The Thrice Born Page 16

  Unable to keep silent, Zahve took a step closer to the center of the platform. All eyes from the colonists looked to him as he spoke to Astara. “This is an extraordinary interruption of my work. And most insulting.”

  She gave him a level look, ignoring the disappointment in Samyaza’s glance to the side of the platform. “What you two are doing is absolutely against biological procedures permitted by the Codex.”

  Maya looked to Samyaza. “Is this true, Captain?”

  “You’ve placed the laboratories, excavations and agricultural regions under my command, Commander,” he said, talking around the question, as he’d been doing lately. “I’ve been ordered to expedite the extraction of Vidral from this planet’s surface. To do this,” he said, giving Astara a stunted glance, “we need intelligent labor –”

  “Have you crossed the threshold, Captain?” Maya asked him pointedly.

  “You can’t mine Vidral with a bunch of monkeys,” Samyaza said, his tact gone. “Miners need at least a Class Three mechanical aptitude. They need to make calculations. They need to read simple reports.”

  Maya was startled at both his attitude and overstep. “You must stop these efforts at once or I’ll demote you, Captain.”

  He gestured to the congregated listeners. “I call for a vote of this council.”

  Maya didn’t laugh. “This is far too serious for a simple colonial vote.”

  He raised a hand to the Ascender, but did not look up. “The ship’s communications have been permanently damaged. Her resonators can barely send signals in this atmosphere, much less across the Great Barrier. There’s no possibility of communicating with the High Council.”

  Turella stood up from the front row, listening avidly to the higher officers’ conversation. “We must poll ourselves, then.”

  Another colonist called Akibel stood, joining in with a nod. “I propose we let Lord Zahve evolve these creatures now,” he cried. “We must make this entire planet safe.” He turned to look at his fellow laborers. “Will we allow death to overtake us? Allow ourselves to die because of outdated laws in an archaic rulebook?”

  Astara felt her control slipping as a general murmuring went through the seated crowd. Some of them stood, their agitation rising. “The Codex has protected the Angelos for centuries,” she reminded, earnestness making her voice edge higher. “Do we abandon it because of a temporary isolation? We can survive on the island forever with the Vidral right at our fingertips.” She saw the crowd’s eyes shift to her side and looked there.

  Samyaza stood at the center of the platform to her right, standing taller in his moment under the starlight. “My fellow colonists,” he beseeched them, his tone now devoid of its typical snappishness. “I ask you, do we mine the Vidral as we need to or do we live forever on three square miles of immortality on a world capable of infinite abundance? I say aye, we cross the threshold, follow our mandate and take this world!”

  The colonists responded with a rousing cry, everyone now on their feet, a cheer for Samyaza that seemed to rally their innate pride and self-preservation. He smiled, not looking to Astara.

  “Aye!” came the vote from the collective throat of the assembly. “Aye! Aye!”

  “Aye!” Akibel waved an arm to them, relishing his part in the uproar. “Let the primates evolve! Harvest the humanoids!”

  Samyaza looked smugly to Maya. “It’s decided,” he said as the “ayes” continued around the gathered crowd. He nodded, turning his attention to the colonists, his voice rising. “It is decided. You have decided,” he said more empathically to them. “The work will continue. Lord Zahve will continue his operations. We will have our workers.”

  The listeners gave another respectful cheer; approving, it seemed to Samyaza, his direction.

  Maya turned and stepped down from the rear of the platform.

  Astara remained, watching for a moment as Samyaza basked in his victory. She shook her head. The rift between them was ever-widening. She followed Maya off the platform.

  Samyaza was aware of the women leaving, particularly of the gentle rustle of Astara’s feathers as she left. With her absence the approval of the colonists didn’t seem quite so satisfying. Zahve barely noticed the officers as they left, content as he was in the acceptance of his continued course of operation.

  Samyaza sighed, and left the platform, letting Zahve field any further questions. He went down the few steps, catching a glimpse of Astara’s white wings as she disappeared among the tents. He knew where she was going.

