Ephraim sighed as he silenced the holocube, sent a congratulatory Grid message to Ilya’s portable CV, and retracted his skybox, which dissolved from the arena and swiveled about as it arrived on the central concourse. He needed to walk only two hundred meters from the massive ParisDome to the East Bank of the Seine, where he saw Genevieve on the bridge watching the WaterDart races far below. She was among a handful of the curious – WaterDarting was an ancient sport that, along with the long-forgotten artistic and architectural magnificence of this city, was now the indulgence of a few eccentrics. She wore a simple coverall bearing the signature green-and-red stripes of her consortium sponsor.
“I despise this city,” Ephraim said as he reached her side.
“On that point, we will always agree,” she said, her tone softer and less urgent.
Ephraim stared across to the West Bank and its kilometers of casinos, a parade of rhomboid, spheroid, and elliptical glass menageries glowing in all shades of the spectrum and beckoning the drivers of personal and corporate Scrams to make quick detours from the transit beams high overhead. Among the casinos – usually hidden from sight of the great Elysses Promenade that bordered the Seine – were the flesh houses and the gene commodities markets. To the east of the river were stadiums, highly competitive Kwin-sho dojos, and haepong combat centers. All these were the best on Earth – of that, there was little debate. They were the entire reason for Paris to exist. Ephraim, of course, knew more than a little something about pre-history, about the ancient glory of this place once called the City of Lights. He learned about it from behind the blue glasses, through his link with Frederic Ericsson, who once lived half his life in this city and often spoke of its classical beauty. Somehow it fell victim to the cynical philosophy of the Eglantines and took a decadent path from which it never returned. Ephraim was not a sentimental man, but he could not imagine why Chancellors fell for its allure. He could not wait to return home with Ilya to Philadelphia Redux.
“The committee gave me what I wanted,” Genevieve said. “Half don’t believe in the mission, and half are doing this out of respect for you. Consider your ego well and duly stroked.”
“And our deal consummated.” He was tempted to laugh. “You could not tell me this on the Grid why?”
“Because the funding is off the register.”
Ephraim raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me? The Presidium does not engage in classified allowances. We are under the strict directives of the Unified Sanctum Charter. Every credit must be accounted for.”
“Not this time, Ephraim. The details don’t concern you. Suffice that this mission is different. The value potential is … unprecedented.”
“Interesting. At one turn you say half the committee does not buy what you are selling, yet they are willing to break codified Sanctum law for you. Yes?”
“Not for me. For the Collectorate.” She moved closer and whispered. “You’ve said it yourself, Ephraim. The Collectorate has fallen into a state of entropy. Twenty-eight billion people, forty planets, and we have not made one advancement of note in more than three centuries. We are stagnant. I may have found the answer. Our next great leap.”
A sudden chill coursed through Ephraim.
“I see. Genevieve Hollander is the one to move humanity to what … its next evolution?”
“Your faith, as always, speaks to my heart.” She turned away for a moment, sighed in disgust, and whispered again. “In truth, Ephraim, this could change everything. The way we see ourselves, our paranoia about leaving the confines of the Collectorate. I will not tell you the full scope of it – and I only say this much because you are a member of the Presidium. My last three missions have produced evidence of a form of energy so vast … Ephraim, this could leap humanity forward exponentially, even more than the discovery of the Fulcrum.”
“And this energy is what precisely?”
“Uncertain. But it lies beneath the dark strata between star systems. The same place where we found the Fulcrum. That’s all I have the liberty to say. The rest, you need not know. Only my crew.”
Ephraim stiffened his shoulders and settled his nerves.
“I see. And you will be leaving soon I trust? Yes?”
“I’m leaving for Vasily Station tonight. The ship has already been secured. The crew will be joining me in the next few days, and then we’re off to the Fulcrum.”
“I must say I feel entitled to more details, especially given my work on your behalf.”
“Not happening. Resign yourself.”
He nodded grudgingly. “How long?”
“The sector we will be researching is nine months off the most remote Nexus. In truth, I expect to return in no less than four years.”
Ephraim sighed. “Ilya will be a peacekeeper by then.”
“I know. I intend to send a beam to his CV once I’ve left orbit. Explain what I can.”
“This was his greatest victory today. Yes?”
“He’ll have many more. He’s your son, Ephraim. Your gift from me. Whatever he’s become, you fashioned it. He doesn’t need his mother.”
“I can only hope he will agree.”
Genevieve tossed up her hands and started to walk away. “Ephraim, you are by most accounts a despicable man. But you are a good father; I must credit you. If Ilya comes to resent me for the rest of his life, I’m sure we’ll all get over it.” She offered a parting chuckle. “And what great timing for you. With me gone for years, you can finally replace that lovely young aide you had on Hiebimini. The one you’ve often spoken of like a lover who escaped your grasp.”
He didn’t offer a savage response, his mind suddenly cluttered with fears, reminiscences, and relief. She was gone – his path was clear to take Ilya to the next crucial step of his son’s journey. She was gone – her final words opened a wound he had never truly gotten past but which he tried to bury by blocking out the image of poor, seductive Elizer Gripphen. She was gone – the news of her destination, the scant details of her mission sent a tremor through his body. Ephraim gathered his senses and found the nearest bench.
