Branegate (18 page)

Or so they thought.

The core of the home galaxy was crowded with great clouds of molecular hydrogen and new stars were still being born there at a prodigious rate. Illuminated by new stars the clouds seemed to boil, spewing forth tendril signatures of baby suns.

Picket ships were waiting for them, black insect shapes silhouetted against the glowing clouds. They made rendezvous with the great vessel that traveled between universes like a rogue planet. Passengers and their luggage were transferred to the pickets before the ship moved on towards Port Angel. There, it would be refitted in orbit before the return trip to the universe of the colonies. The pickets took all passengers to Cay Benz for processing and assignment to appropriate shuttles. Several worlds were still occupied near the core. One of these worlds was Kratola, the oldest stronghold of The Immortals, and its political capital.

For Leonid and Tatjana Zylak, it was home.

They packed their luggage, boarded a picket, and settled in for a one day sprint to immigration Cay. They amused themselves by reading, and watching a holo-play, and when the arrival at Cay Benz was announced they gathered their carry-on things and prepared to disembark with the others.

A cabin attendant asked them to sit down again, saying they were being met by a special delegation after the rest of the passengers had disembarked. Both assumed it was a delegation sent by Tatjana’s family, for this had happened on occasion in the past. They waited, unconcerned. The rest of the passengers walked the connecting tunnel into the great orbital Cay, an artificial world the size of a large moon. Hollow inside, it was a city of twelve layers with a resident population of twenty million souls.

They waited in a departure lounge, the cabin attendant watched them from the exit, finally made a phone call. “They’ll be here for you in a moment,” she said nicely, and left.

Boots pounded the floor of the tunnel. Six men entered, military men with helmets and black armor. Five carried rifles, the sixth had a sidearm and saluted them.

“Are you Leonid and Tatjana Zylak?”

“We are,” said Leonid.

“Your papers, please.”

Leonid handed them over, wondering who he was talking to. He’d never seen men in such uniforms before. “Are you with immigration?” he asked. “As you can see, we’re citizens of Kratola.”

“Where are you coming from?” asked the man examining their papers. He seemed to be an officer.

Leonid told him, “We’ve been on a long mission for our government. It’s all described in our documents.”

The man smirked at them, closed the folder containing their papers and made no move to hand them back.

“My papers, please,” said Leonid, and held out his hand.

“Your papers are invalid. You’ll have to be detained. Come with us, please.”

The soldiers with him stepped forward, rifles at port arms.

Tatjana gasped. “I don’t understand,” said Leonid. “We’re representatives of the state.”

“It will be explained to you, sir. Please.” The officer gestured for them to follow him. His soldiers moved in close.

They walked the tunnel, their shoulders touching hard armor on either side. The reception lounge they came out into was empty. Two electric-powered carts awaited them. They got into one with the officer and a soldier. The others followed, and they went swiftly down a passage that had been cordoned off on both sides. People gawked at them from behind barriers as they passed by. A soldier was by each barrier, rifle slung. Leonid had only seen military in shuttleports on Gan, a product of a dictatorship.
What is going on here?

They were taken directly to Immigration Control. The officer took them inside and gave their papers to a man in civilian clothes with a colorful sunburst pin on his lapel, a sun rising above a horizon.

They sat in chairs and waited while the man chatted with the officer and casually went through their papers. Leonid could hear nothing, felt nothing. There was no cerebral connection for him to these people. He wondered if they were even his own kind. He looked at Tatjana, but she was too afraid to even speak.
Don’t worry, darling.
He took her hand, and held it.

The officer finally stepped away from the civilian and beckoned them to come forward. They stood before a desk, and the civilian smiled up at them. “You’ve been away for a long time, I see,” he said.

“The better part of two lifetimes,” said Leonid. “We’re portal emissaries for the state, assigned to establish missions on the other side. We’ve worked on several worlds there.”

“Your work is known, Mister Zylak. I’m sure The Church is grateful for what you’ve done. You’ve also established quite an empire for yourself.”