  Within the hour, Maya found herself alone inside her tent. Sounds of the colonists moving about the other tents grew louder, their excitement over the direction Zahve was taking the humanoids giving a conversational buzz to the camp; no one was arguing against progressing the primates’ evolution.

  Maya settled at her desk at one canvas wall and sorted through the reports Zahve had left her on Vidral deposits, but her mind drifted back to Astara’s mood before the Levandra had parted her company for a walk in the mild evening. Stepping beyond the established parameters set down in the Codex was not usually an issue when dealing with Lord Zahve; she was both dismayed at his determination to violate the order, but also understanding of his resourcefulness.

  She pushed aside the reports on the desk, her attention focusing inward at the recent developments. Eagerness to progress the workers was necessary, but not at any expense. Not at this expense.

  She looked to the doorway as the canvas flap was pushed aside. Samyaza and Zahve stood there, the former looking contrite, the latter brimming with expectation. She turned in her chair, eyes narrowing on them, her attention going to Samyaza.

  “You think it wise to venture here after that affront before the colonists?” She watched the meeker expression on his face embolden. “You clearly lobby for my command and you’ve the nerve to come here to my tent, with the proverbial remorse of an innocent.” Before he could respond, she looked to the scientist. “And you, Zahve, a member of the High Council,” she said nearly mockingly, “supporting Samyaza’s every effort to continue these abuses when –”

  “We’re not here to debate politics,” Zahve cut in with a controlled tone. “We’re here on behalf of all of the Angelos; even you, Commander.”

  “You do not speak for me, officer,” she said. “Remember that.”

  Samyaza didn’t look at the older officer. “You know our needs, Commander,” he said, his most diplomatic stance in force. “Once the biogenerators are finished, we need Astara to help us ignite them. All of our lives are at stake,” he said pressingly. His next words were not ones he thought he’d ever utter. “You must order her to comply.”

  Maya’s look cooled on him, her fingers pressing on the nearest report on the desk. “Your audacity is noted, Pilot.” She saw him bristle, knowing the word would rankle him, given his relationship with Astara. “Ordering her is out of the question, but I will allow her to make her own choice. I’m not personally afraid of the cycle of death and rebirth. Your concern over the matter surprises me.”

  Samyaza opted for indifference, attempting to hide his personal closeness to the issue on several levels. “Our only sin is to protect you and the other colonists.” He didn’t look to Zahve, but was aware of the older officer’s slight nod. “Surely you can understand that.”

  “There are limits, Pilot.” She looked to Zahve. “Astara and I abhor your abuses with these human guinea pigs. Slavery is forbidden in civilized worlds.”

  Samyaza passed this off as inconsequential. “Slavery isn’t the issue here, Commander. We simply want to assure our survival.”

  This time Zahve’s nod was more emphatic. “The biogenerators cannot begin functioning without a small amount of signal,” he said, “which can only be produced by an immortally-grounded resonance field. All of our signals too weak or corrupted. Except for Astara’s. Her cooperation is our only hope, Commander Maya.”

  “That is your opinion, Lord Zahve, and also dully noted.” Maya turned back to her desk
, attention back on the report. “I’ll tell her, and leave the decision up to her, but I’m sure she will decline.”

  Samyaza began to speak again, but Zahve touched his arm, shaking his head slightly. The scientist cleared his throat, estimating how far in the reports the commander had gotten. “The Vidral veins on the mainland show a healthy abundance, Commander Maya,” he said carefully. “Of all the islands we were forced to inhabit, we are indeed fortunate to be so close to such a supply.”

  Maya nodded, not looking to him. “That fortunate providence had nothing to do with the piloting of the Ascender, we must understand.”

  Samyaza let his first impulse to take offense at the remark slip away. “Yes, of course; but it was a divine guidance we found this island, wouldn’t you say, Commander?”

