Aurora Resonant: The Complete Collection (Amaranthe Collections Book 3)

by G. S. Jennsen

  “Do they? Have I not doubled my holdings in the last five years? Colonized three new worlds? Built and opened the most outrageous entertainment venue the galaxy has ever seen? Are those the achievements of a dulled mind?”

  “Fine. But when you’re here with me, I want you to be here, in body, mind and soul.”

  “Oh, darling…” her lips traced the skin along his collarbone “…I am so much more here than you imagine. I feel every touch, every quiver, every degree of rising heat. Try it just once, and you’ll understand.”

  “No, thank you.” He grabbed her ankle and tossed her leg off of him. “You got doped up for nothing—I have to go. My father and I are meeting with Dr. Erevna at her lab in Antarctica this morning to review the new genetic refinement proposal.”

  She watched him while he dressed, reposed on his bed in her naked, sumptuous glory, long golden hair spilling across her skin yet hiding nothing. “Your father is going to vote in favor, isn’t he? He sounded reluctant when it was discussed at the last meeting.”

  “He’ll vote in favor.”

  “And you know this because…?”

  “Because I’ll make sure he does.”

  “This is a crucial initiative, Renato. He can’t be allowed to hold us back.”

  He didn’t care for her tone. It was patronizing, a reminder that she held a position on the Directorate Committee when he did not. “I comprehend the situation full well, Savine. Leave my father to me.”

  “As you say….” She dropped her head to the pillow and closed her eyes.

  He shook his head and sent a trickle of diati out to drape the sheet over her, then left her to her chemical bliss.

  There were thousands of other locations suitable for conducting advanced genetic development experimentation, but Dr. Lisone Erevna had chosen Antarctica on Solum. Allegedly, she did so out of a desire to honor the spirit of scientists and explorers of antiquity, but he didn’t buy it. Lisone hadn’t a sentimental gene in her body—or if she once had, she’d long since excised it.

  It wasn’t as if Renato was cold, for his diati kept him warm without effort. No, it was the principle of the matter. His father should have asked Lisone to come to the Praesidis complex. His father was too accommodating of others, freely granting them power over him they did not deserve to hold.

  But he kept those sentiments to himself as he entered the glass-walled lobby eighty meters above the frozen wasteland and greeted his father.

  Corradeo Praesidis looked much as he had for the full span of Renato’s life: striking and handsome, with raven hair, olive skin and a well-hewn bone structure that harkened back through hundreds of generations to Mediterranean ancestors. He stood composed and observant in the lobby, giving no outward hint of how weak and cowardly he had become.

  Renato brought his hands together in a miniscule bow, which his father returned. “Son. Thank you for agreeing to accompany me today.”

  “I wish to see the results of the test trials for myself, firsthand.”

  “You don’t trust my judgment.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “Well, such things are rarely said aloud, are they?” Corradeo pivoted as Dr. Erevna joined them. White-blonde hair that matched the ice outside was cropped close above pale jade irises as cold as the ice outside. Perhaps simple vanity was the true reason she’d chosen Antarctica for her lab.

  “Gentlemen, welcome. Follow me, and we’ll get started.”

  They followed her down a winding labyrinth of labs and testing facilities until they reached a meeting room at the opposite end of the facility. Perched over the Lethe Fissure, beneath them the jagged crack in the glacier stretched into the darkness of a chasm that seemed to plummet forever. It didn’t, but it looked as though it could.

  “I’m pleased to report today, and will report to the Directorate in one week’s time, that we’ve successfully overcome earlier complications in co-regenesis genetic adjustment. We can now alter the expression of discrete genes of a physical clone—within parameters of course, nothing too severe—without triggering rejection symptoms from the existing consciousness when it transfers into the new body.”

  Corradeo took barely a second to glance at the data she’d sent before frowning. “Because the person has consented to the alteration ahead of time—they’ve asked for it, thus their consciousness is sympathetic to the change and willing to adapt to it. Yes?”

