Survive Page 9

  “Maybe,” Aeson says, “the components were isolated for political reasons as much as safety. Maybe the act of dismantling the great ark-ship was a means of equalizing ancient power structures among the heirs of Kassiopei, Heru, and other original great families.”

  “You can ask Areviktet Heru himself in half an hour,” Romhutat says. “The Pharikon is waiting for my call, and I’m certain he would love to entertain your idiot questions.”

  And then the Imperator returns his fierce attention to me. “But first, you, girl, will need to sing again—this time carefully and using the correct sequence I’m about to teach you—to key the ship—after which I will sing to re-key it again and set the Imperial Aural Block.”

  I bite my lip. “Okay. Show me what to do.”

  The Imperator nods, and now his dark eyes bore into me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. “Listen carefully.”

  And then he sings a strange keying command in a deep voice of power. He is using a major sequence of notes, starting with C, then E, then G—in this case, the C is a rather common choice of tonic starting note.

  However, he is singing overtones.

  In other words, the sound issuing out of his mouth and throat splinters into two different notes at the same time—one low fundamental note, and the other high as a whistle—the overtone.

  Holy crap!

  Overtone singing, a bizarre type of harmonic singing or throat singing was an uncommon skill back on Earth, from what little I can remember of it. Even now I’m only superficially aware of its existence among some cultures such as the people of Mongolia, Tibet, and a number of others.

  Mom had mentioned it to us at some point, but I didn’t pay much attention, since it was really hard and way beyond my budding vocal skills. You basically use your lips to shape the sound of the low note, and move your tongue to change the resonance, and that’s what affects the high note—I think? We all tried it as kids and were unsuccessful.

  And now . . . now I’m supposed to be able to sing this way, with no training and only a few minutes’ notice, when I’m not even sure if my own Mom, the opera singer, could do it? Maybe if I could ask her how—

  Mom is dead.

  I can never ask her anything again.

  The strange realization punches me in the gut, and everything from yesterday that was just hovering in the background, at the outermost edges of my awareness, comes slamming back.

  She is dead, and he is responsible.

  He killed her.

  I clench my hands into fists, clench my mouth in a hard line, and I don’t breathe. . . .

  It’s the only way I can keep myself from breaking down in front of the Imperator—or throwing myself in fury at him.

  Meanwhile, Romhutat stops singing the overtone keying command and watches me for any reaction. Apparently, my unusual stillness and lack of expression has captured his attention. Does he think he’s stunned me with his demonstration?

  Slowly I release my breath. . . .

  And then I say in a dead voice, “I can’t do that.”

  A pause.

  The Imperator’s eyes do not change, but his mouth starts to curl with disdain.

  But in that moment Aeson says in a hard voice, “Even if she could, she is not going to.”

  Romhutat Kassiopei turns to his son, and I feel the terrible weight of his gaze leaving me, as though it’s a physical burden lifting. “What did you say?”

  But Aeson does not blink, does not avert his gaze, he merely watches his Father with his own equally imposing basilisk stare.

  Several moments pass.

  “What did you say to me, boy?” the Imperator repeats, starting to move closer toward his son.

  “She will do nothing,” Aeson replies calmly. “Because the Imperial Crown Prince will not permit his Bride to give up her unique advantage for nothing in return.”

  “What?”

  “Compensation for her valuable services . . . in the form of truth from you—the entire truth—and a bargain that guarantees her permanent safety. Enough deception, my Father! You will begin by admitting your role in orchestrating the asteroid disaster about to befall Earth. Admit what you have done! And explain why.”

  Wait. . . . Did Aeson plan this in advance? My thoughts race wildly.

  There is a terrible pause.

  “You dare take this tone with me?” The Imperator speaks in the low, soft voice of a serpent. He is a dragon awakening.

  All at once, my heart starts to pound.

  But Aeson’s face is a mask of stone. He looks at his father, unflinching. “Explain what is going on, everything—or she leaves with me, now.”

