Chronicles of the Aeons War, page 108
part #3 of The Omniverse Series
“Oh my dear God, please no.” He stammered, involuntarily.
“Be at ease, Jack,” Gabrielle said, “Remember I can See far into the future. Even if your future lies in our past, you still have many more long years – more than even you, veteran of the penta-millennial Last Battle against the Zohor can fathom, left to live. You fear death because it is an unknown, but it is nothing to fear.”
“Its death’s nothing that I do fear.”
Gabrielle chuckled, and petted his cheek with an oddly warm, seemingly living mechanical hand, “Though it’s not the Heaven, Hell, or any imagined afterlife that the Human Mind can conceive or perceive, I promise you death is not the end for you, for anyone.”
“I’d like to believe that,”
“Perhaps one day you will,” Gabrielle indulged. They were passing through the heart of Olympus, through the central area of the city, closing on their destination.
Benedict breathed deeply then sighed, “Showtime.” He said, as their tramway pod docked near to the War Center.
♦♦♦
The incoming data from the probes was enormous. It took the Sentinel whole seconds to compile and translate it. Immediately after the events of the Battle of the Maelstrom, the Sentinel Network agreed to deploy a series of probes into the five hundred light-year wide sphere of nothing where Abell 426 had once been. Wispy tendrils, nebula remnants that had survived the Apocalypse of the Birth of the Shekhina Siva coiled around the absence. The sphere of nothing that had once been the core of the Perseus Cluster stood out in alarming contrast to the rest of the supercluster around it.
The probes began an elaborate search pattern as soon as they’d arrived in the sector. One set of probes began an expanding search pattern out from the core of the Perseus Void, while three other sets of probes began searches from the fringes of the Void, inward. They had a volume of space billions of light years deep to search.
The Sentinel had hoped to find traces of the Shekhina Siva at the very core of the Perseus Void, but such was not the case. Instead, while investigating a shard of dark carbon that had once been part of the supermassive black hole at the heart of the Maelstrom, one of the probes discovered Her.
The tumbling black rock was both large and dense enough to have its own gravity. Despite being debris from an impossible explosion, the mass of dark carbon seemed to be orbiting a significantly smaller body. As the probe moved in, it was suddenly and violently destroyed. A single packet of sensor data was all the probe could transmit before it was obliterated.
But that packet was all that the Sentinel needed.
For frozen in a single-frame image, surrounded by an orb of red and gold luminescence floated Allison McQuire, naked, majestic, Her face a terrifying mask of placid rage, Her eyes luminous, burning red. And though She did not occupy the center point of the void, telemetry from the tens of thousands of probes searching the Perseus Void were able to pinpoint Her location and signify its importance.
The Perseus Void was not merely a vacuum with a few atoms of hydrogen per cubic meter, but an absolute vacuum devoid of any particulates, even at the quantum level. Something was vastly wrong: the quantum strings, the filaments and foam that made up the underpinning of the cosmos were absent from the Void. It was as though they had been severed, impossibly, destroyed. What had happened outside the Perseus Void was equally beyond the Sentinel’s ability to comprehend: the “surviving” strings, rings, dark energy, filaments and quantum foam were stretching towards the point occupied by the Shekhina Siva...and She, in turn, seemed to be exerting some sort of energy toward them. The only surviving particulates in the space were the shattered remnants of the supermassive black hole that seemed to be falling into an orbital plane around the Shekhina Siva.
Further investigation by the probe fleet revealed something so incredible that the probe’s telemetry caused the Sentinel a momentary ontological breakdown – only a fraction of a second long, losing its sense of self and self awareness as the full repercussions of what it was observing came to light: the Shekhina Siva was the only thing currently holding the cosmic membrane together; unlike a causal breakdown this wasn’t an instability of the Q-Field; but a literal tear in the fabric of spacetime: all of reality was being held together by the forces the former Queen of Light and Sorrow was exerting. If the rift was not repaired – or if the Shekhina let go – the membrane in which the reality they knew as the cosmos was held fast would tear apart, destroying their Metaverse instantly.
It took the Sentinel more time to connect to the Hope across spacetime than it did to relay the information to Her. Gabrielle reeled; for this was the Uncertainty beyond which She had never been able to see.
“I’ll deploy My Starfleet at once,” She advised the Sentinel.
“Success, Queen of Hope.” The Sentinel said, “And my hope, as well.”
Gabrielle had no sooner ended Her linx to the Sentinel than She summoned the War Council back to the War Room. Yeung Acshah, though officially listed as “retired”, sat next to Benedict. It was odd to see two people dressed in the Uniform of the Grandmaster. One of the Fleetmasters, Benedict didn’t recognize who, sat on his opposite side. Yeung Acshah and Benedict Jack watched together as the Queen of Hope climbed to the podium and waited for the last stragglers to arrive.