Tourists and visiting athletes crossed the bridge without paying him notice. He decided he could not wait; although he had never used the glasses in public, Ephraim felt confident no one would care if a man on a bench appeared to be in a trance. He slipped on the glasses.
“Come to me.”
The loud chaos of Paris dissolved into the calming laps of ocean waves against a wide beach. Although he could not sense it against his skin, Ephraim detected a gentle breeze pass through the palm trees above. A full moon rose over the horizon and cast a mysterious aura over the beachcombers, all of them representatives of three thousand years of Earth history. They laughed and sang as they drank heartily while dozens of tiki torches illuminated their revelry.
Ephraim wasn’t interested in celebration, and he strolled quickly across the sand until at last he found Frederic Ericsson in full military regalia drinking from a coconut. He grabbed the man who once destroyed the Heretics of God and pulled him away from the crowd. Ericsson greeted Ephraim with warmth, but only for a second. At once, their eyes connected, and Ericsson’s drunken glee faded. Ericsson closed his eyes, linked with Ephraim, and opened them again with a look of astonishment. He dropped the liquor-filled coconut and rushed Ephraim away toward the ocean’s edge.
“Remarkable news, my friend,” Ericsson said in an unusually low voice. “And the timing is, as always, striking.”
“So you believe this could be the second sign?” Ephraim asked.
“Almost certainly. That she would reveal this in the very hour your son proves himself to be of necessary mettle … why, a man might believe these events were preordained.”
“Yes, one might.” They nodded in knowing agreement. “I do have a concern. Genevieve is an outstanding researcher, but she is also reckless. If this energy she speaks of is in fact the Jewels, there is every possibility she will never reach them. Yes? If anything, she would more likely cause a cataclysm.”
“Doubtful. Whatever she discovers, the one certainty is that the transformative end cannot happen on this mission. It’s too soon, Ephraim. Your son is not yet an active participant, and your machinations on Hiebimini are far from fruition. Correct?”
“Correct. Hiebimini is still at peace, but the war is closer than any of them realize. Even Hadeed. What are you suggesting?”
“We’re close to the end, Ephraim, but I still see decades ahead of us.” Suddenly, a broad smile overwhelmed Ericsson, and his eyes twinkled in the moonlight. “Yes,” he whispered. “Of course. Why didn’t we see this sooner?”
“What?”
Ericsson grabbed Ephraim by both shoulders and revealed a mouthful of perfect teeth.
“The ninth stanza of the Jewels’ ‘Final Accord.’ It’s a slice of the prophecy that never made sense. Until now.”
“The ninth stanza?”
“ ‘And from the three-winged beast is delivered the gifts of expeditious annihilation and the undiscovered path toward renewal.’” Ericsson paused as Ephraim soaked in the ancient words. “The three-winged beast has to be your family, Ephraim. The Hollanders. Father, mother, and son. A three-winged beast. A trinity.” He clapped his hands together in ecstasy. “All these centuries, that stanza drove me mad. The great vexation of prophecy is that interpretation is whatever you bloody well want it to be until history finally bears out the truth.”
For the first time since he wore the blue glasses, Ephraim Hollander felt insecure. He wanted to share in Ericsson’s exhilaration; but the image of his ten-year-old son, the only living being for whom he ever felt the rumblings of true love, grabbed hold of his doubts and would not let go. We are closer than ever, he told himself. So close, Ilya.
“As you say, Frederic, prophecy is a matter of interpretation. Yes? I am not convinced.”
“I see no other possibilities, my friend. The one certainty given to us by the Jewels is that the fall of civilization would be triggered by a great event rather than a slow, inexorable erosion. You have already begun to create a crucible on Hiebimini. Its fate – and that of the Chancellory – will soon be sealed.”
Ephraim cleared his throat. “The ‘Final Accord’ is largely a mishmash of non sequiturs, metaphysical meanderings and paradox. Even the arrival of the Jewels themselves defies logic: ‘The five encased for the one, appearing through the arrogant rift of the soul, in geometry unpredicted.’ Tell me, Frederic, have three thousand years given you any insight into explaining that? And how Gen might somehow fit?”
Ericsson laughed and lit a cigar. “More prophetic mystery to be unveiled in the course of time. In truth, I try not to weigh heavily upon the final two stanzas. When they come to pass, everything will end for us.” He turned back toward the beachcombers. “For all of them. This party will be ended, and the lights will be off for good. They rarely talk about it, and I can understand why. We’ve become quite accustomed to our nomadic existence. Sometimes we even tolerate the Eglantines.”
Ephraim felt an undercurrent of anger swell. “You have also lived for generations, Frederic. Those of us who stare into the face of quiet mortality cannot be so cavalier.”
Ericsson took a long puff. “True, my friend. How can I assuage your concerns?”
“Take me to your father.”
Ericsson’s disposition lost all semblance of frivolity. He stepped away from Ephraim.
“We have talked about this. No. Absolutely not.”
“He was the first, Frederic. The progenitor. The Jewels gave him a vision and a plan.”
