The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption (47 page)

“Ah” was all I could muster. A grey-haired
man with pruny, wrinkled features and a hunchback
^xxxvi
served us a 9 inch
plate of what looked like vegetables, beans, and tofu. That’ll keep
those figures in check, I told myself, as I dived into the lunch
provided. I was delighted to find the tastes strong and appealing.
“Mmmm.”

“Yes, it is quite tasty,” echoed Spud,
swallowing.

“Not bad,” John agreed. “But for seconds I’d
love some beef.”

Gasps came from Heron and the tables around
us. As did glares.

John scanned the now scolding faces. “What?
What did I say?”

Heron cleared his throat. “We have evolved
beyond primitive carnivorism here,” he chided.

John gulped down the veggies in his mouth and
forced out the words. “Just kidding.” His eye roll to me made it
clear he wasn’t. The sigh was superfluous.

Apparently, so were ‘seconds’. As soon as our
plates were clean, Heron instructed us to collect them, along with
those of the other diners, and carry them to the “processing
room”-- which very much resembled a kitchen.

“Please scrape off any remaining food into
the gutter and place the plates on the conveyor belts,” Heron
instructed. I noted the few scraps left would drain into a bin
labeled “Anakyklosis”. Yep, “recycle”.

“I must commend you,” Spud said after we’d
finished ‘paying our dues’, “on your efficiency.”

Heron raised both palms. “How could we be
otherwise? Our resources are limited, and we must live moderately
and judiciously.
Pan Metron Ariston
,” rolled off his
tongue.

I recognized the ancient Greek phrase even
without my Ergal. ‘Everything in moderation.’ Hoo-boy. Spud may
have been impressed, but a place like this would be torture for me
before long. I liked playing it closer to the edge. And then taking
a flying leap. John’s sour expression seemed to also betray “A need
for speed”. We needed to find out where we were—and how to get out
of here—soon.

Chapter 12

Socrates Caves

“You can’t tell me that life doesn’t get
boring in this—this utopia,” John admitted, sprinkling scads of
sarcasm on the last word.

I’d expected Heron would be offended, but he
just smiled, stepping aside and waving us into another large hall.
This auditorium was filled with recliners, some arrayed in groups
and some stationed solo. Some of the loungers were filled with Nea
Alexandrians—in the diverse groups, those seated were engaged in
dynamic discussions, a few penning intricate designs with geometric
and mathematical symbols with a stylus on clay tablets. The loners
seemed to be staring off into space, oblivious to the world around
them. Weird. A few of the townsfolk, eyes dancing, were holding
clay tablets that, on closer inspection, were actually screens with
pictures and writing that resembled one-page books.

“We only limit what is limited,” Heron
explained once we’d taken in the scene. “Natural resources are
finite, imagination is infinite. Discussions, debate, communion.
All cost us nothing but time.” He picked up one of the tablets from
a shelf and turned the screen towards us. “Information to spur
creativity and thought. Boring? We’d need twice the hundred and
twenty years we live to absorb all the knowledge and lore at our
disposal.”

I could see Spud brighten. “May I possibly
obtain access to these data?” he asked, striving to keep his tone
even.

“Of course,” Heron responded, pulling another
tablet off a shelf and handing it to my partner, who eagerly began
manipulating the inputs on the display. “Knowledge has even more
value when it is shared and seeds synergy. We encourage and value
open information exchange and review.”

I snorted. “Some fundamentalist religions
would disagree with you.”

A frown creased Heron’s brow. “We came to
this country to find freedom from religion. Except as a historical
oddity, of course. Dogma is the antithesis of discovery.”

“Can’t argue with that,” John chimed in.
“Though I prefer to physically visit new worlds rather than
virtually think them up.”

Heron laughed. “I envy your certainty that
that is what you are doing, Visitor. I daresay you’ll find plenty
of the similarly beguiled in Nea Romi when you return.”

Anger flashed in John’s eyes. “What the—“

“Yes,” interjected Spud, laying a restraining
arm on my brother. “Heron is correct. When does the next airship
depart for the Atlantic Coast?”

“Tomorrow morning’s flight is to Nea Athina.
From there, the train takes only three hours to get to Nea Romi. If
you’d like, I can arrange beds for you tonight next to this
library. You can continue your studies after you sup.”