  Romhutat Kassiopei takes another step toward his son, so that they are facing each other. “You dare bargain with me? Have you any idea what I can do to you—to her—and to everything and everyone that either of you hold dear?”

  “I have a very good idea, my Father,” Aeson replies without blinking. “Except, in this case you’re out of time. You admitted last night that she is your only option. If you try to force her, if you harm her, or her family or friends, I guarantee you she will do nothing and the ship will continue to broadcast. Remember, she cannot be compelled. Every moment you waste trying to threaten or break her—or me—the signal will travel farther, and they are sure to pick it up—they, our ancient alien enemy. Indeed, they have likely received the transmission already and are on their way here. . . .”

  “Hah! Then we’ve already lost!”

  “Not necessarily. Cutting off the transmission now, quickly, might help to slow them down—”

  “Or not! Might as well proceed with our original plans. . . . Have you gone mad, boy?”

  “And what would those plans be? No, I’m not mad, Father, but I’m willing to take this ridiculous exchange all the way—”

  The Imperator glares at Aeson with disbelief. “No—but you are blatantly mad to defy me! Maybe it’s insanity caused by your so-called ‘young love,’ or maybe it’s all those sleepless days and nights spent at the Games that have broken your mind—or were you on AG Runner? Tell me that’s the case, and I will disregard your stupid words, forgive your outburst, and have my own doctors examine you and cleanse your system. Otherwise, if you continue on this mad course—are you willing to risk your Bride?”

  “You will do nothing to her—not now, not ever. And I’ve never taken AG Runner in my life. But let’s not go down this pointless sidetrack. It’s just another twisted distraction coming from you, my Father, as you wrap us in more deception and lies. The webs you choose to spin are intricate, and yet it’s all unraveling now. Enough!”

  “Enough indeed! The world has turned upside-down. My son dares defy me!”

  “Your son is Kassiopei. And so is my Imperial Bride—she is under my protection. And now she is also a Games Champion, additionally protected by a very different, very public law.”

  Romhutat Kassiopei pauses, thinking, while his forehead twitches. And then a thin sneer comes to one corner of his mouth.

  “You think you’re so clever now. . . . Well then, consider your Imperial Bride’s health, her well-being, her very delicate state of sanity, if not her existence—which is indeed so inconveniently protected now by her new celebrity status and public opinion. You think she’s untouchable, unbreakable now? Why don’t we put this brave resolve of hers to the test, boy? Another hour of signal transmission will not make a difference—I’m willing to take the risk—and meanwhile your Bride’s little sister and brother can be brought here, together with my expert interrogators, for some very painful persuasion techniques—”

  “No!” I exclaim, while a tidal wave of lava-hot fury rises inside me. “You touch my family and—and—”

  “And what? What will you do, poor little Gwen? Lash out at me with your untrained Voice? Threaten to kill yourself, maybe? Self-harm is all you have left as a bargaining tool, and not even that. You will be restrained and muzzled as you watch them being cut alive.”

  “N
ot before I fry that damn ship—right now!” I exclaim, stepping to the side and turning toward the monitor with the live feed of the Grail. “Don’t try to disconnect the computer link, I will sing before you can do it! Would you risk losing all that ancient, priceless orichalcum technology in one instant?”

  “What?” The Imperator’s jaw drops, and he takes a step toward me.

  Meanwhile Aeson gives me an amazed look and starts moving forward also to insert himself between us.

  “I. Will. Fry. The. Ship. And everything around us that has orichalcum content,” I say, emphasizing every word. “Call your guards, and I will fry this room before you have the chance to muzzle me!”

  “And I will stand between you and my Bride to give her all the time she needs,” Aeson adds, stepping forward and blocking the way toward me, as he stands before his Father. “She can do so much irreparable damage to your favorite Red Office and the entire Imperial Suite floor, even if her Logos Voice doesn’t reach the Grail. What a shame it would be—Father.”

