The Father Unbound

by Frank Kennedy

  “Hear me, Haggis,” the admiral said. “This bastard has gone off the farm completely. He has to be silenced. Now.” Cabrise turned to Maj. Hand. “I want that transmission cut.”

  “Working it, Admiral. The broadcast is originating on the Hiebim open-feed stream. We do not have direct control. We can’t kill it without temporarily disabling the entire global stream, and even that measure will require another ten minutes.”

  “Hollanders,” he muttered. “I hate Hollanders.” He tapped into his station and redirected communications. “Col. Overmeyer, alert the fire team. Spool up the cannons and target a pair of slews on the Ashkinar Continental Enclave. Be prepared to engage in two minutes.”

  “Sir …?” A stunned Overmeyer briefly objected, but the admiral wasn’t interested.

  * * *

  The gallery in the Hall of Sun railed into frenzy, many calling for the heads of the Chancellors. Ilya turned to Hadeed, whose jaw fell as he saw the reaction. Hadeed’s armed guards shifted anxiously, turning to each other for instructions. In the seconds while Ilya paused his speech, The Father’s second voice drifted through the gallery and beyond, offering comfort to the enraged, insisting they must hear the rest of the story.

  “Now the veil is lifting,” Ilya told them, stretching his arms skyward. “I hear your rage and mad desire for revenge. For this was what drove Trayem Hadeed to savage Hiebimini. And this, if you are not careful, is what might further the abyss into which your people have already fallen. In the coming days, outrage will fly through the Collectorate searching for the flesh and blood of Chancellors. And yet they would strike back. They would crush you. Undoubtedly, peacekeepers are on their way to the Hall of Sun as I speak. Yes, they will reveal their true hand. But I ask you now to calm your rage because, like this man,” he pointed to Hadeed, “you would be acting on an impulse that is misdirected and will end in disaster. Instead, you must hear me. There is one more truth, the most painful of all. I beg you in advance for your forgiveness. For all you have lost in the past years, your suffering has only just begun.”

  He waited until the gallery fell silent.

  “The Chancellors are not an enemy to be defeated. No. They are to be pitied. In their arrogance, they have raped your world and stolen your wealth. Yet such arrogance has caused them to overreach, to test the limits of what it is to be human, to exceed the natural bonds of mortality itself. They came here and stole from you in order to pursue their own greatness, and that goal has destroyed them. A few among them know this to be true. It is their greatest secret, their greatest fear, and they have no way out. They have repeated the folly of the ones who came before us all, one of whom is here speaking to you. The second voice. He is called The Father, and he bears a message founded in the death of another civilization not unlike our own.

  “Listen. Listen. Listen. Listen. Hear me. Hear me. Open your minds and trust.”

  * * *

  Baqqari Adair, Dihala Nanji, and Assam Sayed moved through the streets of Messalina without concern. Their fellow Hiebim were paranoid, for certain, but only about their own well-being. They did not appear to be on the lookout for fugitive jihadeen, as Adair had anticipated. As they approached the west entrance to the Continental Enclave, Adair saw CVid transmissions from inside the Hall of Sun. She saw Hadeed flanked in the center and liked her chances for success. She grew especially confident when she saw a scant contingent of Patriots guarding the west doors, some of them clearly distracted by the CVids in front of surrounding businesses.

  She turned to Nanji and Sayed, nodded, and they followed the plan. They spread out until equidistant along the façade. She approached an anxious guard. Behind her, other Hiebim raised their voices in anger at something they heard on the broadcast. She did not care. This was her moment. Hadeed would honor her courage and tenacity. She smiled. The guard acknowledged her with a meager nod. Adair reached inside her cloak and grabbed a spelling blade.

  * * *

  Ilya preached, and they listened.

  “More than a million years ago, on a world beyond our grasp, a people thrived. They were human in almost every way, and they achieved the height of genetic evolution, manipulating themselves into creatures that could live for centuries. They understood the secrets of the universe and believed themselves invincible. Yet they were brought down by a genetic pandemic. For all their triumphs, they lost the ability to reproduce. For all their intellect, they could not solve the mystery of this pandemic. Within a thousand years, as the last generation turned old and infirm, they discovered the reason for their demise. Yet this truth was all the more painful because they could not repair what they had spent thousands of years perfecting.

