The Exiled Earthborn (11 page)

“Not many of us still recognize ourselves,” Lucas said. “I certainly don’t.”

“I must … I must decode his data. I am sorry you had to witness that.”

He stepped into the lift with four armed guards accompanying him. Apparently Tannon wasn’t letting him stroll around unmonitored after that incident.

“I would have done the same,” Lucas said. The look in Alpha’s eyes was one of haunting sorrow.

“Alpha, what is the Desecrator?”

Alpha glanced up at him.

“A story. Nothing more.”

But there was no mistaking the expression of fear he wore as the doors closed.

Lucas returned to the holding block and found Mars Maston slouched against the wall opposite another pane of one-way glass. Inside was Hex Tulwar, his remaining arm restrained while his stump was wrapped in a bloody pressurized bandage hooked up to a nearby machine. He legs were firmly planted to the floor inside unmoving metal cuffs, and his shirt remained torn open to show his scars. His face was battered from the crash and Maston’s subsequent assault. No one was questioning him, and he barely looked conscious. Lucas figured he must be on a steady flow of painkillers for the recent loss of his limb.

Maston was disheveled with his uniform unbuttoned and curled black hair covering his eyes. He rubbed his raw knuckles, which were split open from their recent contact with Tulwar’s face. He spoke without looking at Lucas.

“If you’re here to stop me from finishing the job, don’t worry, everyone on this level has strict orders not to let me in there.”

He turned to him.

“Though I hear no one made any such restrictions on your friend down the hall. I didn’t think he had it in him.”

Lucas stared through the glass at Tulwar, whose head was bobbing slightly.

“He was provoked.”

Maston let out a short laugh. Lucas thought he smelled the all-too-familiar scent of alcohol, or whatever its equivalent was here.

“Provoked? You’re going to tell me about being provoked when you stopped me from killing the man who murdered Cora in cold blood?”

Lucas sighed.

“No one cares about another dead Xalan. But they’ll care about him.”

He nodded toward Tulwar.

“Not for long,” Maston said darkly. “We’re already releasing evidence onto the Stream about his conspiracy with the Xalans. We got plenty from the raid, and even his allies will find it indefensible. The wildfire of the Fourth Order is about to be extinguished. And when it’s his turn to be put down for good, I’ll be the one to do it.”

Lucas turned to Maston.

“When he was on his knees back there, he said something about being greeted by Kyneth and Zurana. Who are they?”

Maston scoffed.

“Pagan nonsense, though a belief half the planet used to share back in ancient times.”

He scratched his head and continued staring straight ahead.

“Kyneth and Zurana were the first two Sorans. They arose out of the Blessed Forest a few million years ago and gave birth to our entire race. They eventually became worshipped as gods, and their followers believe they sit on the oak thrones, judging the dead who enter the afterlife.”

“And you’re not a believer, I take it?”

Maston shook his head.

“Almost no one is anymore. Well, no one but these fanatics who have twisted it into their own self-serving dogma.” He motioned to Tulwar. “When we grew into this age of science, it seemed impossible for anyone to truly believe these superstitious folktales. And yet, some still persist. Religion was actually made illegal on Sora a few eras ago, but that was a disaster. After the Sacred Wars, we let people think what they wanted.”

“The Blessed Forest, huh? We had a story like that back on Earth, but it was a garden, and there was a talking snake and some really bad fruit involved. A lot of people believed that one too.”

“Legends are more interesting than facts, I suppose.”

Maston was starting to slur noticeably now. He paused for a moment and stared past Lucas.

“Cora believed,” he said quietly. “Not in all the bullshit in the Tomes of the Forest. But she believed in a greater power, that someone was looking out for her, for us. I mocked her for it, but some days I wish I had her faith. It made her so … peaceful. Even the deaths of her father and brothers she handled with more grace than should be possible. I never understood that kind of power. I probably never will.”

He looked directly at Lucas.

“I-I don’t have the ability
not
to kill Tulwar for this. What you said stopped me for a moment, but I’ll never forgive him. Not like she would. I can’t. And he’ll never forgive me.”