  The Imperator stares at his son and then at me with a truly stunned expression. He throws one glance at the live monitor, as if calculating the seconds needed to thwart me. . . .

  There is another terrible pause.

  And then Romhutat Kassiopei slowly smiles. “Well, then. . . . No need to interrogate your siblings, Gwen Lark. Something else has come to my attention. Very unfortunate news—about your mother. Would you like to hear? Margot Lark is dead. Apparently, she died a few days ago, while still on Earth. You will never see her again. My condolences on your tragic loss. Such a shame our medical staff never had a chance to treat her highly manageable disease.”

  He watches me, still smiling, waiting for my reaction, for my breakdown.

  I gather myself, with every ounce of strength. . . .

  “I know,” I say with perfect calm.

  And then, as the Imperator’s smile fades, I add, “I know how you killed her.”

  Chapter 8

  The Imperator looks at me like a demon, and then he looks at Aeson.

  But I continue, in a very calm, outwardly dead voice that is yet somehow charged with power. “I know everything. I know you’re responsible for keeping my mother and the rest of my family from being rescued, denying her the medical treatment, all these days when she could have been up on the ark-ship. I know you wanted to use her death against me. That’s not going to happen now.”

  I pause, as the power inside me is rising, rising. . . . Vertigo and mind dissociation slam me, so that for a fraction of an instant I actually black out, and there’s a buildup of impossible pressure from the inside. At last it feels like there’s no more room, so it just sits there, right below the surface . . . balancing on the knife-edge of my lips. So much power. . . .

  It’s prickling me, a sequence just at the tip of my tongue. All I need to unleash it is to speak another word.

  It occurs to me, I could kill him with one breath. . . .

  One Logos breath of power.

  No . . . is that even possible? But regardless, for Mom’s sake, no, just no. . . .

  And so instead I carefully exhale and inhale, keeping the balance of force churning inside me. I visualize it moving in strange repeating figure eights, the shape of the symbol of infinity.

  And then I speak again, using all that impossible intensity to focus the meaning of my words. I imbue my words with such sharp semantic clarity that it seems the imagery of what I say hangs in the air before us, fills the expanse of my mind and spreads outward. This is not a compelling voice, this is something else. . . . A voice of revelation, of awareness imbued with insight . . . a voice of genuine, eye-opening conviction . . . a voice of reawakened sentience.

  A voice of reason.

  “Your mission of destruction ends now. You will stop the asteroid. Or you will change its trajectory and guide it on a different path, away from Earth. Divert it anywhere, elsewhere, safely out of reach. Just a few degrees off—it is simple. Do it, and I will cooperate with you.”

  I grow silent, and my resonant power-words hang in the air. . . . My hands are trembling, and the fine hairs on my skin stand up with goosebumps.

  The Imperator’s expression goes from furious to thoughtful, to almost slack. It’s as if he’s forgotten all mention of my mother, all his threats, and is distracted by some urgent, incontrovertible set of facts and logic that must be addressed now, this instant. . . .

  Aeson stares at me and glances at his father.

  And then Romhutat Kassiopei tells me, still thoughtful and genuine, “No, unfortunately it cannot be done. Earth must suffer the asteroid impact.”

  And then he adds, tiredly, almost sadly, and with resignation, “Yes, I designed the Earth mission, every detail and component, carefully guided all the pieces and all the players for these past several years. And not even your earnest attempt at persuasion can change the cruel reality of what must happen. An interesting use of Voice, by the way—I don’t believe I’ve heard this variety, not compelling, but persuasive nevertheless—”

  “But—why? Why can’t you stop all this?” I ask, ignoring his aside.

  “Because the asteroid needs to strike . . . at certain coordinates in your Atlantic Ocean, in the location of the original Atlantis continent, where it will detonate a very specific high-level quantum energy charge.”

  “What?” Aeson frowns at his father, his lips parting in confusion.

