoroughfare of the capital, now packed with tens of thousands of celebrating Cerans. As the King spoke, the celebratory clamor quieted and the throng waited for him to speak again. Wearing a plain black bodysuit and a large cape of a light purple shade, Artax seemed taller, imposing. A four-inch-wide band of gold wrapped around his forehead, jutting out above his hair only an inch or so.

  He looked over the crowd with a warm smile, waving intermittently.

  “SAMI, freeze simulation.” A voice off the balcony came over the noise of the crowd.

  “Simulation paused.” A more masculine version of Micah’s apartment program spoke and the thousands below locked in place, mid-moment. A small insect flying about the balcony froze as well, hanging in the air just beyond Micah’s nose.

  Dressed in a matching outfit with King Artax, Micah was indistinguishable from the monarch.

  The King turned to his Mimic and gestured toward the edge of the balcony. “Alright, Micah. Your turn.” Artax stepped aside as Micah took his place

  “SAMI, display tone tracking.” The voice came again, high-pitched and a bit nasal. A translucent display popped up mid-air just beyond the balcony. Above the words Artax had spoken to the digital crowd were bars of various heights, all light green. “Alright, Micah. Let’s have it.”

  “Greetings, people of Ceres.” Micah spoke with an even timber and stepped toward the rim of the balcony. As he spoke, another group of vertical bars appeared over his words. Most were the same shade of green as before. One thin bar over the first two letters of “people” stood out, a light yellow.

  “We need to work on your reentry tone after a pause, Micah.” The nasal voice suggested. “But you should be very proud of how far you’ve come.” When Micah began his duties as the king’s mimic, his appearance was all that allowed the masquerade to succeed. Over time, Micah became so effective at recreating the King’s body language and gestures that simple (non-speaking) public appearances were regular occurrences. Eventually, if Micah learned to imitate the King’s manner of speech, that knowledge would open opportunities for more detailed mimicry and additional safety for Ceres’s monarch. “Let’s try this once more. Your Highness, if you wouldn’t mind…”

  The roar of the synthetic crowd returned as the insect near Micah circled once then flew away.

  The Monarch repeated the line and Micah’s attempt came after. This time, the bars all lit green, though some just a slightly lighter hue.

  The crowd froze again after a command from the nasal voice.

  “Getting there, Micah.” The King said with an approving smile. King Artax held hand up to the rear of their shared balcony, a request for a break in Micah’s training to the Mimicry Coach in an unseen control room. His face took a more serious shape a moment later. “Micah, I wonder if I can ask a favor of you.”

  “Anything, my King.” Micah stepped nearer to Artax. Artax could have asked Micah to leap from the hologram balcony and he might have done it, with perhaps a moment’s hesitation.

  “Garreous is new to the Court and this… more intense version of Royal life.” The King paced the balcony for a moment, looking out over the mass of still admirers. Without turning, the King continued. “In my time on the throne, I have chosen a small number of people to trust, people whose opinions matter to me a great deal.”

  “Your trust honors me, your Highness.”

  “This circle is small, Micah.” The King spoke as he paced about the balcony. “But I would like to propose something… challenging.”

 
“You ask for my service and I’ll gladly give it.”

  “I know.” Artax nodded slowly. “You’re aware that a small handful of the Royal Guard knows of your…” Artax paused, his hand twirling, pointer and middle fingers together, as if starting a machine which would bring him words. “… role in the Crown’s affairs. Beyond them, everyone knows your hood, but no one knows your face.” Artax smiled slightly and signaled to his own cheeks lightly. “Our face.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “What I ask of you, Micah…” The King stepped toward his Mimic and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Is for you to be me.”

  “That is why we’re here,” Micah gestured about them. “Isn’t it, Highness?”

  “This is more than standing in for me during a ribbon cutting or parade, my friend.” The King’s face became twisted with seriousness. “This is standing in front of me. In harm’s way. Credible information has come to the Pillar’s attention. We believe the separatists will make an attempt on my life through a newcomer to the Court.”

  “And you think Garreous is that threat, my King?” Micah asked, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed.

  Artax laughed, which broke the thick tension hanging over the balcony. Micah smiled reflexively. “No, certainly not. I’ve known Garreous since his first words. The only attempt he’ll ever make against my family is to join it.”

  “He’s my training wheels, then, Your Grace?”

  “No,” Artax’s head shook. “Quite the opposite, Micah. He’s spent his life around the Court, the Pillar and my family, to say nothing of the eleven years he’s lived in the Pillar, committed to his studies. If you can fool Garreous, you can fool anyone on the planet.”

  The Burning Valley

  1645 Hours

  The orange sun hung over a far-flung tree line, laying soft light across a landscape of rolling green hills as it set. Overlooking this auburn tinged forest, Micah sat on a natural stone bluff. His hood was down and the same light on the leaves covered Micah’s face.

  “I always enjoy meeting here, Micah.” A thin, grey-haired Ceran came from behind Micah and sat next to him. Both hung their feet over the edge of the stone. A calm grin spread over Boleen’s face as the Ceran let the sun wash over his face, eyes closed for a beat. “It forces me to enjoy the simplicity of nature. Sometimes, people just make too much noise.”

  “Sometimes, Boleen, noise is all we are.”

  “Well,” Boleen’s eyes opened and he sat up straighter, eyes on Micah. “That’s dark.”

  At a young age, Micah took an active interest in higher powers and the people charged with spreading their messages. The triune deity of the Ceran faith was introduced to Micah by a young member of the clergy long before his interest piqued. The three faces of the Ceran God could easily be confused for separate powers. Boleen earned his role as the High Priest of Ahma, the creator swiftly after his education ended. His keen theological mind and warm demeanor earned respect and admiration from Boleen’s clergy colleagues as well as high-ranking military personnel with strong faith. His connections in the military led to distinguished service in the field during the Third Filan War, both as a source of counsel and field medicine (after some hands-on training).