  “The wisest among them created an organic technology into which they stored the collective knowledge and wisdom of their race. This technology, called the Jewels of Eternity, consisted of five distinct intelligences, each reflecting a piece of their creators’ soul. The creators left the Jewels behind as a tribute to themselves but also as a warning to others who aspired to equal greatness. However, the Jewels freed themselves of their bonds and left their home world to explore the stars using the vast knowledge of their creators.

  “They found us on Earth, at a time of war and stagnation. They believed they could help us, but they were also concerned about what we might become. They believed we would ultimately destroy ourselves just as their creators had done. We did. We divided ourselves into a hierarchy and segregated our ethnicities by home worlds.

  “The Chancellors found a unique property in a certain mineral extract capable of catalyzing the entire human genome. They found the link to the next stage in human evolution. The intellect, the physical prowess, the lifespan. Chancellors such as me are not this way because we were meant to be. We are bigger and stronger and smarter because we changed the rules of life and death, and we kept the knowledge for ourselves.

  “This mineral extract was also known to the creators of the Jewels of Eternity. They used it to accentuate their own evolution. It became the very essence of life. It was also the source of their pandemic, the death of their race. They called the mineral oxcilladon. We call it brontinium. And no Chancellor can live without it.”

  * * *

  Cabrise was flabbergasted as he watched the transmission. “What he is babbling on about? This bastard has …” He contacted Col. Haggis, who said his squadron was approaching the east side of the facility and about to enter. “Prepare for a hostile reception, Colonel. I don’t believe those bloody indigos are going to welcome you with open arms.”

  A new CVid elevated in front of the admiral, this one featuring the face of Commercial Docking Capt. Rudolph Maxwell. “Admiral, we have a quarry ship, ITV Leggett, registry under review, holding a stationary position approximately twenty thousand kilometers from orbital insertion. She is not responding to hails per protocol.”

  “And this is my concern, why?”

  “Sir, the ship carries a mass driver, and we have just detected an object of unidentified energy signature being loaded into the driver web.”

  Cabrise stood. “No,” he shouted. “Can’t be. Maj. Hand, scramble fighters.”

  * * *

  Hours earlier, Ephraim and his father had stood beneath the twelve eyes of truth and waited for each other to speak. Ephraim had struggled to get past the searing image of Wilfred falling to his death.

  “You raised my grandson well,” Wilfred said. “Far better than I ever did with you, Ephraim. I was a dreadful father, but a worse man. Not worthy of you. Not worthy of the link. If I had thought of you as more than the next commodity in the link, we would have been closer. In truth, I was jealous. The ‘Final Accord’ was clear to me. You, my grandson, and your wife-to-be would share the glory at the end of our mission. I was nothing more than a placeholder.”

  Ephraim could not argue. Everything his father said synced up with his childhood.

  “Why are we here?” Ephraim asked.

  “I gave you the glasses because I had an obl
igation,” Wilfred continued. “However, you were a hedonist, and you were juvenile. You were not prepared for the responsibility. Afterward, on the occasion you would visit the link, I watched from a distance. I heard reports from Frederic. I realized what you had become.”

  “Which was?”

  “Me. Cold, driven, abusive, arrogant beyond measure. A shell of a man. Perhaps you believed such qualities were necessary given your responsibilities. Nonetheless, you were stripped of your love for life the day you killed me. If I had been a proper father, you would have understood how to balance the qualities of a man against the needs of the mission. Even when you loved my grandson, you fought the urge to show your humanity. Ephraim, I am here because I beg for your forgiveness. I cannot alter history, but I can wish you well on the next path.”

  Ephraim and Wilfred embraced. Their hug was true, but Ephraim only had a sense of his father’s body, as with everything else in the link. He knew they would never see each other again, so he held the embrace for what seemed an eternity. He had not experienced such feelings of need and comfort in fifty years.