I frowned. I was about to ask, “Shouldn’t we
try heading west, towards our homes in L.A.?”

After signaling us to be quiet, Spud flashed
an atypically warm smile at his host. “Yes, seats to Nea Athina
would be excellent. We would like that very much indeed.”

* * *

I had to admit that even I couldn’t wait to
see what Spud had discovered—and what he had in mind. He refused to
talk about his research until all the supper dishes were processed,
and the three of us were walking back towards the library.

“I shall be continuing my research during the
night,” Spud informed us. “But there is light.”

“Mind shining some of that light over our
way?” John said, looking less than pleased.

“It is a capital mistake to theorize before
you have all the evidence,” Spud returned. “I suggest you take
advantage of the sleeping arrangements Heron has made, for we shall
resume our journey in the morning.”

“Journey? Journey to where?” I asked.

But Spud was already far ahead of us. Without
looking back, he entered the library and disappeared.

* * *

Our sleeping quarters were in a corner of
another auditorium. Only pony walls made of bark separated us from
the snoring men in the next cubicle. I’d visited Japan on a
publicity tour for
Bulwark
last winter and marveled at the
tiny human drawers that some travelers used to catch a nap at the
airport. With three mats on the floor, the cubicle in which we sat
felt just as claustrophobic.

John was stretched out on the mat against the
wall, his head resting on a feather pillow. I laid down next to
him, my arms folded across my chest, my eyes glued to the thatched
ceiling above us, unsure of how to begin.

“I couldn’t do it any more.”

I rolled over on my side to face him.
“What?”

“Be a hero.” He sighed. “Your hero.”

“Wow.” I swallowed an uninvited giggle.
“Never asked you to.” I rolled back onto my back, and stumbled on
the words. “Just wanted my brother.”

I heard his smile. “You have four others, you
know.” A hint of a chuckle. “George is enough brother for all of
us.”

“But he’s not you.” My voice cracked. “It’s
been almost three years. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. Especially you.” Another
sigh. “Peas in a pod.”

“Like hell.” But a stealth grin did pull at
my lips.

We said nothing for a few minutes. John had a
point. He’d carried our whole family, all nine of us, for years
after Grandpa Alexander passed. He deserved a break now that Connie
and George could fill his shoes. A chance to do something for
himself.

But, this? A futile quest in collusion with
the most hated terrorist in the Zygan Federation. Why had he really
chosen this path? Was he working undercover like Wart? Misguided,
as I’d thought Nephil Stratum had been? Or obsessed with scoring a
ticket to paradise like his loathsome mentor?

I turned on my side and asked the
question.

“I’m on secret assignment for Zygint,” he
whispered.

“Ha.” I waited. Silence. A long silence.

Finally. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you’re on secret assignment for
Zygint.”

“Works for me,” he said, with a wink. “It’s
good to know the right answers, isn’t it?”

I hesitated for a moment. “In the
Plegma—“

John sat up. “You went to the Plegma?”

“Uh-huh. Inside, there was this creepy guy,
Mel, who tried to seduce us into staying—no, not that way.” I
laughed when I saw his alarmed expression.

He laid back down, frowning. “He showed me
like a 3-D holo, solid, of us, our family, all around the table.
You were there, healthy, and—“ my voice cracked—“so was Grandpa
Alexander.”

Both of John’s eyebrows rose.

“He looked so robust. Like I remember him.
How old was he?” I asked quietly. “In the end?”

John shrugged, “Grandpa? Thousands of years,
I’d say. Never really knew. None of us ever thought he’d transition
so soon.”

“And you’re trying to find him? In Level
3?”

John met my eyes. “I expect to when I get
there. That
is
where the Helianthi live.”

Furrowed brow. That word again. Helianthi.
Unfamiliar from my Zygint uploads, my Zygan cosmology. “Who—what
are the Helianthi?”

“Benedict never told you?” Genuine
surprise.

Come on, John. “Benedict and I were never
exactly on the same side.”

I saw John hesitate. “Maybe you’d better ask
Gary. I don’t want to be telling tales out of school—Mingferplatoi
Academy, that is.”