“We worked for the state, the Council of Blue and Green. Both parties sent us. The Church followed later; we’re not affiliated with it, though we have many friends who are. They’ve been the caretakers of our only son.”

The man looked at their papers again. “It says nothing here about a child.”

“He was born on Gan, on the other side. He was murdered when he was small by an Emperor who opposed our work.” Leonid took a short breath to continue his story, but was stopped by a sudden, powerful thought.

Say no more! Let them think he’s dead!

He gasped, and breathed again. “Sorry, it’s difficult for me to think about it.”

“It would help if you could tell me the child was baptized in The Church.”

“What does that have to do with anything? We’re returning emissaries for our government. Why are we even being questioned here?” asked Leonid.

“You said yourself that you’re not members of The Church.”

“That’s irrelevant. We have total separation between Church and State.”

“That is no longer true.”

“What?”

The man sighed, and made a show of being patient. “I realize you’ve been gone a very long time and that communication between universes is slow. The fact remains the government that sent you on your mission no longer exists. It has not existed for the past twenty years, so you can see why your papers are invalid. By law, I could put you right back on the ship for return through the portal.”

Tatjana’s voice quavered as she struggled to control herself. “Kratola is our family home. Our families are still there,” she hissed. “What kind of government do you have that will refuse family members to visit each other?”

“Now, now,” said the man quickly. “I didn’t say I was going to send you back, but that law would allow it if I chose to. Family is precious to The Church, and I’m of The Faithful.” He pointed to the pin on his lapel. “But the government you represent became corrupt in its last days. Its extreme liberalism allowed policies despised by both The Church and general populace. The separation of Church and State you talk about was doomed to failure, leading only to anarchy. A healthy populace must be led spiritually as well as politically. A Grand Bishop and Council of Bishops have now accomplished that. They create and approve laws, working with a Congress of The People which is freely elected.”

The Bishops rule. Democracy is gone. This is against everything I worked for on the other side.

Leonid blinked. “So what must we do now? We still want to go home.”

The man smiled. “I can give you a transit visa to Kratola, but your stay will be limited to one year at most. You must present yourself to Immigration officials on planet. Your papers will be useful only for information purposes to them. I cannot predict how you’ll be received.”

“We’ll take that chance,” said Leonid. “We want to see our families again.”

“Please sit,” said the man. “It’ll take a few minutes to prepare your visas and arrange spaces on the shuttle. It departs in three hours.”

The man went away. They sat again, and waited. And waited. Nearly an hour had passed when the man came back with their shuttle tickets and visas in glossy, blue folders. He handed them over and pointed to the officer still standing at attention near them.

“This man will accompany you to the departure lounge. I’ve already arranged transport of your luggage. Have a nice trip, and I hope, once you’ve been here a while, you’ll realize that our society is much better for the changes that have occurred since you were last here. Perhaps you’ll choose to be one of The Faithful again.”

I doubt it
. “Thank you,” said Leonid. “You’ve been quite understanding.” He took Tatjana by the hand, and followed the officer out the door. A few steps and they were in terminal traffic again, and nobody seemed to notice they were following an armored military man with a sidearm. Guards were everywhere, at every departure lounge, even in front of the restrooms.
Are they keeping people out, or in?
wondered Leonid.

They reached their departure lounge. The officer sat down near them, but over the next hour refused their attempts at making polite conversation. After a while Leonid realized the man was trying to remain invisible, showing no connection to them.

He was still sitting there when their shuttle was called, did not move his head when they stood in line and were processed through to the departure tunnel. A hostess greeted them, and they were seated. There was the usual demonstration of the sedative masks for use during the two-spacetime jumps ahead. Takeoff was on time, a high angle burn for two minutes at two gee, then steady acceleration at one gee for several moments before reaching the first jump point.

They slept, and awoke for another seven hours of powered flight, then slept again. When they awoke the second time Kratola was a green disk the size of a sovereign coin held at arm’s length on their view-screen. The next morning they touched down after a spiral, gliding descent through the atmosphere of the planet. Once again an attendant asked them to remain seated until the rest of the passengers had exited the craft. Again they walked the tunnel to the reception lounge alone.