  “I forgive you,” he told Wilfred, who then whispered into Ephraim’s ear.

  “Thank you, Son.” They separated but Wilfred continued. “Henrik Ericsson came to me not long ago. He seemed to know we would see each other. He gave me a message for you. He said, ‘Ilya was always the destroyer, and your paths were always meant to intersect. He will love you to the end and will be at peace. Do not hesitate. You must finish what you have started.’”

  The twelve eyes of truth vanished, and Ephraim returned to the Leggett flight deck.

  Hours later, he could not let go of the sensation of the hug, nor did he hesitate when the appointed time came. He did not even check the open stream feed from Messalina for a chance to see his son one final time. He dared not risk the possibility of second thoughts.

  “Fire,” he said.

  The mass driver shot Eternal toward Hiebimini.

  THIRTY SIX

  JUDGMENT

  ONE MINUTE BEFORE HIS FATHER launched a planet-killing weapon against the most valuable colony in the Collectorate, Ilya pushed forward with his words. He knew this was the most important part of his speech, and the one that would fulfill his role as the destroyer.

  “Ask yourself,” he told the gallery. “Why is brontinium so valuable? What draws the Chancellors here in such great numbers? Why were they more concerned with protecting the mines instead of preventing your civil war?

  “They introduced genetic manipulation long before Genysen. When the makers of the brontinium extract understood the implication of their discovery, they consulted with the Chancellor Sanctums, who saw a grand vision for their caste. They saw a way to ensure lasting supremacy, beyond whatever measure of control Genysen might buy. And so, their caste evolved into what Trayem Hadeed has accurately called ‘genetic abominations.’ My own intellect and physical prowess exceeded yours by the time I was ten. I was bred to command fleets, to run Sanctums and Presidiums, and to crush the will of sovereign ethnics. If not for the truth and The Father, I might stand here today as your master rather than as a man who begs your forgiveness.”

  Voices rose as disturbances grew outside the east and west entrances to the hall. Ilya and The Father both knew they were running out of time.

  “The brontinium extract is now a genetic component of every Chancellor,” Ilya told them. The Father’s second voice ensured they would believe. “Children of our caste receive eight doses of genetic accelerants by age fourteen. If the supply of the extract ends today, only those who have received eight doses will live a full life. Death will come sooner for others. Their bodies will break down. Subsequent generations will suffer health problems and live shorter lives. In three hundred years, the final descendants of the Chancellor caste will go to dust.

  “In their desperation, they created vast reserves of the extract, a safeguard against the future. Yet this plan cannot stop the inevitable. Even if they live on for centuries, they will eventually lose the ability to reproduce. Either way, they are dying. Four billion human beings, caught behind a veil of their own creation.”

  An outside door slammed open, and the report of a blast rifle could be heard. Voices outside the west door shouted. Two guards flanking Hadeed rushed toward the entry.

  The Father spoke loudly to the crowd. Do not forget what you will see or hear. Ilya knew his time was effectively done. He could sense The Father’s anxiety.

  “I ask you again,” Ilya told the crowd, imploring that they keep their seats. “Pity the Chancellors. In their arrogance to hoard their treasure, they saved you from the same horrific fate. I ask you to temper your anger with compassion, for only in this way will the human race find redemption and renewal. This is the common prison now shared by Chancellors and ethnics across the Collectorate. We must suffer the truth of what we have become and search for a new path. Listen. Listen. You know this truth. You know this truth. It fills your heart with a burden none of you deserve but all of you must confront.”

  A guard raced inside the west entrance and shouted, “Peacekeepers! They’re trying to break through. Form a wall. Hurry! Stop them.”

  Dozens of Hiebim closest to the west entry portal rushed from the gallery and formed a gantlet just as the main doors flew open and a surge of taller, bulkier soldiers tried to penetrate the hall. The remaining Hiebim stood. A few fled toward the other three entrances, but most switched their attention between the man who opened their eyes and the threat to their lives.

