Mom.
Dad watches me, and George watches me without saying anything. Two very long seconds pass. Since neither one of them seems capable of broaching the subject, I take a deep breath and say it.
“When did Mom . . . die?”
Another long second of silence, stretched into infinity across the universe.
Dad exhales and parts his lips, then makes an effort to compose his voice. “I am so sorry. Your Mom passed away several days ago, about two weeks—ten days, I believe, counting in your Atlantean time. It was peaceful. She—she was very, very ill toward the end, Gwen. So very hard for her . . . all that waiting. We tried to hold on, and she did her best. She hung on even after the medicine stopped working, by sheer willpower. You know how she is—was. Tenacious and stubborn and infinitely strong. . . .”
Dad’s voice fades and breaks. And then he gathers himself to say, “Just like you. You got that strength from her, and joy, and all the rest of it, all the best parts. You and Gracie and your brothers, too—”
George’s grip on Dad’s shoulder tightens. I can see his fingers make the squeezing motion.
I’ve stopped breathing. I am frozen, using all my strength to hold back the pressure in my throat that’s choking me. . . .
In that moment, Gracie, who’s been hanging back, gets up from somewhere in back of me and comes up to the screen. “Daddy!” she says, and she is trembling, and starting to cry yet again.
“Gracie, sweetheart!” Dad says, seeing her. “Oh, how I wish I could hold you, all of you right now! Right here—” And he points to his chest.
I swallow hard. Then I reach out with my hand and place it, palm flat, against the screen. Dad sees me and does the same thing with his large hand.
We’re touching across the universe.
Moments later, Gracie joins us, with her hand flattened against the screen, and Gordie gets up and comes to stand also, on my other side, palm out. . . . While on the other end, Dad and George have their hands splayed against their own display surface, reaching out to us.
Finally, Dad takes a shuddering breath and says to me, “You need to know, as far as burial—your Mom was cremated, a few days ago. It was her final wish. And I have her ashes here with us, on the ship. But—you can see her one more time, Gwen. Mom left you all a recorded message. Your sister and brother watched it, and now you can, too.”
I part my lips. . . .
And that’s when the torrent breaks and I am sobbing, ugly and hard, while Gracie puts her arms around me and pulls me against her chest and rocks me, and I let her, weak and limp. We both dissolve into each other, shaking, and Gordie watches helplessly, right next to us, while on the other side of the universe, through the screen, my Dad and George watch us also with silent grief.
A few horrible seconds later, I forcefully catch my breath and pull back from my sister. “Sorry,” I mumble in a thick voice. “I’ll watch Mom . . . a little later. Right now, I can’t.”
“I know, sweet,” Dad says, with glistening eyes. “Take your time. There’s plenty of time now. . . . No hurry. I just wanted you to know, to have something to look forward to.”
“Thanks, Dad. . . . Okay.”
And then I look around and my gaze finds Aeson. He is still and silent, giving us our privacy. “Aeson . . .” I say and reach out with my hand to him. “Come, please.”
Aeson hesitates only for a moment and then he steps into view, takes my hand, and looks seriously at my father and older brother. “Amre-ter Charles . . . and George. Good to see you.”
Amre-ter. I recall this translates something like “lord-of-my-love” in Atlanteo and is the respectful address toward the father of one’s spouse.
Dad sees Aeson, and a soft smile comes to him. “Oh . . . I’m very glad to see you again, Aeson. Thank you for taking care of my daughter—both of them, and my son too. I’m in your debt. And of course, this impossible, unexpected rescue.”
When it’s his turn, George nods, matching Aeson’s serious expression. “Aeson. Or—my apologies—should I say Command Pilot? Or My Imperial Lord?”
So, George knows that Aeson is the Prince of the Imperial Kassiopei. . . . Of course, they both know by now.
“Aeson is fine,” my fiancé tells him, then again addresses my father. “And nothing to be obligated for, Charles. I’m the one who now bears an eternal, joyful debt of gratitude to you for the very existence of your daughter Gwen. As for your own circumstances—I only wish we could have done more, and sooner. I blame myself for this inexcusable delay—”
“Aeson, no!” I squeeze his hand and look at him with a raw face of emotion. “Don’t. Let’s not do this now, please. . . . No what ifs.”