  “There is guidance in any matter if one chooses to look for it, Pilot,” she said, sparing them a brief glance before turning a page of the reports. “But yes, it seems we have been fortunate.”

  It was the best either officer could hope for from the commander, and they knew it. They both bowed and murmured a leave, and went back out into the campsite where the colonists were milling in small groups, the general discussion the previous decision led by Samyaza.

  As much as Samyaza would have liked to linger and absorb any tidbit of flattering conversation that might drift his way from the now enthused colonists, he left Zahve’s company and sought out a fairer companion.

  Samyaza found Astara on the beach where they’d first touched down several weeks before. She walked the sandy beach with languid steps, her face turned to the cool blue of the evening waters. The soft scent of wisteria was on the breeze crossing the shore, carrying with it the day’s heat and promise of later rain.

  She liked the way the sand left small indentations as she walked, the tiny crystalline grains marking her steps. She looked to the trees edging the beach. It was a beautiful spot, the natural graces arguing against corrupting the island into a tribute to the pursuit of immortality. As if to plead against the argument, she saw Samyaza break from the vine-laden trees where the grasses met the beach; she sighed, knowing the conversation about to engage.

  “You’ve been thinking, Astara,” he said, catching up to her. He frowned at her pensive expression, but resisted letting it sway him. “You always come here to think lately.”

  “It’s beautiful here, don’t you think?” She gestured one hand to the surrounding foliage, letting her fingers remain on the rippling waters beneath the starlight. “You can still enjoy beauty, can’t you, Samyaza?”

  He nodded, turning to walk with her as she resumed her stroll. “I can always enjoy beauty with you.”

  “You can save the pretty words,” she said, her tone crisper. She breathed deeply the fragrant air, wishing their thoughts were still aligned to each other. “This is no light matter.”

  He stopped walking, looking to her quickly. “You...you know what –”

  “What do you want from me?” She nodded, continuing to walk.

  He took the few steps to her side, watching her eyes rest on the water lapping at the sandy shore. “You are needed, Astara. You know that.”

  She nodded. “And you know that what you are asking is against my beliefs, Samyaza.”

  “You’d let us all die, then?” Saying the words aloud brought an instant irritation to his otherwise productive day. “Here?” He flung one arm out over the waters. “Here on some forgotten little corner of the galaxy?”

  “Levandras do not believe in the unnatural prolonging of life,” she said gently. “Immortality is a gift from the Creator.” Her tone grew accusatory. “The newer tribes have forgotten that.”

  “All of us are immortal on the Home World.”

  She nodded, sighing as she continued on down the beach. “That is true,” she admitted, “but your fields are weaker than ours. We do not need a planetary field to sustain us. Still,” she allowed, “even your life is precious, Samyaza.”

  She’d meant it lightly, but he took offense.

  “You hold out because of the workers?” He shook his head, his hand brushing her arm to resist grabbing that arm and forcing her to see reason – his reason. “You object because we have a theological disagreement over their use?”

  “No. I will put that aside for the moment.” Her gaze dropped to his hand at her side. It was any angry hand, tight, fingers rigid. Not the hand that had been so tender with her in the past. She shook those thoughts from her mind, remembering the present. “We of the Levandra find synthetic mortality repulsive, even blasphemous. Nonetheless, I’d hate to see the death of a single Angelo on this planet.” She was reluctant to voice the next words, as if the very audibleness of them would engrave her acquiescence to the matter. “I will therefore give your request more thought.”

  He breathed a shallow sigh. “I know you will be fair to the colonists, Astara. You’ve a good spirit.” He wished she’d look at him, but her gaze dropped to the sand as they slowed their walk. “It will not be long now, not with Lord Zahve’s progress and the potential mines we have discovered,” he said, arrogance prompting his exaggeration of their possible progress. “Within the lunar passing.”

  She finally looked to him, her expression saddened by his blind eagerness. “I am aware of that, Pilot.”