“Yes, Ephraim, and he paid for that burden all his life. In truth, I have not seen Henrik in twenty-six hundred years. The exile was his choice.”
“But I have little doubt you could find him. He knows what they know. He can interpret the end and provide clarity.”
“For whom? You or Ilya?” Ericsson grimaced. “Your need for additional answers is disturbing, Ephraim. I thought you a stronger man than this, determined to pursue the course set forth by your bloodline. You are not having doubts?”
Ephraim tightened his shoulders. “Because a man seeks absolute truth, does that automatically suggest he is uncomfortable with his reality? No, Frederic. I know who I am and what I must do. But one day, my son will look through his own pair of glasses. Yes? I would prefer that his new reality not destroy him before he has the chance to deliver on his destiny. If I can at all remove the uncertainty and fear from his mind, give him the insight known only to the progenitor, he can finish this as the Jewels predicted. Is that not our shared goal?”
Frederic nodded. “Of course, my friend. Unfortunately, it will not involve my father. I wish I could say …”
Ephraim cut off his oldest friend. “Your father set most of human history in motion, and now he expects me and my son to partake in its destruction. We will do this willingly because the destiny is in our blood, but we are entitled to know why it must be done. This is the question no one – especially not the Jewels – has ever sufficiently answered. Yes? Henrik Ericsson owes this debt. My dear Frederic, I ask you to find him. I want to know what he knows before Ilya finishes what Henrik began.”
Frederic tossed his cigar into the sand. “My father left the link because every generation that followed him wanted those same answers. He believed in strict obedience to the plan set out by the Jewels. He believed detailed answers would strip away the veil, and our mission would go astray. He did not trust in the ability of humans to grow past their frailties. The Eglantines proved him right.”
Pieces fell into place for Ephraim. “Of course. That’s why the Eglantines abandoned the mission for so long. Henrik would not supply answers, so they lost interest.”
“Interest in their mortal responsibilities, yes. But they never gave up claim to the glasses. While everyone else feared the void of death, the Eglantines knew they would get a second life, whether they followed the roadmap of the Jewels or not.”
“Fine, Frederic,” Ephraim said, trying to maintain his calm. “So the Eglantines were the worst of us. In truth, our line has been loyal to the Jewels for more than two thousand years, all the way to the final two generations. Has your father not seen this from beyond the link? We are entitled, Frederic. Find him. I want my son to know …”
Instantly, the world began to shake as if within a bottle. Ericsson faded in and out of Ephraim’s view, and the ancient general’s words dissolved in pieces. Ephraim understood what was happening. He reached for his glasses and removed them.
He stared up into the sun above Paris and then into the eyes of a boy with golden hair and the garland wreath of a Kwin-sho champion.
“Father? Are you …?”
At once, Ephraim regained his faculties and stood.
“Ilya … you … you got my beam?”
“Yes. I missed you below the platform. People were asking about you.”
“I apologize, son. Had an urgent conference. But not so urgent I couldn’t witness your triumph. Brilliant maneuvers, Ilya. My pride is … immeasurable.”
He did not overlook the twinkle in his son’s eyes. Ephraim knew his compliments meant far more than any platitude bestowed upon Ilya by his judges, his mentors, or his teammates. He wanted to hug the boy, but that would not be proper in such a public forum. He searched his mind for ways to lay the groundwork for the day when Ilya would have to face his true purpose. Ephraim gathered himself together, asked where his son wanted to eat, and put on the guise of the proud, doting father. Throughout that evening, as they shared in the revelry of Ilya’s success, Ephraim could not get past a simple truth: His son, this great and innocent champion, would one day bring all of human civilization to ruin.
SEVENTEEN
GIFT OF MANY LIFETIMES
Philadelphia Redux
SY 5307
SIR EPHRAIM HOLLANDER WAS FORTY-SEVEN years old, yet the blood flowing within his veins carried far more experience. It was the blood of men who started wars and others who ended them. It sustained the l
ives of those who first dared to ride into space atop grand fireballs in pursuit of new frontiers. This blood was spilled by the long, treacherous knives of lovers and rivals. The men who bore this blood were the philosophers and politicians who embraced the notion of ethnic sovereignty. They were the first to step upon new worlds. They provided the resources to pilgrims seeking a new life through the Great Colonial Exodus. Eventually, genetic accelerants before and after birth enhanced the blood, supporting a body of increasing physical menace and a mind of exponential intellect. It learned to fear nothing, to immure itself against the moral consequences of savage, brutal behavior. Built within this blood was the predisposition to stand above all other humans and consider each of them inferior. Except for one key factor, Sir Ephraim’s blood was just like any other Chancellor’s.
No one could detect the anomaly with the best nanolens – not even Ephraim – yet it was there, an invisible skin wrapping every strand of his DNA. It was all he had left of the progenitor of his bloodline, the only one of his kind who did not arrive by natural birth. Through this invisible skin, Ephraim could see almost all his ancestors, travel wherever they chose, and join them on their road toward oblivion whenever he pleased. Yet he rarely ventured into their fragile world of life after death even though they were the only ones who truly understood him.
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