  Lisone shook her head. “Consent is irrelevant to the process. In fact, when asked, the individuals have no idea some aspect of their makeup has been changed. It actually is a smoother process when consent isn’t introduced as a precursor. Knowledge of the change can contribute to a subconscious resistance to the adaptation.”

  His father’s countenance only hardened. “Shaping the genetic makeup—and thus the personality, the aptitude, the future—of a new life when it is created is one thing. I don’t particularly care for the extremes to which we’ve taken that practice either, but at least the individual never knows they might have been other than what they are.

  “But now you are talking about taking away the self-determination of a living, thinking, sapient adult. It’s tantamount to slavery.”

  She smiled coolly. “I submit it is no different from what we do now. To use your words, Corradeo, the individual never knows they once were other than what they now are.”

  “Twisting my words doesn’t make yours true, Lisone. What you are proposing is in fact vastly different. We have shepherded our people in many ways we thought in their best interests these last centuries, and it still remains to be seen if our judgment made for the best choices in the end. But I cannot sanction the explicit removal of the most basic of freedoms: the freedom for people to be who they are.”

  “Your idealism is so charming, Corradeo. I admire it, I do. All I want is to enable all our Dynasties to reach their full potential. The reality is, our success has become our curse. We live too long. With occasional tidying, we can live forever. This means change—improvement, adaptation—is slow, if not in danger of ceasing altogether.

  “Shall we instead start ordering forced euthanasia of some portion of our populations? Cull the herd to make room for newer, better, more refined citizens? Would this be more ethical to your mind?”

  “You wouldn’t dare. The universe is plenty large enough for everyone to get to live, for however long they choose. I submit our Dynasties and our empire are all doing quite well. Besides, meddling for the sake of meddling isn’t improvement—it’s just meddling.”

  “Then you intend to vote ‘no’?”

  “I do.”

  Renato fumed. He’d allowed his father to voice his concerns in the hope that if the man had his say he would get it out of his system, after which he’d relent. But when had Corradeo Praesidis ever relented?

  “Father, you are being unreasonable. Worse, you are being…old-fashioned. This luddite mentality you’ve adopted of late is unbecoming on you.”

  “The word you are searching for, son, is ‘stubborn,’ and I’m fine with being thought of as such. But I did not save our people from the Dzhvar so they could live to be gutted of the very traits which make them extraordinary. We rule the galaxy today because we are strong. If we meddle too much, we may accidentally remove that which makes us so.”

  Lisone bristled. “I never ‘accidentally’ do anything, I assure you.”

  Corradeo shot her a glare, but instead of retorting pivoted to stare at the fissure below. “That is what I’m afraid of.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch the last bit?”

  “Never mind.” He turned back around. “Present your case at the meeting next week, but I don’t expect my inclination to change.”

  Lisone’s gaze flitted to where Renato stood, behind and off to the side of his father. The meaning of the intensity of her expression was clear: do something. A vote on a substantial change in policy had to be unanimous—all the Dynasties must implement the change, or none at all.

  H
e nodded discreetly, raising his hand in acknowledgement. “Doctor, would you excuse us? My father and I need to confer in private for a minute.”

  “Certainly. I have another meeting soon, so I’ll leave you to it. If you need any assistance finding your way out, contact the security desk. Good day, gentlemen.”

  The instant she was gone he whirled on his father. “Stop being stupid.”

  “Careful, son. You forget yourself.”

  “No, you forget yourself. You forget the man you once were and the ideals you once stood for. You have become cautious to the point of cowardice. You would hamstring us now, at such an important juncture in our history, merely because you’ve decided change is now an unwise course of action.”

  “Every moment in history appears important to the young when they first encounter it. Trust me—most of them aren’t.”

  “ ‘Young’? I have endured your haughty condescension for eleven thousand years, father, and I have had enough of it.”