It took almost one hundred seconds for the Marshalls, Fleetmasters and Ship’s Commanders to gather, either in person or holographically. Even with such speed, Gabrielle was irritated by the delay.
“Brothers and Sisters,” She began as the last delegates arrived for the War Council, “The Sentinel has found Her.”
The room exploded into a cacophony both Aural and Mental. Gabrielle allowed it to play itself out, as She knew She must. Finally, She interjected: “The Shekhina Siva is in the Perseus Void. And it appears that She has manifested at the heart of a rift in the Membrane that holds our universe together. We do not yet know if this rift can be mended, or if the Shekhina Siva is the cause or the means of repairing it. I am ordering my Flagship and Fleet to investigate. Although it is My order that My Brothers and Sisters of the Pentavirate remain here, I will accompany my new Grandmaster; as I must. For only I have any hope to reaching out to My Mother. Grandmaster Benedict will now explain.”
Before Benedict could rise, Yeung put a hand on his arm, “Grandmaster,” she said, “Take it from one who knows: Beware the Glass Knives of Council.”
“As you say, Grandmaster.” Benedict replied.
Yeung shook her head, “Queen’s Tits, no. As of now, I’m a civilian.”
Benedict grinned, “You have no idea how much I envy you.”
“Grandmaster?” the Hope called. Yeung released Benedict’s arm, and he rose and walked to the podium.
The dome that covered them vanished, and the remains of Abell 426 appeared onscreen. First a non-scale summary graphic of the surviving major bodies of the system was displayed. Then they zoomed in on an area closer to the dark carbon remains from the Maelstrom, and the smudge of red and gold that was their goal.
“It doesn’t look like much,” Benedict said, “But the probe verifies that what we’re looking at are the remains of the Queen of Light and Sorrow, the Shekhina Mehdi. And I say ‘remains’ not because She is dead, but because we believe that She has…evolved. We don’t know if the entity we’re observing in this recording retains sentience, but our best chance of communicating with whatever remains of Her, is none other than the Hope, Herself.”
Benedict had already refused to make the next part of the statement; not just because of his resentful hatred of the Prophecies of the Nai’Marak, but because of his steadfast refusal to accept or follow them. So it was that Gabrielle took the podium, again:
“Just as the Prophecies predicted, just as the Nai’Marak foretold: ‘Mother and Daughter will be reunited at the Moment of Uncertainty.’ Now that the Zohor are defeated and before we make war with the Nimbus, this is the next great hurdle we must face in order to win the Aeons War.”
♦♦♦
Heihachi came up for air sometime where late night and early morning held equal sway over the skies of Olympus. There was Heruba, battling the light from Heket for importance as the distant mother star rose in the North. He knew it was already mid-morning down in Landing, in the valley hundreds of kilometres north of the mountain city. But here it was dawn; or predawn, still. He had spent the whole last day and night touring the hospitals and wellness centres occupied by the wounded souls of the Last Battle. He had spoken – and more importantly listened – to more men and women than he could remember. The cybernetic enhancements of his cortical implant and the long centuries of El-Ahur discipline filed away every second in memory, thankfully, for he knew he would need to call on it later.
He leaned against the railing of the cliff-faced terrace, looking to the North, to the coming dawn. Heruba was a purple and green wall across the southern sky, and a band of black seemed to arc directly overhead, a lone star, their neighbour Anuket shone from a half-light-year away, announcing the Dawn. The air was cool, damp; rich in the way only mountain air is, yet with barely enough oxygen to keep his breathing checked. Perhaps the euphoria that came with mild hypoxia was part of the charm of living in Olympus. He had plans to visit Landing soon, though the ringed city below was nothing like what he remembered. He’d been born during the early years of the Second Reconstruction, so long ago that it was scarcely remembered even among those who had lived through it. Time was cruel to memory, Heihachi reflected; such was a phrase that enveloped much of what he had learned speaking with his fellow veterans. It would be reflected when he later spoke for his fellow veterans.
Suddenly, the exhaustion overwhelmed him, breaking like failing levees against the flood of fatigue. He found himself leaning against the high-capped balcony as though it was an upright couch, his head pillowed in the crook of his elbow.
“You look like I feel,”
Heihachi turned. Yeung Acshah, former Grandmaster leaned against the archway that led from the building behind them to the terrace.
“Grandmaster,”
“Not anymore. I don’t think you go by ‘Captain’ anymore, do you?”
“But you used the privileges and power of your former rank to get past the security everyone insists I need now that I’m some sort of…public figure…”
“According to the scriptures I was force-fed as a child that’s much the way the Rai’Ha felt after becoming the Herald of the Queen of Light and Sorrow.”
“I never asked for this,”
“Yet it’s where your life has led you. Who knows? Maybe we all go through a Mystic Phase.”
“Is that what this is?” he asked.
