Survive

by Vera Nazarian

  The Imperatris is truly graceful under pressure (setting a fine example of her role for me, a glimpse into my own Imperial future), because she manages to express her pragmatic concerns and worry about current affairs without upsetting us any further than we already are. Conversation is steered skillfully to family and more gentle matters. Eventually Aeson returns, having set the pegasei liberation process in motion, and we conclude the evening on the best note possible.

  Later that night, it gets even better—at least for the two of us. The world might be burning (and flooding, and experiencing gravitational anomalies, not to mention the impending threat of civil war, alien war, and the destruction of the human species on not one but two planets), but our small, personal world is gloriously right.

  Alone in our great bed in the Imperial Crown Prince’s Master suite, Aeson and I recreate the joining with our physical bodies that we had experienced with our minds. Able to anticipate each other’s needs to a previously impossible extent, we do things with each other that cause such pleasure that I can’t even begin to describe. . . .

  And it is sublime.

  Chapter 87

  The events of the next few days and weeks tumble together into a single period of high stress. Aeson begins the arduous process of setting up the rest of the SPC-led pegasei liberation project parameters.

  First step—passing on the pegasei frequency to key individuals and establishing a communication hierarchy. These same individuals will be leading special enforcer teams which are being selected specifically for this task from various Fleets around the globe. Second step—announce to the public and prepare for pushback. Third step—notify registered owners of pegasei, individuals and corporations, and issue confiscation warrants. Fourth step—deploy enforcer teams. Fifth step—start searching for illegal and hidden pegasei (that’s where I come in, together with a handful of specially initiated others). And all of this is being done in conjunction with international local authorities.

  And so, it begins.

  The astra daimon are initiated. Keruvat, Oalla, Xelio, Erita, Radanthet, Culuar, Nergal, Quoni, are all stunned by the wonder. I’m told, there are tears in Keruvat’s eyes when he first experiences the connection, while Xelio puts his head down then stares into the distance, stricken. Aeson even shares the frequency with Anu (who experiences vertigo, hyperventilates, and gets sick to his stomach) and Gennio (who spaces out gently for several long minutes). And they in turn select others, and quietly begin the preliminary training on how to handle the pegasei and their reluctant owners.

  As for me, one of the earliest occasions to free a pegasus happens on the Imperial Palace grounds, specifically in the park. Erita, Oalla, and I follow the urgent mind-cry of a single young quantum entity and discover Lady Irana, walking along a garden path with a few of her friends, and her familiar little pet cage levitating next to her. I ask Lady Irana very politely to stop and then explain to her my intent.

  “My Imperial Lady, you want to release my pegasus?” she asks with wide eyes. “But why?”

  “No, I want you to release your pegasus yourself,” I say. Then I sing the frequency and tell her to copy me.

  With a doubtful expression, Lady Irana obeys me nevertheless. The moment she does so, she freezes in her tracks and stares at the little being imprisoned in the gilded cage, hovering at eye level before her and crying pitifully in her mind—I can hear its frustration and discomfort echoing inside my head. And then Lady Irana begins to cry also. . . .

  Moments later, the little pegasus soars into the sky, in a glorious explosion of mauve and orange light—even as Irana watches, holding open the cage door and smiling with serene wonder.

  Thank you for releasing me, my friends! the pegasus cries joyfully, and I still hear its alien voice within the confines of my mind, rebounding in tones of pure excitement long after it fades out of sight up above.

  Erita and Oalla hear it too, having newly achieved the pegasei communication link.

  It’s a good start.

  Meanwhile, the others also practice locally on a small scale—starting with contacting all the registered owners in Poseidon and carrying out several raids of semi-legal pegasei “breeding” facilities around the Golden Bay.

  Arion acts as intermediary between humans and the rest of his species, especially in the beginning. After each successful raid he reaches out to me remotely via mind-speak and tells me it happened. “We thank all of you, Gwen for setting us free. Twenty-three entities have been liberated. . . . Forty-seven entities liberated. . . . Eighty-two. . . .”

  “I’m so glad, Arion!” I exclaim inside my mind with a surge of joy at the sight—because each time there are sensory impressions coming in, mind images that Arion shares with me, of plasma beings streaking outward from their bonds, singing in exultation their double helix song . . . which then rings in my mind with surreal echoes for several minutes afterward before fading away. Weird sensation, but so much joy and gratitude that I cannot fault it.

  Next, the mass media is informed on a global scale about the true sentient nature of the pegasei. There is immediate uproar and protest across Imperial Atlantida and internationally, and even worse, disbelief. The Imperator, the Pharikon and various other heads of state make public announcements and formally declare some degree of martial law.

  “We are living in a time of crisis. The public is being asked to surrender their pegasei willingly. We will not be confiscating them. Instead, officials will be present to make sure that each one of these sentient beings is simply released from their containment. Do not attempt to interfere with this process or you will be detained, fined, or worse.”

  “This is a civil outrage!” the global media commentators and pundits argue on the network talk shows. “The public is being legally robbed! What proof is there that these creatures are genuinely sentient? Making them transform and even ‘talk’ on cue could very well be a trick. The whole thing is a government ploy to take away our pegasei for their own purposes.”

