Children of the White Star E-Book

Linda Thackeray

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

After Garryn returns to claim the throne of his homeworld, he's plagued by dreams of a mysterious star system with a yellow sun.

Consulting a mentalist for help, Garryn learns that he is not the only one with the same dreams, and sets on a quest to understand his visions.

Soon, the truth behind the dreams reveals a secret that changes Garryn's life, and shakes the Empire to its foundations.

Leseprobe

Children of the White Star

Linda Thackeray

Copyright (C) 2014 Linda Thackeray

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2020 by Next Chapter

Published 2020 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Cormar Covers(www.cormarcovers.com)

Proofed by William Miller Solutions

http://kyrathasoft.wix.com/proofreading

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my parents and friends who've had to put up with my craziness.

Prologue Exodus

We are the lucky ones.

We survived the exodus to reach the new world, unlike many of our people. We are here because fate allowed us to survive the odds while the rest did not. It is chilling to think the Weavers can be so random when choosing who lives or dies.

From our ship's logs, the journey of House Brysdyn to our new home took place without incident. Thirty ships left our star system, carrying no fewer than five hundred thousand passengers in stasis. However, when the computers installed in our Worldships woke us on our approach to this world, we learned only two ships remained.

Any chance of rebuilding the empire died with the others.

The loss of so many affected us as profoundly as facing the reality of our white star's impending supernova. It is a sobering thing for any race to accept it would outlive the planet of its origin. The White Star civilisation, representing everything we knew, was coming to an end.

For years, many tried to deny the truth, dismiss it as doomsday hysteria, but the science of the cosmos proved without doubt the dwarf star in the centre of our solar system was dying. Our existence came about through an evolutionary fluke. Life should never have formed here, but through a one-in-a-billion chance it did, and our civilisation came into being.

In the end, it mattered little, because our sun was still decaying.

After the initial shock and dismay wore off and we accepted the situation, speedy action was needed to deal with the threat. It may seem a long time, but fifty years to move an entire civilisation to another system capable of supporting life was not enough time to get the deed done. The Worldships were commissioned by the Grand Council and construction began soon after. For the next five decades, the business of the empire became shipbuilding.

Many deluded themselves until the bitter end. When they time came, they refused to go, unable to face the idea of starting again without the comforts that had always been so much a part of their lives. We tried not to think of those who remained behind, tried not think about their senseless death in the face of their stubborn ignorance when the sun burned its last.

Their deaths added to the tally of the lost since leaving the white star.

The computers recorded as much as possible in their memory banks, storing the information for when we woke up. Thanks to them, we possessed some knowledge of what happened to the rest of the fleet. Most vessels suffered mechanical malfunction, due to our prolonged journey. With no real grasp of how long we would be travelling, we prepared for every contingency, but still too many things remained out of our hands.

The ship arrived on the new world almost ready to fall apart. Considering the effects of the extended voyage on our worldship by the time we set down, it is not difficult to imagine other ships buckling even earlier in the journey. We survived because of good engineering or luck.

Not all victims fell to mechanical failure. Numerous perils exist when travelling through uncharted space: black holes, cosmic strings, meteor showers and supernova. Any of these phenomena were capable of tearing our worldships apart like paper.

The absence of the others proved that no amount of preparation was adequate.

Fortunately, not all ships were destroyed. One vessel discovered an ideal world much earlier than we did. House Jyne chose a world for themselves on the far side of the quadrant. During the ten further years it took us to reach our paradise, they began colonisation of their new home. News of their survival gave us hope. Perhaps scattering our people among the stars would not mean an automatic doom. Even in their damaged state, they reached worlds they could call home.

In some distant future, time might reunite the children of the white star.

We might even see each other as friends.

I Dreams

He was back.

The same hot, dry wind blew across his cheeks as he blinked and renewed his acquaintance with this familiar dream. Everything here always appeared new, no matter how many times he visited. Perhaps it was because the terrain appeared so alien, with new things to discover.

The blue sky was always the first thing that caught his attention.

For most of his life, he had woken up to an amber sky being warmed by the glow of a dark orange sun around which Brysdyn orbited. The stark brilliance of it took his breath away. Blue seemed like such an unnatural colour. Throughout his military career, he'd never seen another world like this.

Blue was for oceans and frozen icescapes, not for a sky.

Still, this was one of the many enigmas about this place. The golden fields sweeping across the landscape, with the occasional patch of green, was another. He always thought gold or brown in a plant meant vegetation dying, baked in the heat of a warm climate. Yet as he looked at the land before him, he knew these were healthy. The stalks stood majestically in the sunlight, proud and defiant against the wind that gently coaxed them to bend.

They gave off a peculiar odour, unfamiliar but strangely soothing. An ember of recognition sparked in his mind, but its light was so faint and the fragments disappeared before he had sense enough to put them together. Tiny grains of pollen, carried by the breeze, danced in the air. He heard rowdy chatter of strange white birds wearing yellow crests sailing through the sky, chirping with almost human-sounding voices.

How had this world come to be in his head? Was this an amalgamation of places conjured up his psyche? Was everything here a symbolic piece of an unrealised puzzle in his subconscious?

There was a visible shift in a sudden drop of temperature. The trouble with a blue sky, he decided, was that when it grew cold, it seemed darker. Overhead, the white clouds turned an ominous grey, reminding him of smoke. The wind became a gale, stirring the pollen dancers violently from their graceful performance to scatter frantically.