Yeung Acshah was silent for a very long moment, “I don’t know, Heihachi-san.” It was an ancient form of address…one known only to the Families of the House of Cole… which Acshah knew Heihachi Daniel was part of. The Heihachi Family had had the good fortune to have been visiting the Western Shores when the Zohor struck Landing. Only Acshah and her mother remained of the Yeung Family, though there were still cousins from the Gray Family – her father’s family – out there. The Kodo Family and the Cole Family – for whom the House of Cole was named – had both been entirely wiped out.
“Wow,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve heard that in…”
“In my case, since before Midian was first hit.”
“Given the time I spent healing during the Longest Battle, I guess I’m now chronologically younger than you, despite being raised as part of the Ehlo-Bene colony in Castaneda Base, on Thalia.”
“Queen’s tits,” Yeung sighed, “I can remember watching Thalia rise, burning, into the sky the night before Midian was hit; it’s one of the few clear memories I have of the Attack. I was just a kid...”
“Bax was my mentor,” Heihachi said, “From the Ehlo-Bene to the Ouroboros, and so much more in between. I’ve born witness to three Grandmasters who are really two…and served under two of them – yourself included – besides.”
“I’m just happy I outlived my time with the Rank on my collar. Some days, it felt like a noose.”
“I can imagine.” Heihachi said. They didn’t speak, either verbally, telepathically, or across Corticals. Heihachi Daniel studied Yeung Acshah for a long moment before finally asking, “Is that why you’ve come? To talk? To unburden yourself?”
“No more than anyone else you’ve spoken with lately,” Acshah said, “But more than that, because I’ve known you for as long as I have. I’ve left the Phenex El-Ahur, just like you. I’m counted as a Gesheol El-Ahur now, just like you. But unlike you, I haven’t anything to replace the time and effort I’d devoted in service to the Queens. I feel like I’m falling, Dan. I always feel like I’m falling. I need an anchor…I need someone I know; someone I’ve served with, served alongside…someone I can call friend. Someone who can maybe help me make sense of my life, now that the only thing that kept me going has been destroyed. I hated the Zohor; I lived so that I could have the pleasure of watching them die. Now that that’s happened, what do I do? What do I even have? Who am I now that I am without my most hated enemy?”
There was silence for another long moment, when she turned to him with a quizzical expression: “What is it they’re calling you? Sensei?”
He laughed, “It’s a little pretentious,” Heihachi admitted, “All it really means is ‘teacher’. It’s from one of the Old Earth roots of the Boreal Language, I believe. Kind of like ‘Guru’ was so popular back in the Twenties with Terra Novans in Tear…oh, for fuck’s sake, Acshah, I’m so sorry.” He realized too late that Yeung Acshah had assimilated herself into Boreal culture in the years before the First Attack; she had therefore been one of many Terra Novans in Tear in the Twenties…one of many who’d stayed there because they felt more at home there than they did in Landing and its repressive Culture of the Way of Light and Sorrow. The Queen’s Religion had always been sombre, repressive…not the joyous, almost hedonistic lifestyle of Tear had been.
“It’s okay,” Yeung said, the knot in her stomach and the tears in her eyes somehow good, “It feels good to have actually almost felt a connection to…that time…again.”
“After my time,” Heihachi sighed, “Not that it makes a difference to any of us, anymore.”
“Dan…the connections I had to Midian died when New Bangalore and Landing were destroyed. They were the reason I joined the El-Ahur, the reason I went to war: I wanted revenge; I hated the Zohor. But I’ve spent longer hating the Zohor than I did loving anyone…and I can barely remember the people I did love…I feel no more connection with my memories of them than I do with any long-forgotten dreams.”
“Maybe that’s part of being immortal; evolving our minds enough to be able to remember everything.”
“Do you really think we’re immortal?”
“Did you ever expect to live five thousand years, with no sign of stopping?”
♦♦♦
As the Ouroboros, for the first time under the command of Grandmaster Benedict Jack since his past-and-future-death, prepared for fleet departure Gabrielle settled into her sanctum deep within the ‘Boros’ core levels. Connected as She was to the ship and the Jibrail Interlink, El-Ahur Cortical Network and the Bond of Minds that the El Ahur shared, Gabrielle still felt very much alone at that moment. Gabrielle withdrew into Herself, concentrating on Her perception of Time and Her imagination to begin interpreting what lay ahead.
She turned Her memory to the past...to the Battle of the Maelstrom’s horrific conclusion: When Allison had wrenched Her Daughter free of the Zohor machine, the enraged mother, godlike and all powerful, had not been able to understand what She was doing to Gabrielle’s newer, far more elaborate (and not wholly contained within Herself) Brain and Mind. When Gabrielle realized what was about to befall Her, She had pulled as much of that Mind into Herself as She could; storing it in the components of Her bionics, and written into the genes of Her cells.