An officer and four soldiers, all clad in black armor, met them at the door, and they were arrested on the spot for treason against The Church. They made no protest, did not respond in any way, were marched out a side entrance to a police van parked on the tarmac and put in the back like two common criminals.

At a nearby police station they were not fingerprinted or interviewed, but were placed, mercifully, together in a small cell. There was an open toilet, and two stone slabs for beds. A thin soup was their dinner. The man who served it said they would appear in court the following morning for arraignment on the charges. He picked up their empty bowls later and turned off the lights, leaving them in pitch-blackness.

Tatjana sobbed part of the night away before anger took over and she began attempts at contacting her family. But there were no friendly voices or thoughts to comfort them.

CHAPTER 17

A
zar Khalil made a telephone call two hours before the strike. The assault team had already left for the palace and disturbances had begun in the streets.

Joseph himself answered the call. “Yes?”

“Joseph, it has begun. Today is the day we take back our freedom.”

“I know. The others are in the streets. You said there would be special orders for me.”

“Orders for my most dedicated Soldier of The Church. I’m asking much of you; your life will be at extreme risk.”

“I will gladly give my life for The Church.”

“Only if there is no other way to take the life of He Who Opposes The Church. The assault team is on its way. My hope is they’ll accomplish the task. You’ll be a backup, coming in from a different direction. You’ll be on your own, without a support group. The Source will guide you. Your task is to search for and kill the Emperor of all Gan. You must first be equipped properly. I’ll tell you where to go for that. The people there will give you your route into the palace and the best places to intercept your target once the attack begins.”

“I’m ready. Where should I go?”

Azar told him, then, “You will enter the palace in two hours, my friend. Know that the blessings of The Source are upon you, and if you must die today you’ll be taken into His loving arms for eternity. Blessed be The Source.”

“Blessed be,” said Joseph, and hung up.

I could use another dozen like him,
thought Azar, and called his driver. “Get the car ready. I want to go to the club for lunch and a sauna. And I won’t be taking any calls the rest of the morning.”

*

The demonstration came as no surprise to the Emperor of all Gan. He’d been anticipating it for weeks, and his spies were well located, taking pictures of everyone in the crowd. It was orderly enough, no reason for a violent response, but his soldiers lined the fence around the palace, and the regional guard base a few miles away had been put on alert.

Khalid Osman watched the demonstration from his office window for only minutes before growing bored with it. “If they want martial law rescinded, all they have to do is turn over the assassins to me,” he complained to an aid, then went back to work at his desk.

Outside, the crowd waved placards protesting travel restrictions, martial rule, brutal police, and isolation from other world-states. There was no chanting or singing; thousands of people marched shoulder to shoulder around the fenced periphery of the palace in a show of solidarity.

Near the rear of the palace grounds, away from the main street, a van pulled up, but was blocked by the moving crowd from reaching the entrance where deliveries were made. The driver remained patient for a few minutes, then began honking his horn. A few in the crowd gestured obscenely at him, but did not make way.

Finally a dozen troops came out of the gate and pushed the crowd back on two sides so the van could get through. It was a regular and familiar enough delivery from a catering service in the city. The van pulled slowly up to the gate, was just beginning to pass through when suddenly the side panels of the vehicle popped out as if struck from inside. Men dressed and hooded in black were in the van, and they opened fire on both troops and citizens. Brass scattered as bullets shredded cloth, flesh and bone. Troops standing nearby were the first to die. The crowd panicked and people trampled each other trying to get away. Other troops converged on the area and were cut down as their assailants poured out of the van and ran towards the delivery entrance of the palace. A single shot from a heavy shoulder weapon destroyed the door, and the terrorists were inside. Troops went in after them, but were cut down until their bodies piled up, blocking the doorway. Other troops retreated a few steps, but continued firing into the building as the crowd ran away, leaving behind both dead and wounded citizens.