  The terrible trio of conflicts between the people of Ceres and their only neighbors within their star system were impossibly brutal affairs. While much of all three conflicts took place using ranged weaponry, the horrors of close-combat were still visited on many of each war’s participants. Filas was long known to Ceran society as another planet which could sustain life, but it wasn’t until a great schism in the once-common faith of the people of ancient Ceres that the second planet was colonized. Named for the prophet Filas, whom those settled on the new world nearly worshipped as a god himself, the planet became a refuge for the survivors of a bloody sectarian war on Ceres.

  Thousands of years before the Gathering, Filas was settled by millions of Cerans no longer welcome on their former home world. Branded apostates, these Filans separated from all Cerans who still held to the ancient faith and to the worship of Ahma, Va and Saras as distinct aspects of a triune deity. The prophet Filas gained followers through a heretical proclamation: the interpretations of ancient texts describing the three aspects of their god as separate were, in fact, mistakes.

  Over the course of millennia, the pain of the settlement and schism in a formerly united people faded. As the memory of the split faded into something discussed calmly in school classrooms across both worlds, some engagement began between the two planets. Diplomatic relations, then trade, commerce and tourism. Filans and Cerans still viewed the other with suspicion, but the bright shine of flowing capital and booming economies can obscure even the deepest distrust.

  The first Filan War was waged long before the Gathering. A bloody conflict which began as a proxy war exploded into full-scale interplanetary strife swiftly. The initial battles were between two City-States on mini-planet-sized asteroids within a belt of celestial bodies between Ceres and Filas. Each of the City-States were vassals to one of the planets and after a time, the patrons of the warring City-States became active participants in the conflict. The First Filan War was primarily fought in open space between the planets and victory by the Ceran military came quickly. The superior Ceran ground forces entirely overwhelmed the Filans and the invaders were slaughtered to the last warrior.

  Hundreds of years later, the Second Filan War was fought as a result of Filan science divining the same thing from their genetic degradation as Ceres scientists. They surmised correctly that the Cerans had gathered humans to buttress their genetic stock and stave off further genetic issues caused by the change in radiation from their aged sun. The Filans approached Ceran leadership through diplomatic channels and requested that a small contingent of now Hybrid people be sent to them so they might share in Ceres’s salvation. Ceres used this request to increase indemnities leveled against Filas after the first war and the Filan economy cratered. Desperate, Filas began another war it would ultimately lose by way of a sneak attack on a Ceran outpost between the two worlds.

  The Third War, waged just after Boleen finished his theological training and medical primers, was brief and ended in decimation. The nuclear holocaust unleashed upon the Filan population by Ceres killed billions and rendered the Filan home-world a burnt, uninhabitable husk.

  Boleen knew well the darkness of some hearts and was taken aback when a similar gloom flickered in Micah.

  “Sorry,” Micah shrugged a bit and stared off in the distance for a moment. “I’m just beginning to feel like the world makes less sense than it did… before.”

  “Before?”

  A long pause hung in the air as the sun set.

  Shadow had just touched the top of Micah’s head when he spoke again.

  “What do you know about Earth, Boleen?”

  “As much as they taught me at the abbey.” Boleen replied as he twisted to face Micah. “Why?”

  “Pollai and Kaymar come before the Court tomorrow with news of Earth. The mere mention of a place I’ve never seen… it shook me.”

  “And now? With some time between your trauma and this moment?” Boleen angled nearer to Micah, quiet.

  “I don’t…” Micah’s voice cracked. “It seems so…”

  Boleen waited for Micah to finish and another still moment passed while the orange sunlight continued to fade.

  “I’m ashamed to feel this way, really.” He shrugged and his eyes fell to the stone beneath.

  “You’re ashamed to have felt…” Boleen paused and sought the right word. His hand swirled around absentmindedly. “A calling?”

  Micah started and his widened eyes met the clergyman’s. “I don’t… have a frame of reference, Boleen. I don’t know what it feels like to be called to do much of anything but pretend. The idea that some grand…. I don’t know, some grand anything would start like that...”

  “Would you like to know Ahma’s perspective on being called, Micah?” Ahma was the cre
ator piece of the Ceran triune godhead. Most things attached to Ahma always felt a bit too esoteric to Micah, like Ahma’s lessons didn’t really apply to the world he called home.

  “Frequently, the word Ahma’s prophets use to describe or detail their calling is touched.” Boleen reached toward Micah with a pointed finger and lightly poked his shoulder. “Imagine that, instead of skin and bone touching you, it was the will of a higher power. The will of a being who created everything we are and everything we will be…. What do you think being touched by an entity like that might feel like?”

  “I don’t…”

  “Have you ever been shocked by static electricity, Micah?” Boleen snapped his fingers. “It feels like the energy continues to bounce around your body for a bit afterward, right?” Micah nodded an agreement and Boleen continued. “That’s what my calling felt like. I felt so… disembodied. I thought I was dying for a moment. But the more I moved toward my calling, the more right it felt. Almost immediately.”

  “So, Ahma wants me to what, take up the cause of my people?” Micah asked, overly inflected at the end of his question.

  “No one knows the mind of the Creator, Micah.” Boleen said as he stood. “Any more than we can know the mind of the sun and stars. Our job is to hear the call, not to interpret it. When you’re touched with a task, you’ll know it.”

  Their conversation dwindled as the sun set and the pair walked back toward the Capital in the distance shrouded in darkness. Miles away, the Pillar shined white and still amid the bustling city.

  Chapter Five

  (The Fourth Day)