  “Oh? Do you fancy striking off on your own? Starting a fledgling Dynasty yourself, then begging to be allowed into the Directorate? Do as you wish—but surrender your diati at the door, for it belongs to the Praesidis alone.”

  Renato meant it, however. He had had enough. He’d played the dutiful son for so terribly long, with no hope of escaping his father’s shadow. He’d been consigned to forever occupying second place, forever kneeling at his father’s knee before a throne that could never be his.

  He would not kneel for another day. “Or perhaps you should surrender yours, for you no longer deserve to wield it. You have become a disgrace to the Praesidis name.”

  “Depart from my presence. I will be rid of the sight of you.”

  “No.”

  Corradeo started, his eyes flaring as crimson tendrils escaped them. “Pardon me?”

  The entirety of Renato’s presence flared in response. “I said no. I will not take orders from you any longer. You don’t deserve to be the head of our Dynasty. You don’t deserve to sit on the Directorate. You don’t deserve to hoard a treasure of diati for yourself alone simply to waste it on complacency and cowardice.”

  His command flowed forth in sync with his outstretched arm.

  TAKE

  Though now a shadow of his former self, his father was neither weak nor helpless, and a shell of diati sprung forth to encase him in protection. Renato’s power slashed at it and was initially repelled.

  But Renato had been stealing diati from lesser Praesidis for some time now, and he had perfected the art of commanding it so thoroughly that it could only obey.

  JOIN AND COME TO ME

  He could feel it, the power, as it began to shift to his will. The protective shell began to thin, then crack and splinter. “Renato, what are you—” Corradeo grabbed at his throat, eyes bulging.

  His father began to understand, and so to fight back. Corradeo rushed forward and knocked Renato into the table to tower over him, and now Renato gasped for air. His vision blurred as the surrounding air pressed in on him.

  OBEY ME—YOU ARE MINE

  A surge of power crashed into him, but not to harm him. He redirected it outward, and Corradeo flew through the air to slam into one of the windows. The diati—Renato’s diati—held him there against the glass, not letting him fall to the floor.

  “You will not survive this betrayal, Renato.”

  He climbed off the table. “Do you feel it, father? Do you feel it abandoning you for me? It knows I’m the worthy one here, and its rightful vessel and ruler.”

  “You—” Corradeo gasped for air “—understand nothing about the diati, and when it matters most, it will fail you.”

  “No. It won’t.”

  TO ME NOW

  All the power cascading around them rushed into him. He gasped, his body driven rigid in shock as the tidal wave drowned him—but only for a second. He blinked and breathed in, finding the control he’d cultivated through endless practice. Then he strode deliberately over to his father, who now lay crumpled on the floor.

  He knelt in front of Corradeo and used a fingertip to lift his father’s chin. The last vestiges of crimson bled out of his father’s eyes, leaving behind sapphire irises. Only a man.

  Renato made a succinct slashing motion with his hand, then again, and two red lines appeared on either side of Corradeo’s neck. Blood began to seep out of them to stream in rivulets down his chest.

  “Don’t die too quickly, father—I have things to do first.” His power whipped out and shattered the window behind them, and he threw his father out of it to tumble into the chasm below.

  He immediately straightened up and evaluated the scene as it stood at present. Next he sent a remote order to overwrite certain Praesidis medical data with altered replacement data, prepared well in advance and stored until this day, this time.

  Now he shattered the rest of the windows. The glass hung frozen in mid-air, awaiting instruction. He braced himself, then directed most of it to him. Shards sliced open his face and shredded his clothes until only blood-soaked strips remained.

  He didn’t have to fake collapsing to the floor, but he managed to activate his transmitter as he fell. “Someone help! There’s been an accident, an explosion….”

  He commanded the diati not to heal him, but the pain was threatening to overwhelm his will when security officers finally rushed into the room. They briefly shrank away from the blast of cold air and punishing wind before coming to his aid.

  He pointed weakly out to the frozen expanse beyond. “My son…he fell…the fissure…dead….”

