The Nemisin Star (24 page)

All this Breem
relayed sotto voice to Torrullin when he showed him to the
facilities, his eyes saying what he dared not voice.

Lufer was not
to be trusted. Lufer reminded Torrullin of Tarrant, Force Justice
of Luvanor. The Force Justice had been a traitor, though, while
Lufer simply did his job.

Lufer had
already fired curt questions; where were they from, who were they,
what did they want, why was the water in their packs clear, how had
they known there were people underground, and many more, and
Torrullin answered as truthfully as possible without scaring the
man into harsh treatment or, worse, silence.

They were from
Valaris, known as the Valleur, they sought answers to questions
they were unsure how to ask, all water on their world was clear,
although the oceans were salty, and, yes, there was much water and
more ocean than land, and they had not known there were folk below,
they heard rumours.

What were
these mysterious questions, Lufer wanted to know, and Torrullin
diplomatically replied they were of a philosophical nature and did
they have thinkers in that field, or a religious caste?

Lufer,
unfortunately, had not given reply, for Mother Breem entered and
after an exchange of names called them to supper, including the
visitors. Guests, she called them, and treated them as such, no
doubt taking her cue from her son. Breem was still avid, but
careful with his superior close.

“Does Earth
still exist?” Tristamil asked, his mouth full.

Breem had no
answer, and Torrullin said, “I think so, but whether it is
inhabited I cannot say.”

“We should go
and look,” Tristamil muttered, finally pushing his empty plate
away.

Torrullin
grinned, seeing his son eat heartily. “We should.”

“It will put
the Beaconites’ noses out of joint if we find the original
people.”

Lufer barked
and a starry-eyed Breem translated. Lufer’s eyes narrowed.

The man is
an oaf
, Tristamil sent.

Agreed, but we
need him to get to those we seek. Be careful.

Mother Breem,
clucking, cleared the dishes and left the men to talk, amid sincere
compliments. Smiling, she said she would bring a pot of coffee. On
her way out she threw a dark look at Lufer from behind his back and
then winked at Tristamil.

He took it as
a clear warning about the oaf.

“Are you
seeking God?” Lufer asked, and Breem, after staring nonplussed at
his superior, translated.

Torrullin’s
lips twitched, but he answered. “Every race I have encountered has
a different view as to the godhead, and some believe in a female
deity. Others profess faith in an infinite number and variety of
gods, so the
God
you speak of may mean something entirely
new to me. I seek not God, I seek answers to the mysteries of the
Afterlife - I attempt to establish if such a state exists.”

“If you
believe in God then you naturally believe in the Afterlife,” Lufer
said, his gaze ever more suspicious. “If you still seek, then you
cannot believe. Perhaps you are an atheist,” and the way he sneered
the term left Torrullin in no doubt as to his views, “… and
therefore lost.”

Torrullin
frowned, uncertain how to proceed. The Cèlaver began this talk of
God, whatever that meant to him, but religion was ever a dangerous
topic. Obviously the man meant to form an impression of their own
belief system, which supposed he was a conservative and would not
take well to something outside of his faith.

Was he looking
for an excuse to be rid of them? Hand them over to someone else? Or
did he seek merely to preach? The latter seemed unlikely.

Torrullin
desired to be handed over to another more knowledgeable, without
being incarcerated. It would not hold them, but they would learn
nothing and this escapade would be for naught. He needed to stump
Lufer enough for the man to choose to wash his hands of them.

He spoke
carefully. “I am not an atheist and neither is my son, although I
grant your beliefs may regard us as such. It is my certainty that
religions are bound in some way; all lead back to the truth that
there is a Creator, and that love is the greatest of all
emotions.”

Breem nodded;
Lufer was stoic.

“The Valleur
put their trust in a Goddess and to us she is Mother Universe
Herself, an all-powerful Creator, the first and last in all things
and she does not distinguish between good and evil. She
Is
and we are her children, and by our actions and thoughts do we
ourselves determine our future into and beyond death. I am not
lost; I seek to know what form
beyond death
would assume,
for me.”