  “The proof is supposedly in the recent findings from the Ghost Moon,” other experts counter. “If there is the slightest chance the pegasei can help us deal with the alien enemy that already destroyed two of our deep space outposts and threatens the rest, including this very planet, we must be willing to consider a sacrifice of personal property.”

  “You cannot simply enforce these measures and talk about social justice. . . .”

  Protesters fill urban streets, carrying signs with slogans such as “Confiscation without Compensation” while Correctional officers attempt crowd control measures.

  “We are not going to sit idly by and allow this to happen,” a captain of the industry says on a media show. “We are suing the state for interference with legitimate business practices. We’ll make sure everything will be stalled in courts.”

  While all this ugly mess is happening, the work to liberate the pegasei on a grand scale begins, despite the public pushback.

  First, large-scale facilities are visited by the Pegasei Release Teams or PRTs—consisting of one designated pegasei Communicator who was taught the frequency and trained to interact with Arion and his kind, and special ops enforcer troops as military backup. The Communicator reaches out with the mind, verifies the presence of pegasei, and then stands and observes as they are released from their containment by the owners. Another team member documents it by recording with a camera for evidence of compliance.

  I must admit, it’s an amazing sight to see some of these “liberation videos.” Warehouses filled with rows and rows of quantum holding pens equipped with artificial “feeding lights” are crammed with lethargic plasma beings, who keep close to the floor like fluorescent algae bloom. . . . Small, specialty shops with luxury cages and one or two overstimulated, bloated, “show” specimens in each are bombarded by non-stop feeding lights around the clock—even as the quantum entities flitter about, striking against the walls of their confinement, engorged by energy without outlet, screaming their agony in
to the mind of the Communicator, upon approach.

  And then. . . .

  The quantum containment “faraday cage” fields are disabled. Harnesses and other means of containment are removed—by sullen, reluctant pegasei handlers—even as PRT enforcement troops stand by, ready to interfere if needed. . . .

  And suddenly, clouds of plasma energy erupt from their bonds.

  Wildly expanding and contracting quantum beings soar overhead and wink in and out of existence as they joyfully unfurl across dimensions. Overpowering love and relief are broadcast into receptive minds everywhere. Once outside, the pegasei congregate in the open air to feel the full-spectrum warmth of Hel’s light, feeding actively upon the energy of daylight. They frolic and soar, eventually gathering together to form immense flocks in the lower atmosphere, which start to hang over cities like aurora borealis.

  “Why aren’t they leaving?” media commentators wonder and panels discuss. “Isn’t this a blatant example of their domestication? They don’t know what to do with themselves; it’s obvious they are nothing more than primitive livestock.”

  “Not at all,” other pundits argue. “They are waiting. It is clear they need to have all of their kind set free before they can depart together, as one. We’ve been told that such is the case. . . .”

  Meanwhile, I teach the pegasei frequency to my friends—when I finally have the opportunity to see them, for the first time since the Wedding. Chiyoko is astounded and spends long moments giggling with Arion about trans-dimensional math. Laronda and Dawn immediately start asking questions about historical events, current events, and everything imaginable. Hasmik puts her hands over her mouth, then endlessly apologizes to the entire pegasei species between sobs.

  Devora Kassiopei learns the frequency from her son Aeson, the very next time she visits. I’m there to see her sit down across from the little Sphinx shape of Arion and hold on to her chair as she’s plunged in long, sorrowful silence. The Imperatris remains motionless and without words, breathing faintly, while moisture fills her eyes.

  The living connection is unique with each one of you humans, Arion tells me inside my mind. Devora shows me her compassion, burning bright. I am pleased and honored to connect with another human so full of love.

  Aeson and I discuss the possibility of sharing the frequency with his Imperial Father, or Shirahtet, or any other Imperial crony circle members. Both of us are fundamentally against it, and decide to hold off for as long as possible and see how it goes.

  During this time of continuing martial law and ongoing pegasei situation unrest, all throughout the rest of the month of Red Amrevet, we continue to study and interpret Arlenari’s diary, or The Book of Everything. After that major revelation about the pegasei, the rest of the entries seem to have varying degrees of relevance to our present situation.

  Aeson and I try to read them together, with my Dad and as many of my siblings as possible present. It seems that by combining our minds, we improve our ability to interpret the information to a greater degree than anyone could alone.

  One of the later entries catches my attention.

  Today I look up at the stars, feeling the connection again for the first time since leaving Earth, where I looked up at entirely other stars and loved them. I have not felt this way since.

  These are different, alien stars. They are not my stars.

  And yet, it is they who now pour their Starlight upon me.

  They are just as immeasurably distant from me here, and from my cosmic location of birth, as my own stars were immeasurably distant from me there.

  But the difference is never distance. Neither is it line of sight.

  The difference is recognition.

  They have found me and I have found them.

  With the awareness, the love I feel gathering inside me evokes a different song. And yet, love itself is the same.

  And the song is forming.

  Once again, I feel the urge to sing.

  “She keeps talking about Starlight, with a capital ‘S.’” George says thoughtfully. “Is it just poetic metaphor or something else? Could it be an actual substance of some kind?”