My turn to be surprised. John didn’t know
that Gary, our former Head of Earth Core, another Benedict ally,
had died trying to make a dimensional crossing. I echoed, “Benedict
never told you?”

John shook his head.

I looked away. “Gary didn’t survive his last
attempt to transition to Brane 5 or wherever we just were.”

John’s shock was palpable. He turned his
head, brushing an errant lock of hair away from his eyes. I
pretended not to see any lacrimal liquids.

“Maybe he finally made it to Level 3,” I
ventured. “That was the goal, wasn’t it?”

No answer.

I waited a few minutes, until John cleared
his throat. “So here’s my other question. Who was the red-haired
woman at our table?”

Confusion on John’s face.

“In Mel’s mirage. Sitting next to Grandpa
Alexander, there was a red-haired woman.”

“Andi?” A beat. “Our little sister.”

I rolled my eyes. “In her forties? Hardly.
No, she was somebody else, somebody familiar, though I don’t
remember meeting her before.”

John extended his hands in an ‘I don’t know’
gesture.

“Maybe she was Stacy?” When Wart and I had
gone to the RAM on Zyga to steal back Anesidora’s neurocache for
Benedict, my time loop avatar had shouted that I should ‘find out
about Stacy’ just before she’d been vaporized by the Chidurian
Sentinels guarding the chamber. But I hadn’t been able to discover
who she was.

“Don’t know any Stacys,” John muttered. “With
red hair or any other color.”

“You don’t think maybe…?” I led. No
response.

The thought had flashed into my mind. I
suppose I should’ve considered it sooner, but my memories before
age six were misty after more than a decade. But John had been 14.
“Our parents? Is that what this is all about?”

I could see the blood drain from John’s face.
He moved to speak and then fell silent. After an eternity, he
turned to me, his expression sober. “Shiloh, I have something to
tell you.”

“Capital!” Spud appeared standing over us,
aiming his tablet down towards our mats. “The library evidence
proves my theory correct. We shall depart in the morning for Nea
Athina.”

Chapter 13

Led by Zeppelin

Spud’s arrival silenced John for the rest of
the night. Spud insisted we attempt to sleep, as, lacking
functioning Ergals--or jet planes, we would be traveling for two
days by airship. As in blimp.

My nudges and whispers for John to finish his
remarks were ignored, though they managed to annoy Spud and earned
me a number of glares from the locus of his mat. Looked like it
would be a while before John and I could pick up our
conversation.

Spud, somehow, was up before dawn and ready
to go. Heron was another early bird, arriving at our inn with
sandwiches made of pumpkin bread, vegetable slices, and cheese. One
each.

I gave half of mine to John and followed the
men down the road towards the launch field. I was surprised to see
how many of the Nea Alexandrians were up and about on the
streets.

“Early to bed and early to rise makes man
healthy and wise,” Heron advised.

“You forgot ‘wealthy’,” John grumbled.

Heron’s expression resembled that of a man
who has stepped into something fecal on the street. “Wealth is not
a virtue,” was all he managed to say.

Spud, ever polite, thanked Heron for his
hospitality and assistance--with our accompanying nods.

“I had to ask,” I said to Heron, “How did you
find us in the first place?”

“That is my contribution to the Koinotis,”
Heron explained—a little. “I serve as a scanner, patrolling the
hills and glades and welcoming our visitors.” His tone was guarded,
as he added, “Though we are centuries past the Years of Transition
to peace, there are still Xenoi who might represent a danger to our
way of life.”

“Sounds ominous,” I said, trying to appear
empathetic. “Barbarians at the gates. You’d fight back, right?”

Heron frowned, “
We
are not
barbarians.” He took a visible deep breath. “We would sedate them
and deport them, of course. The Barbarians are free to build the
societies they desire in Oceania, oceans away from our havens and
ports.”

John snorted, “That’ll last long. Watch your
back, folks. They’ll return someday. Aggression always
aggresses.”

“Aggression, my dear guests,” Heron returned,
“is not only not a virtue, but a crime.”

The sun’s rays were teasing the horizon as we
arrived at the field where the massive silver ship was moored. At
least several hundred feet long with a semi-rigid frame. The
gondola was the size of a large van and could seat a dozen.
“Helium, I hope,” I said to Heron, remembering the Hindenburg’s
fiery crash in the 1930’s.