Lufer still
did not react and Breem appeared nervous. His gaze went from his
guests to his superior, then back. He had no trouble with what
Torrullin said - his research into ancient civilisations revealed
there were literally thousands of faiths - but he was clearly
concerned Lufer would not like what he heard.

Lufer was a
big man in early middle age, brawny, with dark eyes, and when he
sat forward one felt the need to retreat. Torrullin did not move,
but beside him Tristamil eased back. Lufer ignored the younger man,
keeping an unblinking gaze on the elder.

“You claim to
be father and son, yet you are near in age,” Lufer barked out.
Breem, in a squeaky voice, translated.

“I was a young
father.”

Lufer nodded,
but was not entirely satisfied. He changed direction again and both
father and son knew the friendly dinner atmosphere was gone; in its
place was interrogation.

“You said you
heard rumours about us,” Lufer said. “What did you hear?”

With Breem
doing running translation, Torrullin replied, “We heard this world
is not as dead as appearance suggests and that there is possibly an
entire nation flourishing within the planet itself.”

“Why pursue
whispers?”

“They were
more than whispers. The speculations were in written form.”

“Really?”
Breem burst out, and glanced at the Protection Master. Lufer
frowned at him and when the linguist explained, for the first time
the man was shaken.

“Explain!”

“Nobody lives
entirely alone and the Cèlaver are no exception. You admitted you
have had visitors and while I understand you may have impressed
upon them the need for silence, I would offer that it is not in
man’s nature to keep a secret forever. There is a great library on
Titania and it has several references about your world to lend
credence to the likelihood.”

“Visitors
never leave.”

Breem paled
and chewed at his bottom lip when he relayed that.

Torrullin
said, “I thought that may be the way of it.”

Lufer eyed
him, perplexed. He could discern no fear and did not like it. “You
are not afraid? Knowing what I imply?”

“Little scares
me, Protection Master.”

“How do you
explain the references in some library if no one ever left here to
tell about it?” This was from Breem and Torrullin silently thanked
him for the opening. Breem added in a neutral voice, “I honestly
did not know.”

“Do not fret,”
Torrullin responded neutrally, saying, “I would suggest to you it
is your process of rebirth.”

“I cannot tell
him that! He will kill you for sure!”

“Tell him. We
can take care of ourselves. Tell him I believe not all souls
qualifying for rebirth returned to Cèlaver and they were the ones
to reveal the secret of this world.”

Breem shifted
to Lufer, and Lufer grabbed him by the throat, snarling. Scared,
Breem relayed what was said. Lufer froze and then threw the
linguist aside and rose with dark menace. “So that is why you are
here!”

Mother Breem
entered, humming to herself, carrying a tray from which a delicious
coffee aroma wafted.

“Out!” Lufer
shouted, and Breem went to her.

She threw
Lufer a look, glanced at her guests, and left. Breem watched her
go, scratching at his skullcap. There was a swiftly whispered word
or two Lufer had not heard; he breathed too hard to hear anything.
Torrullin heard. She was off to find someone to aid her guests, and
her son.

“What do you
know of rebirth?” Lufer demanded, and called Breem back to the
table.

Torrullin
crossed his arms. “I shall not speak of this with a non-adept.” He
looked at Breem, who stared at him, and said, “Tell him.” Breem
shook his head and looked away. Lufer must have realised the
linguist was too frightened to say anything, for he growled,
causing the man to cower to the table. “Tell him or you will suffer
needlessly for it,” Torrullin insisted. Breem stared at his visitor
and haltingly relayed.

Lufer was
shaken. He swivelled on his heels, strode to the other door and
jerked it open to bellow.

“He is calling
the guards,” Breem said.

“Tell him you
need to come with to translate,” Torrullin said, and then was quiet
as Lufer and six big men stormed the table.

No one
required translation. Torrullin and Tristamil were grabbed from
behind and dragged from their chairs.

“There is no
need for this treatment. We are unarmed,” Torrullin protested.