  “Stay calm, sir. It’s going to be all right. We have advanced medical, rejuvenation and regenesis chambers here. What’s your name?”

  “Corradeo Praesidis.”

  59

  CENTAURUS ARX

  MILKY WAY SECTOR 1

  * * *

  NYX JERKED AWAKE IN A BURST OF existential turmoil. Diati shook the nearby table and chair as her agitation took on tangible form.

  What was that?

  It could not be a dream, for the integral kept Anaden dreams tame and obedient. But what, then?

  In the recesses of her perfectly analytical mind, the possibilities had already been parsed and cross-matched. She had the answer. Still she struggled to accept it.

  Since her regenesis after the destruction of Exobiology Lab #4, she’d begun to try to listen to the diati, while having little sense of how to do so. She’d drifted to sleep tonight, as she had on many recent nights, displaying an open, willing mind, ready to hear what it might have to say.

  What it had showed her, albeit in response to her implicit invitation, was the one thing she had never expected. Her diati was her Primor’s diati. Its memories were her Primor’s memories.

  She wasn’t able to assign order and meaning to all of what she’d witnessed, filtered as the memories were through the perception of an empyreal, non-corporeal entity. But she comprehended enough to recognize what it suggested, and the implications were horrifying.

  Something was very wrong. With the Directorate, with the Dynasties, the integrals and regenesis. With her Primor.

  She’d begun tromping wildly around the suite on the Centaurus Arx in a new display of her agitation, but now she came to a hard stop mid-stride. She breathed in. Attentively let out the breath. Repeated the actions.

  She calmed her body with the exercise of swift, honed discipline, but calming her mind proved not so simple a task. But she must. For if she did not, her Primor would find out.

  He would sense her turmoil across the stars and the void and he would turn his attention her way and he would see. Until she worked out what she knew, what it meant, and what she intended to do about it, he must not be allowed to see.

  But the integral was powerful and pervasive, and her Primor’s connection to her through it was strong. She may need to enlist some assistance in order to shroud her true thoughts.

  She’d brought few belongings with her for the brief overnight stay; sh
e gathered them up and prepared to teleport to her ship when the vid feed in the wall burst to life of its own accord.

  An image of an Anaden man standing in front of a canopy of stars filled the projection. She did not know him, but a strange twinge in her chest made her feel as if she did.

  Then he spoke, and his voice felt like a song meant for her soul. She dropped her belongings and stepped forward to lift her hand, palm flared open, as if she could touch the image and have it touch her in return.

  “Who are you?”

  SIYANE

  PALAEMON

  ANARCH POST EPSILON

  Caleb awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in the bed. What the hell?

  After a few deep breaths, he sank back onto his elbows and worked to process what he’d seen. It was by far the most vivid, nuanced dream-vision the diati had shown him thus far. Perhaps the greater clarity and intensity had been spurred on by the recent influx of undeniably powerful diati from his latest encounter with Nyx, though it had been days ago now.

  It also renewed his curiosity about the nature of her replacement supply. Nisi believed the Praesidis Primor replenished her following the events at Helix Retention, and his theory had now been borne out. But that meant these were the Primor’s memories, sifted and translated by the diati.

  He closed his eyes and stepped back through what he’d seen, because there had been something eerily familiar about….

  I’ll be damned.

  The face wasn’t quite right, but cosmetic alterations during regenesis were commonplace. The skin tone in the vision was lighter, but Caleb had seen Eren vary his skin from Nordic fair to ebony and several points in between, and that was without regenesis. So Anadens could change their physical appearance easily enough. Mannerisms, bearing and the smallest gesture tics, however, tended to become an intrinsic part of a person. Once they did, they tended to stick around.

  Alex stirred beside him, rolling over and peering at him from behind sleepy lids and tousled hair. “Something wrong?”

  He leaned down and kissed her softly. “No, everything’s fine. Are you ready for today?”