  The Imperator sighs, still in the mellow and thoughtful mode. “This information must not leave the room. Only a handful of individuals know this.” He lifts one finger, pauses. “The precisely calculated detonation will close and repair the ancient dimensional rift which brought the alien enemy to us so many eons ago. It will end our struggle once and for all—at last. No more fear, no more constant vigilance or patrolling deep space, no more running away and colonizing. No more pursuit from them! Humanity will live and continue to evolve and progress in peace—on our own terms.”

  I am stunned. “But—but no,” I whisper, as all the gathered power and righteous fury inside me disperse like smoke. “I understand your motivations now—some, at least—but, no! You cannot destroy Earth in the process!”

  “There must be another way,” Aeson says. “Send localized explosives on a smaller scale to the coordinates, the kind that do not initiate an extinction-level event planet-wide—”

  “There is no other way!” the Imperator interrupts, his tone regaining the normal petulant edge that he uses in private with his son—as the effect of my strange unnamed voice must be dissipating. “We tried smaller-scale local explosives and various energy discharges, more than twelve thousand Earth years ago! They were insufficient! According to old records—admittedly incomplete—our ancestors tried closing the rift in more ways than you can imagine!”

  “But we have better technology now,” Aeson says. “We can plan and contain the detonations with greater precision. Containing energy on a quantum level is what we do!”

  “You think I don’t know that, boy?” Romhutat snarls. “What, you think that in all these years and centuries, no other smart scientific mind wrestled with this problem? This may be news to you, but part of the Earth mission was a series of discreet attempts to close the rift while we were back there during the Qualification process. While you and the ACA engaged in talks and diplomacy with the Earth leaders, some of our specialists were working in secret, on site, under the guise of retrofitting the ancient Atlantis subterranean chamber network. We used our modern, better technology to no avail! We generated countless smaller quantum containment fields and bombarded the rift with energy at every imaginable level. The only things we did not try were the super-megaton detonations on such a massive destruction scale that cannot be safely achieved at close planetary proximity to the target. In fact, the asteroid was going to be our last-resort measure to generate such a detonation. . . .”

  “And you didn’t think to inform your son and Imperial Heir of any of this?” Aeson says in a bitter
voice.

  The Imperator glances at him. “Knowing your . . . scruples, boy, it would’ve created unnecessary complications.”

  “My scruples?”

  Romhutat Kassiopei makes a harsh sound. “Yes, your inability to keep your conscience out of the bigger picture! When it comes to putting yourself in harm’s way for others, you’re easily a hero. But when it comes to morally grey, hard decisions, you’re your Mother’s son. . . . You are weak. You want the truth? You’re not fit to be Imperator—the kind of leader necessary for dark times, times of true crisis such as these. Why do you think I’m doing all this, boy? I am doing this for you! When I’m done with all of this ugly, dirty work, when the Earth mission is complete as planned, I leave you without an enemy to fight! I leave you a free Atlantida, unencumbered by ancient threats of destruction, so that you can be a true divine Imperator—a saint, if you will—ruling in a golden age, a perfect time of peace and justice and harmony, as you’ve always wanted your reign to be—”

  “Enough, Father. You don’t know me as well as you think.” Aeson’s features are composed, but his eyes are radiant with anger. “I remind you again, I am Kassiopei. I am perfectly capable of making all the hard decisions that are necessary. But I will not commit atrocities. There are always other alternatives, and I will always strive to find them. If you consider that weakness, so be it. . . . But if I survive long enough to become Imperator, I will not accept the burden of your Earth genocide on my conscience, so do not ever say you are doing this for me!”

  “Ungrateful whelp!” the Imperator exclaims, stepping toward his son. I notice his fingers are twitching, hands starting to clench into fists.

  Would he hit his own son?

  I wonder in that terrible moment if the Imperator is guilty of actual physical abuse of his family in addition to the psychological kind.