Breem twisted
his hands and whispered the translation. Lufer ignored it and
gestured at his two biggest men to hold the strangers.

Torrullin
glanced significantly at the linguist, who squeaked something, and
Lufer paused. The scene froze for a few seconds before Lufer
nodded.

He waved the
linguist along with the two guards walking towards the door, and
had the rest frog-march Torrullin and Tristamil after them.

Grievous
bodily harm! How dare you, you filthy animal! I’ll have your head
and your liver as payment for this injustice! Better wear a
chastity belt from now on, you blithering idiot!

~ Tattle’s
Blunt Adventures

Prison
Cell

B
reem
continually glanced at the exit, but as yet nothing came of the
directive to his mother.

Transferring
his gaze to the two in the cell, he shrugged. In the end he would
not do too much to help, for his own life could be in question.

“Father, this
is stupid,” said
Tristamil
.

“Our friend
Lufer will be forced to report about us. Someone will come.”

“I need to
relieve myself,” said
Tristamil
.

“Breem, do you
think you could ask the guard to allow my son use of the privy?”
asked Torrullin.

Breem rose to
speak to the burly guard resting his feet on a scarred desk
opposite them. He appeared disinterested in the whole affair and
pointed at a bunch of keys on his desk. Breem returned to let
Tristamil out.

Torrullin
watched the guard. Appearances were deceptive; the man’s eyes were
alert. Obviously there was no escape from the facilities, for the
guard did not move from his position. When Tristamil returned,
Breem asked whether Torrullin would like to go, and he nodded. One
could not know what would happen next; best be comfortable.

Breem followed
Torrullin in. “This rebirth thing is shrouded in secrecy,” he
whispered as he relieved himself also. “Nobody questions it, for it
leads to death. Please be careful.”

“Then your
life is in danger. The more you translate, the more you know.
Perhaps you should bow out,” answered Torrullin.

The guard
entered, glowering. Torrullin returned to the cell and Breem took
his place on a stool in front of the bars, wringing his hands.

It was a
holding area, rather than long-term incarceration. There were four
cells, small, basic, clean, dry and warm. One cell was occupied
and, judging by the sound of continuous snores, slept off a bout of
drunkenness. The only entrance was the door they were brought
through, and the only furniture was the guard’s desk and chair and
Breem’s commandeered stool. They descended many stairs to reach
this place and here the rock was darker.

“Breem, how do
you survive? Food, water, necessities?” Tristamil asked.

“You have seen
only the smallest area, young man,” Breem replied. “There are …” He
paused. “You spoke in English!”

Tristamil
grinned. “It doesn’t take us long to learn, but I am not
fluent.”

Breem glanced
at Torrullin.

“I have not
yet mastered your language,” Torrullin said. “I am close.”

“Amazing!
How?” The linguist remembered the guard. “I had best not get too
excited and perhaps I would rather not hear how. Where was I? Yes,
factories. There are legions of manufacturing plants in another
region. In fact, you are fortunate that you chose this area for
initial contact. If discovered near the factories you would be
summarily accused of industrial espionage or sabotage, and they
would not even bother with a trial. Many factions here, much
jealousy. Anyway, we churn out anything you can conceive and we
also have extensive caverns of hydroponically grown vegetables and
fruit, herbs, spices, even flowers, but the latter are so pricey an
ordinary man cannot afford them.”

“And the raw
materials?” Tristamil queried, impressed by the underground
sustainability.

“Most of it is
already here, particularly metals and the like. As to the rest,
that is a bit of a mystery.”

“There must be
trading relations in place,” Torrullin murmured.

“Yes, but who
with I cannot begin to guess and I can only assume whoever it is
knows nothing of where the goods come to.”

“Fronts, dummy
companies. Someone here has the freedom to go beyond the confines
of this world.”

“And power?
How do you generate it?” Tristamil asked.

“We have solar
collectors and wind turbines, but mostly our engines are charged
with fossil fuel. We have an inexhaustible supply of that.”