“She is right,” Dad says at once. “What happened was—well, it was going to happen. No need to beat yourself up over sad things that are done. Your people here did what they could, it was a difficult business, getting us all up here.”
But Aeson does not look convinced. He is silent, but I recognize the strange tense line of his lips, the control slamming down to hold back force. “My people—will be held accountable. But let’s not talk about it now.”
“Yes, let’s not,” I repeat. “Please.”
And then I turn to my father and I manage a little smile, and throw a softening glance at my beloved. “So—this is Aeson, Dad,” I say, biting my lip in a new bout of awkwardness. “I want you to know that I love him very much.”
As I glance at Aeson again, I notice that the moment he hears my words, his face warms with an instant blush. At once he lets go of the difficult topic of our conversation, and the stern line of his lips eases into a shadow smile.
“And I love your daughter—with all that I have and all that I am,” he says in a gentle voice, looking at my father with a forthright, unblinking gaze. For a brief moment, there’s a vulnerable expression in his lapis-blue eyes, as if he’s unsure of my father’s reaction. But it’s only a flicker. . . .
“Then all is well, as it should be,” my father says immediately, and he is nodding and smiling also. “And in case it’s unclear, I approve wholeheartedly. You have my blessing. I know that Margot—if she were here—would be very happy to see you together. She would’ve liked you, Aeson. . . .”
“Thanks, Dad . . . thank you. . . .” I mumble as the lump in my throat begins to rise again.
“Thank you for the kind words, Charles,” Aeson says solemnly. “I am truly sorry I will not have the honor of meeting Amre-taq Margot.”
Amre-taq. “Lady-of-my-love” in Atlanteo is an honorific which my Mom will never get to hear. My breath hitches, and my hands tremble. . . .
Meanwhile, Dad continues speaking. “Margot would really be proud, amazed even—seeing all that you’ve achieved and survived, and that you’ve turned into such outstanding young people. To be sure now, Gwen is still rather young, and marriage is such a grand commitment—indeed, seems that all of you are so very young—or maybe it’s just me getting old—but these are unusual, world-ending times. I would’ve preferred for you to finish school first, my dear, but—again, never mind me. Under the circumstances, study and knowledge can wait. The universe is genuinely uncanny, and you must do what you can to make the most of your time in it. Use every single priceless moment to be happy . . . because our meager human life is ridiculously short, and—and people you love leave much too soon—” Dad stops, taking another breath, parts his lips. He is powerless.
I can see how badly broken he is.
Oh God, Dad! What am I doing now? I’m selfishly forcing him to relive the pain of losing Mom! No!
“Dad,” I say as carefully as I can. “I think you should go back to bed now. I know it’s late for you and George, and we can talk again tomorrow. I’m honestly close to collapse myself. It’s been a very long day here, like you wouldn’t believe, so . . . sorry we woke you up. I came straight from the Games and just wanted you to know I’m okay, and to—to—”
“I know, sweet, and I am so glad you did,” Dad says,
recovering control. “Now we can rest easy—knowing that you are indeed safe!”
“Same here! I’m so relieved you are safe and on board! At last! Oh God, at last!”
Only . . . Mom is gone. She is not safe. She is . . . not.
I force myself to bury this thought, far down, deep down, for just this moment.
Instead, I put my fingers to my lips, kissing them, then press them against the screen. “Go, get some sleep, Dad!” I say. “More soon! Love you! Good night, George!”
“Love you, Dad!” Gracie says at once, and Gordie echoes her.
My father and George respond with their own affectionate gestures and then move out of view.
A moment later, in their place I see a familiar Atlantean. His gilded hair is cropped very short, and he has handsome, well-balanced features, a blunt chin with a dimple, prominent brows, and kohl-outlined eyes. His skin is somewhat dark, a rich hue reminiscent of red river clay.
His expression is impossible to read.
It is Nefir Mekei.