  Chapter Seven

  JACINTO THE STONE CUTTER

  It was within a few months of that tense conversation on the beach that Astara saw the need for her decision. Work on the gold mines found on the mainland commenced as far as the colonists could undertake it without a fully functioning manual labor force. The humanoids were close, very close, in the expert opinion of Zahve, and Samyaza, to seeing their life-support system become fully manifested.

  The mining wasn’t the only advancement being done on the otherwise Simple Island and immediate mainland regions. The island the colonists had called their new home was changing; trees were removed to create more crops, the brush cultivated to allow a path leading from the shore to the campsite, and Samyaza oversaw the erecting of the biogenerators as they were created.

  The growing workforce of humanoids – humans, to the untrained eye – adapted to work in the mines as soon they were allowed outside the laboratory. Groups were segregated by intellect and natural ability, by physical strength and stamina. A smaller group, only a few, were further defined into a creative category.

  Rudimentary creativity, Samyaza reminded himself and anyone who cared to listen, but those limits were producing the finer details of his growing legacy on the island.

  It was into this last group that Jacinto found himself. Zahve discovered Jacinto as not only the forerunner of the humanoids progressed from the native workforce, but also possessing talent and skill of a more dexterous nature. He was also rebellious.

  That defiant temperament showed on his broad back where the overseer’s whip had left dark lash marks. As a natural leader, Jacinto had become not only a worker to which the other laborers should aspire, but also a cautionary warning to any insubordination.

  It was yet another marking point in Samyaza’s growing dislike for the base model of indigenous laborers.

  Samyaza’s mood lifted as the day grew near to engage the biogenerators. His relationship with Astara had cooled, but, in all honesty, he’d been so preoccupied with the business of the gathering double row of biogenerators lining the entry to the island’s dense jungle, he had let some of his disillusion over her slip.

  Some, he noted, but certainly not all.

  The moment of the activation came on a sunny day. It was a perfectly warm afternoon, the insects at bay in the jungle depths, the air scented with wisteria and the sweet bay laurel bushes that clumped abundantly throughout the area. The fragrance of the lush vegetation was now joined by the colonists on the far side of the beach. They had congregated for the long-awaited moment of promised rejuvenation, the rebirth of their dwindling chances of survival.

  Maya and her officers were among the colonists, Astara at he
r side. Both had come to terms with the controversial enhancement of the humans, the necessity of tampering with standard protocols that governed the higher intellects. It was the first glimpse that either had had of the completed work Samyaza had overseen.

  For a long moment they could only stare wordlessly at the double row of tall golden statues that led deeper into the thick trees shrubs. It would be the same angelic-like statues that would at the same time draw and plague treasure hunters and extra-terrestrial theorists in later centuries.

  Maya looked to Astara, seeing her gaze on the magnificent, golden angelic statues. “Our Pilot has been very busy.”

  Astara nodded, dismayed and awed at the glittering god-like images. “So he has.”

  The trail of statues progressively grew larger as they dissolved into the jungle, as if enticing and serving as cautionary sentinels to anyone daring to approach the island invited. Samyaza stood on a boulder near the first set of statues, positioned between the murmuring crowd of colonists and the path entry.

  He smiled grandly at them. The past weeks had garnered him something of a cult status in the eyes of many of the colonists; he was their hope, an unelected leader. The one who had made this moment possible.

  It had also made him seem more than one of them to a few before him. Perhaps even a savior.

  He waved their low chatter to silence. “Today is a momentous day! Today, we consolidate our gains on this strange planet,” he said, emphasizing the WE in his words. “Today, we activate the biogenerators and vouchsafe our immortal birthright.”

  A loud cheer broke from the colonists. Samyaza hopped down, waving an arm in welcome to his fellow travelers. “Come see our work.”

  The cheering subsided as the colonists followed him, forming into a line behind Maya, still the official leader. Samyaza was at her side, his attention darting to Astara a step behind the commander.