“Forgive
you
? For what?”

Maston waved him off. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small vial of brown liquid. He threw his head back and inhaled the entire thing. A few more clinked inside his coat.

“Why the hell am I talking to you anyway? I’ve had too many of these. Just leave me alone.”

Lucas shook his head and turned to leave. If he kept that pace, Maston’s vials would render him unconscious soon enough. But who could blame him? It had been a hell of a day. A hell of a year, for that matter.

Lucas left Maston to wallow, locked ten feet away from a man he desperately wanted dead. It was a tragic scene Lucas was finding hard to shake, and it had been a glimpse inside Maston’s head that went beyond the pompous asshole from the party or the vengeful soldier he’d seen since then. Cora’s death had hit him hard, and after learning something of their history, it was difficult not to feel for him. Lucas wondered if he would have been better off letting Maston beat Tulwar into oblivion back on Rhylos. What did Lucas care about the politics of this strange planet anyway?

But he owed Talis. She had faith in him when a dozen military officials were likely calling for his execution back when he was locked up, and had treated him with nothing but kindness ever since. If she wanted the murderer of her daughter to face justice alive, then so be it.

The lift doors opened and Lucas found himself on a level of the palace he’d never been to before. He double checked the virtual map on his wrist and found he was indeed in the right location, thankfully no longer deep under the planet’s surface. There were people bustling around everywhere, and Lucas was relieved to spot a familiar face.
What was his name again?

“Keeper Auran!” he called, motioning to the old man. The man smiled, adding a host of new wrinkles to his complexion, and he sauntered over to Lucas. His long robes were a rich green today with gold cords weaving in and out of the fabric.

“It is good to see you well,” he said warmly. “After I left the Throne Room I feared the worst when I heard the explosion.”

“Glad to see you weren’t around either,” Lucas said.

“Indeed. I’ve heard the lady is recovering from her recent brush with the Fourth Order?”

“She is,” Lucas said as the pair of them walked down the hall.

“I must apologize on behalf of my planet that you would receive such a welcome after making the perilous journey you have.”

Lucas waved him off.

“Trust me, if you came to Earth you would have seen wars and depravity a lot worse than your rebellion.”

Auran sighed.

“We’ve had plenty of conflicts worse than this most recent flare-up. It seems there is no escaping them for Sorans, here or elsewhere.”

“Can I ask you something?” Lucas said as he caught two older women staring at him as he passed. He could hear them whisper between themselves once his back was to them.

“Certainly,” Auran said, his gait slow and methodical.

“Why does the Fourth Order hate the Vales so much? Or is it the government in general?”

“Ah,” Auran said, nodding. “Someone needs to sit you down and give you a Soran history lesson someday.”

“Haven’t had much time for that yet,” Lucas said.

“I suppose that would be true; you’ve been too busy making it.”

“Making what?”

“History, of course.”

Lucas chuckled. He sometimes forgot the weight of his appearance on Sora. Why people were staring at him left and right as he walked down the hall. His face was plastered across the Stream in every home. The stranger. The alien. The Earthborn.

“As for your question, it warrants an answer, but it’s not one I can provide you with here.”

Lucas was confused.

“What? Why not?”

“Though Talis Vale is a more friendly Chancellor than we’ve had in decades, she does have her sticking points. Speaking about that day within the palace is strictly forbidden.”

“What day?”

“I cannot speak further, lest my voiceprint be tagged and transmitted to security. Even as Keeper of the Palace, I would be subject to punishment.”

This seemed much too draconian for the Talis Vale Lucas knew.

“Alright, sorry, I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Auran shook his head.

“It is of no consequence. I can hardly blame her. It is, after all, the day she lost her father.”

Lucas walked on in silence as he thought that through. If her father was High Chancellor before her, this unspoken day must have been when she assumed power. But how did that relate to the fury of the Fourth Order?

“In any event, we have reached your destination, Lucas.”

Lucas liked that Auran referred to him by name; he was growing tired of being called “Earthborn” all the time. The pair of them stopped near a large opaque door.