Chapter 3
Nefir Mekei looks unchanged from the last time I saw him about a year ago—the same steady, unblinking stare that at first glance reveals nothing. Except, maybe not quite.
I see that a new weight has settled in his eyes. A weight that I recognize as the subtle burden of guilt.
It is especially noticeable when he sees me.
Nefir acknowledges Aeson first. His courtly salute is impeccable. “My Imperial Lord,” he says in a neutral voice. “And my Imperial Lady Gwen,” he adds after the tiniest of pauses. I find it somewhat odd that, upon seeing me for the first time after so many months, his expression does not light up, and he doesn’t smile at me even a little.
Aeson watches him with an emotionless gaze, which I suddenly find alarming.
“Nefir Mekei. What do you have to report?”
There is another moment of pause. The question—it should be harmless, but there is an immediate air of menace hanging among all of us. It’s now undeniable. Maybe it is Aeson’s icy tone?
“Is it—secure to speak in confidence?” Nefir asks carefully, with a glance in my direction. “Am I permitted to proceed with all the details?”
Suddenly I’m barely breathing, as if some kind of deep secret is about to be revealed to me.
“Speak as you would to me in private,” Aeson replies.
“Very well. . . . No significant changes to report,” Nefir says evenly. “The situation on the surface remains turbulent—globally—but with no deviations from the previous assessment. A new fire zone has formed in Europe, and there is an unfortunate zone expansion in central North America, combining the two infernos in Utah and Colorado into one super-inferno—the fourth one that’s currently burning on that continent. Meanwhile I find no anomalies in the chatter from the United Nations and various government entities. Same flat activity for global terror groups. Radiation levels in the north and west Pacific and north Atlantic remain almost identical since previously measured, despite the latest African detonation. Volcanic and seismic readings are stable.”
Nefir pauses to glance down at his digital notepad on the desk, then resumes in a measured tone. “My complete four-day status report with these details and more will be available for transmission to the ACA Director in Poseidon by opening hour of work on Green Ghost Moon 1, your tomorrow. My—additional, classified status report for the Imperial Sovereign’s sole benefit still awaits . . . as per your instructions.”
Aeson continues to observe Nefir without saying anything. Several painful seconds tick by, and I can see Nefir’s blank expression become even more fixed—if such a thing is possible.
At last Aeson speaks. “You may now relay your classified Imperial report. . . . I give you permission to convey to my Father the significant detail of Margot Lark’s death, and the other significant details of the Lark family rescue.”
Nefir inclines his head after the tiniest pause. “Thank you, Imperial Lord. I—am relieved to be able to finally carry out my duty—both my duties—to the Imperial Sovereign, and to you.”
“So far you have failed in one of your duties—to me, as my astra daimon heart brother—so at least you can continue to carry out your remaining duty to the Imperial Kassiopei.” Aeson’s expression is chilling and his voice becomes razor-sharp—not a power voice, but almost, because at once I feel pricklings along my skin, and an intangible weight settles on my spine, sinks inside my bones. . . .
Nefir must feel it too. He blinks, parts his lips, but waits before reacting. He inhales deeply and momentarily glances at me before returning his full attention to Aeson. “I am truly sorry, I am, Kass. . . . But you understand my position. You knew it, and the nature of my official role, from the beginning. I have my orders directly from the Imperator, and I must adhere to them, superseding all others—even your own.”
“The correct term of address is ‘Imperial Lord.’ You are not to address me as ‘Kass’—ever again.”
For the first time Nefir flinches. “Understood. . . . My apologies . . . Imperial Lord.”
And then he looks at me. “And to you, Gwen—My Imperial Lady, I am bitterly sorry. I—I cannot begin to express how painful—”
I catch my breath, listening to him, to his controlled and lifeless voice, and sudden horrible thoughts begin to race wildly. . . .
Aeson interrupts him. “Painful? No. You cannot, you may not speak of pain, not in my lady’s presence. What your intentional, perfectly calculated actions caused is a tragedy. A family tragedy. And since she is now my family, it is my family tragedy also.”
“I am sorry . . . so sorry.”