  “Good question,” Dad says. “If I recall, the Venerable Shirahtet offered a similar theory the last time I talked with him.”

  Apparently, now that his health is more stable and the effects of the gravity are becoming more bearable, my father has been venturing outside and taking gentle walks in the Imperial park below, accompanied by Shirahtet sometimes, and more often by Consul Denu.

  “Whatever it is, it seems particularly important,” Aeson replies, glancing at Dad and then at me.

  “Maybe there’s more in the next entry?” I ask.

  And we continue reading. However, stars and Starlight are never mentioned again.

  Toward the end of Arlenari’s diary entries, a strange thing happens. Her wispy elegant handwriting ends, and it’s as if another person takes over. And indeed, it is definitely someone else, writing in a stronger, more even hand with artistic flourish and precision in the characters and pictographs.

  Also, the entries are now written in third person. They speak of Princess Arlenari now being “too busy to write,” and how the important work she is doing must still be recorded.

  And then there is this puzzling last entry:

  The Imperial Princess Arlenari has instructed me to continue in her stead, to document and to preserve, while she must do what must be done with Starlight.

  The Ship of Eternity is being readied, and there is much work to be done before she embarks.

  They will try to stop her, to obliterate everything, grind memory into dust, and they will succeed in all but one thing.

  Semmi will keep Arleana alive.

  The Book of Everything ends with that line. We look away from the split screen view of the scroll text original and its contemporary Atlanteo translation.

  “Semmi . . .” I say. “That name is familiar. Okay—remember the scrolls from the puzzle boxes we found when we went down inside the ancient ark-ship? One of them was a note mentioning The Book of Everything, signed by Arleana and addressed to Semmi. That was the first time I’d heard of it. It was the same name, I’m certain.”

  “You’re right, it is,” Aeson replies.

  George raises his brows. “Who is Semmi?”

  Dad pays rapt attention. “Semmi? Interesting name. Is it a short form of something? A longer name, perhaps?”

  Manala, who is sitting on the other side of Dad, suddenly draws in her breath. “Semmi is short for Semiram . . .” she whispers.

  “Great,” George says. “Who is Semiram?”

  “Not a common name,” Aeson muses. “I cannot think of any except maybe—”

  “The Semiram Cycle!” Manala exclaims. “It’s a very old epic written by the ancient classical poet Semiram who lived during the Original Colony period. And, oh—it is the primary collection of myths about Arleana, Starlight Sorceress.”

  George slaps his thigh. “Jackpot.”

  Manala glances at him with alarm. “What is jackpot?”

  “Never mind.” George pauses then sighs. “All right, it’s the winnings in gambling, in other words, the main prize.”

  “Oh! Then no, I don’t want to know anything about it if it’s horrid gambling,” Manala says in a hurry.

  George shakes his head with a little smile. “A-a-a-and, we’re moving on.”

  “Back to The Semiram Cycle,” Dad says, frowning with concentration. “It sounds delightful, and I would really love to take a look at it, though it would have to be in translation. My efforts to absorb contemporary Atlanteo are still quite rudimentary, and I’ve no doubt this is written in an earlier form of the language.”

  “Oh yes, it is Classical Atlanteo,” Manala says.

  Dad rubs his forehead and chin. “A translation would be nice. This poet, Semiram—can you tell us more about him or her?”

  Manala thinks. “Nothing is really known about Semiram. We are taught in scho
ol that Semiram may not even be an actual person but just an oral tradition of poets.”

  “Puts me in mind of Shakespeare and his disputed identity,” George remarks.

  “Yes,” Dad says. “Though, I’m more inclined to think of the great Ancient Greek poet Homer, the so-called ‘blind bard’ of earliest Hellenistic antiquity. Little more than a handful of anecdotes is known about him, and most is the stuff of legend. The Homeric Question remains open-ended. It’s debatable whether he existed, let alone authored The Iliad and The Odyssey, or if there were many others in the tradition.”

  “There’s a copy of The Semiram Cycle in modern translation on a bookshelf in my old study room,” Aeson says with a faint smile. “It’s down the hall on this floor.”

  “No, it’s not.” Manala bites her lip. “I borrowed it again and it’s in my library. I can go and get it now.”

  “Excellent,” Dad says, rubbing his hands. “An ancient puzzle to sink into and new reading material.”

  And so, over the next few days we start examining The Semiram Cycle for clues, but nothing much comes of it. Aeson has very little time to spare, and he informs the Imperator and Shirahtet about the possible relevance, but apparently, they are already ahead of us in connecting “Semmi” with Semiram, the ancient author of the Arleana myths.

  Meanwhile, the golden grid of light spheres around Helios, Rah, and Septu, remains inactive. SPC patrols continue their vigilance, and War-8 orbits Tammuz with care, watching over the evacuated Tammuz Station.

  By the middle of the month of Red Pegasus, nothing out of the ordinary has happened in space around the Helios system—which may or may not be the calm before the storm. The projected estimated dates of new hostile activity have come and gone, and no one knows what to expect. The alien enemy can strike any minute. . . .