“How did you know where I was going?”

Auran smiled.

“Why else would you be on this floor?”

The doors opened and they were greeted by chaos. Children ran everywhere, being chased by teenaged Sorans trying to corral them. The room was full of toys, both holographic and physical, and the walls were painted brightly with landscapes of blue mountains and red trees. Auran entered with him and he had to avoid tripping over a stuffed animal, species unknown. Looking around the room, Lucas found what he was searching for.

“Hah!” Auran exclaimed. “I see your son has already met my granddaughter. Hello, Kyra and Noah!”

At the sound of his name, Noah turned his head. He was kneeling on the ground next to a young girl, and was dressed in a light blue one-piece covered with seven-pointed stars. When he saw Lucas, he shoved himself to his feet and ran over to give his leg a bearhug.

“Oo-cas!” he squealed.

“Hey, little man,” Lucas said, hoisting him up into his arms. “Having fun?”

Noah nodded vigorously.

The little girl he was playing with had wispy blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a pair of deep dimples. Auran reached for her hand as she toddled toward them.

“This is my granddaughter, Kyra,” he said.

“Hello,” Lucas said and smiled at her. She grinned mischievously, but quickly hid behind Auran’s robes.

“Her mother works in the consular office a few floors up.”

The palace nursery was for the children of those serving in the Vale administration and working in the building on a daily basis. Lucas had been told Noah was brought here in order to socialize him with other children. At over a year old, he hadn’t had any contact with anyone close to his age in months, and when he had, it was in a cannibal orphanage in god knows what conditions. From the looks of things now, however, he seemed to be adjusting just fine. Lucas eyed the burns creeping down past the sleeves of his tiny outfit. The kid sure was resilient.

“How old is she?” Lucas asked.

“About little Noah’s age here, though I’m sorry I can’t recall the proper Earth year translation. Arithmetic was never my strong suit.”

Noah waved to be set down and he ran toward the little girl. He took her by the sleeve and the two of them wobbled off toward a brightly lit console projecting animated versions of nearby planets. Noah was a little too eager to get there and fell flat onto his butt, which made Kyra giggle.

“Born a trillion miles apart and already getting along famously,” Auran said with a wink.

“I’m glad he’s found a friend,” Lucas said as he watched the two babble at each other. “Lord knows he could use one.”

A few hours later, Lucas had seen Noah off to bed in a lavish nursery room near the top of the palace. The child had every toy and comfort in the world up there, but he still fell asleep each night clutching the holoball Alpha had made him aboard the Ark.

Now, Lucas sat in the darkened hospital wing, a few feet from Asha’s bed where she lay sleeping. She’d had several microsurgeries throughout the course of the day, repairing torn muscles and hairline fractures, and now had been out for a few hours.

Lucas could not sleep.

His dreams had been strange lately, unsettling. Drifting off would likely yield some terrifying new vision, and so he staved off exhaustion for as long as he could. He found himself looking through a scroll, a small, thin, metal cylinder that projected a virtual piece of paper from its side. You could write and read on it, but its primary purpose was viewing the Stream. He sifted through the various news stories of the day, the majority of which were about him, Asha, Alpha, and Tulwar’s attack on the palace. Lucas had the volume tuned into a frequency set that only he could hear it, so as not to disturb Asha. A newswoman dressed in what looked like a shirt made out of silver scales was showing footage from the early morning raid. Lucas saw the familiar sight of Tulwar side by side with his Xalan scientist after their capture. The video feed cut off before Maston showed up and started beating him into the dust.

Lucas flipped around some more until he discovered the search function. It was for the Palace Archives, a place Auran had told him might have the answers he sought about the Fourth Order and the Vales.

He was met with nothing. No results other than a simple page detailing the various atrocities committed by the Order over the years. And there were many. It seemed the palace assault wasn’t their first bombing, and they’d targeted dozens of other government buildings on a variety of continents. Mysteriously absent, however, was any explanation of how the Order came into existence, or even what their stated goals were. The Soran term for “anarchists” came up frequently.