I finally find the strength to speak. “What? What did you do, Nefir?” I ask, but somehow, I already know the answer.
Nefir looks at me with his fixed eyes, holding his gaze upon me somehow, unwavering. “I . . . followed the Imperial orders.”
“What you did was lie to me and to the entire Lark family, both here on Atlantis and on Earth,” Aeson says loudly, and his words cut like heavy machetes through the silence. “You stalled their rescue efforts, under sadistic orders from my Father, without telling me the truth. You made daily excuses for over a month, both to the Lark family stranded on the surface and to me, while all along Margot Lark’s health deteriorated until it was too late.”
Behind me I can hear Gracie’s sharp intake of breath and Gordie making a strange sound.
Not sure if my Dad and George are still present in the same room as Nefir, if they too just heard. . . .
Oh, my God. . . .
“I had to carry out what I was commanded to do,” Nefir says softly. This time his eyes are lowered as he speaks. “I had to proceed within the scope of my Imperial orders. My oath remains to the highest office. It cannot be any other way.”
“I know,” Aeson says, and now there’s a tone of mockery in his voice. “I’ve always known your primary loyalties, but not the pedantic extent of your calculated duplicity.”
“And yet, I did not fully inform the Imperator, even now—not until this moment! I held back the information for your sake, in my deepest regard for you, Imperial Lord! You realize that technically I broke my oath by not informing the Imperator ten days ago!”
“Technically you broke your oath many times over,” Aeson says. “If only you had trusted me enough to share the truth of your impossible situation, I would have come up with a feasible workaround! Indeed, I would’ve taken full responsibility for keeping you from carrying out your Imperial orders, and Gwen’s mother might still be alive today!”
I find that my pulse is pounding once again, and my ears are ringing with a head rush. “You—you kept my mother from being rescued?” I whisper-croak, putting one palm against my mouth, then putting my other trembling hand over it. “You killed her!”
Gracie cusses, hard, at the same time as she leans forward to hold my shoulders and back, as I shake with wordless agony and fury. “I didn’t know this!” she exclaims, beginning to hyperventil
ate also.
On the other side of the screen, across the universe, Nefir Mekei keeps his gaze lowered, and he seems to have stopped breathing, so motionless is he. . . .
“I take full responsibility,” he says at last. And then he looks up at us.
For the first time it is apparent that Nefir’s eyes are glistening.
“Yes, you do.” Aeson has stirred and is now also leaning forward, closer to the screen. His expression is deadly. “I don’t want to see your face again until I command you to be present before me. Continue with your regular Fleet and Imperial duties and report to my Father as scheduled. Now, get me Quoni Enutat. You are dismissed!”
“I—” Nefir tries to speak, pauses, then finishes in a dead voice. “As you wish . . . Imperial Lord.”
And then he is gone.
Next, we wait, with the video screen filled by the Imperial Fleet logo.
Aeson turns to me at once with a tragic expression and takes me by the shoulders. “Gwen,” he says in a completely different, gentle voice. “I’m so sorry that you had to see this—all of you—” He glances at Gordie and Gracie—“But it’s better that you learn this harsh truth now than later. And I promised myself, no more withholding of information from you. Not for any reason. It is why I forced this ugly confrontation. You had to know everything.”
“What did he do? What actually happened?” I manage to speak, regaining control over my sobs.
“Nefir Mekei is an agent of my Father and has always been; that’s not a secret. It was accepted by all of us before we even went on the Earth mission, since he was assigned as the primary Earth liaison on the Imperator’s behalf.” Aeson takes a deep breath. “Nefir is an Imperial Kassiopei loyalist, firmly indoctrinated into the cult of traditional hierarchy, and his family prides itself on serving my dynasty. Previously he’s always been able to balance his rigid loyalties to the Throne with his personal loyalties to the astra daimon. I had no reason to believe this time would be any different. . . . That he would act so contrary to my will, in direct defiance of my orders, without at least giving me the courtesy of informing me when he is being overridden by my Father. . . . I have to think that my Father specifically commanded him not to divulge anything to me. . . .”
Survive Page 3