  Ilya turned to Hadeed and started to speak, but quick reports of blast rifles over Hadeed’s shoulder emerged from the east entrance. Those doors flew open, and Hadeed’s remaining two guards rushed to intercept. Hadeed did not move, never shifting his focus from Ilya.

  I feel them, The Father told Ilya. They are approaching. I have to leave you.

  Ilya understood, for this was the beginning of the end, happening as they knew it would.

  How much time do I have? Ilya asked.

  Seconds. Speak to him now.

  Ilya raced to Hadeed, removed a utility laser from beneath his robe, and used the tool to slice through the chains. As he did so, Ilya spoke to Hadeed in The Father’s voice. His lips moved in silence, but Hadeed heard every word.

  Your path does not end today. You will know what to do when you leave here and where to go. Wait for him.

  As the chains melted through, Hadeed froze. Angry voices raged through the hall, but he knew the shouts were not directed toward him. He tried to understand.

  “Wait for who? Why are you doing this?” As he spoke, two of his guards exchanged rifle blasts with intruders at the east entrance.

  Ilya smiled through his beard. “Wait for him, Hadeed,” Ilya said in his own voice. “He will show you the final truth.”

  As Hadeed backed away, the Hiebim blocking the west entrance fell over each other as the peacekeepers pushed through. They shot blast rifles toward the dome ceiling, a tactic which scared off enough Hiebim to open a wedge. Hadeed whirled about and saw both Patriot guards at the east entrance fall. Three Hiebim emerged. He recognized Baqqari Adair at once. He started toward her, but Hadeed resisted. He did not want to leave Ignatius Horne behind.

  Ilya, however, was already saying his goodbyes to The Father.

  Thank you for all your gifts, Ilya said. You brought purpose where there wasn’t one.

  Their road will be agonizing, The Father responded. Yet they are fortunate. They will have a chance to redeem themselves. They would not have had this opportunity without the courage of Ilya Hollander. They will remember you. Goodbye, my dear friend.

  Ilya bid farewell seconds before agonizing pain shot through every bone and muscle of his body. He could not help but roar, his fists clamped as his body trembled. He did not realize the strength of his roar’s echo, for it overshadowed every other distraction in the hall. Hiebim turned their focus toward him, even those resisting the peacekeeper advance.

  Ilya’s
body contorted as rivulets of blood emerged from every orifice and snaked through the lining of his robes. The blood danced around him and congealed into a single, undefined mass. Ilya tumbled to the floor and breathed easily while the blood grew and transformed. It spawned limbs and a head then metamorphosed into the elderly man once known as Henrik Ericsson. For an instant, The Father had an audience of millions.

  “Safe journey,” Ilya told him.

  As quickly as he emerged, The Father dissolved into a haze and launched himself through the dome, leaving behind an electrical charge that created a brief surge of static throughout the gallery.

  Stunned silence followed, but only for seconds. The peacekeepers rushed toward the center light, Hadeed made a retreat toward his rescuers, and Ilya knew he had one final task.

  The peacekeepers aimed their weapons at varied targets, responding to fire from the fugitive jihadeen. Flash pegs tore through Assam Sayed, and he fell just beyond the east entry portal. Hadeed had nearly passed behind the protective fire of his followers when Dihala Nanji screamed in agony as he too went down. Hadeed ducked as he fell behind Baqqari Adair and reached for Nanji’s rifle. He heard a voice telling him not to slow down, to run faster than he ever had in his life. He tried to do as he was told, yet flash pegs collided around him.

  Ilya called upon the Kwin-sho training of his youth and told his muscles to perform unnatural acts. He concentrated then leaped from his position, grabbing Sayed’s rifle. In a single fluid motion, Ilya spun, his body still airborne, and began firing. He knew the flash pegs could not penetrate peacekeeper armor, but this was not his objective. The defensive fire from three unexpected allies slowed the soldiers if only for a few seconds, enough time to allow Hadeed and Adair to disappear through the entry portal and rush toward the street.