He knew what was coming. The momentary calm always made him forget, but when the tempest swept across the land like a vengeful god, he remembered what came next.

What this represented, he desperately wished to know. Since the beginning, it had provoked a fear so intense it was unlike anything he ever experienced in his life. Not a coward or a stranger to the meaner things in life, Garryn was more than capable of standing up to his fear, but when the explosions began, he wished he could run and hide under a rock.

The initial explosion forced him to his knees. Even in a dream, years of soldiering sliced through the terror and took charge. Above him, he saw them come, dark, evil shapes, like birds of prey, swooping in for another pass. The shape made another strafing run, but he knew he wasn't the target.

It wanted something else here, something hidden.

He never learned what they sought, only that they would set the golden field ablaze and ignite the sky to find it. The beautiful white birds tumbled to the charred ground, their pristine white feathers blackened by soot and dirt. His eyes began to water and his lungs burned as the smoke starved the fresh air and the heat pricked across his skin.

He wanted to wake up and be away before this serene place disintegrated further, but something always held him back. No, not something, he realised. Someone.

The instant he thought about her, she appeared.

It seemed as if he needed to conjure her up in his mind before she made an appearance. The young woman had hair of such light gold it was almost white. Sunlight bounced off it, despite the destruction around her. Her skin was bronzed and, as she ran across the burning plains, she resembled some untamed fire sprite.

He never woke before her arrival.

Her blue eyes scanned the fields, always searching while filled with fear, not in terror at the flying things raining death from above, but of something else. Something fuelled her determination to go on, despite her anxiety. It was a futile search in this chaos of fire and smoke. Even he realised it. But she forged ahead, adamant in her refusal to yield. She was driven by something greater than the preservation of her life.

She cried out a name, but he could never hear it. He saw the desperation in her eyes, riding the coat tails of panic when she began to realise she might not find what she was looking for. Tears streamed down her cheeks, creating trails across her sooty skin. He wanted to help, but like on so many occasions before this, he could not reach her in time.

Barefoot and still in his bedclothes, he ran towards her, trying to get to her before the inevitable claimed them both.

It came in the form of an all too familiar final explosion. It detonated inside his skull as all the noise and colour from the attack overloaded his senses. A short scream followed, the only sound she ever see to make in this place.

Out of breath, he reached her at the place he always seemed to find her. Like those countless other times, nothing changed as he approached her. The flames from the burning field towered over them and the smoky cloud so thick it became difficult to see the sky. The world turned into a haze of bilious smoke and encroaching heat.

A sluggish vein of reddish ooze trickled towards his bare feet, its warmth staining his soles. He did not recoil or turn away. This was necessary to the ritual, a trial to be endured until nightmare would release him. Maybe all he needed to leave, to wake up, was to see her first.

Her vacant blue eyes stared into nothingness as her golden hair matted with blood. Crimson streaks ran across her cheeks, intermingling with dirt and drying tears. Her face wore an expression of annoyance, as if Death was an early dinner guest. Her chest bore the killing wound. Her charred flesh continued to sizzle, the energy yet to fully dissipate from the blast she had taken.

The swell of grief and anguish rising from inside him was like a tidal wave of unyielding force and he cried out.

He screamed the one word he could never remember when he woke up.

* * *

Garryn sat up in his bed.

For a moment, he half expected to be surrounded by the flames and smoke from his dream. As always, once he attempted to remember the substance of it, the memory fled from his mind. By the time he realised he was awake, it left him with his pulse racing as he struggled to recall why.

Taking a deep breath, he ran his fingers through his hair, shaking away the residual effects of the nightmare. Despite the cool night, his sheets remained plastered to his skin. For a long while, a sensation of being lost and uncertain gripped him, before it evolved into frustration. This was the same dream from almost every night since his return home and, if the pattern held, he would not be sleeping the rest of the night.

After a futile effort attempting to defy the odds and try anyway, he decided to get out of bed. It was still dark outside. The chrono on the wall told him dawn was not far away. It was years since he'd watched the sunrise in Brysdyn and even longer since he was home to appreciate it.

“Lights.”

“Lights activated.”

The computerised environmental controls responded in a calm and feminine voice, flooding the room with soft, ambient light.

The sight of this room still jarred him.

He would have preferred to move back into his own, but the choice was no longer his. The room was a suite and it adjoined a balcony overlooking the courtyard below. It housed antiques and priceless art from a dozen worlds and boasted fabrics both luxurious and elegant. Garryn felt like the final piece in a museum display.

He climbed off his bed and wrapped a robe around himself before stepping out on the balcony. He needed to breathe the night air in his lungs and escape the rising panic in his gut. Deciding to take up the official residence of the Prime had never felt more claustrophobic.

Garryn leaned against the marble palisade and took in the view of the glorious dawn. It was still dark, but the deep amber sky revealed a warm day ahead. The suite belonging to the Prime was situated on the higher floors of the Domicile and provided a panoramic vista of the city.

Paralyte slept below him, making him envious of its ability to sleep. The capital reminded him of an ancient dowager who sat at the centre of the Brysdynian Empire. Home to the Imperator and the Prime, his heir apparent, it had been immortalised in prose, plays and art since the earliest days of the Empire. The first colonists, emerging from the Exodus, had chosen this site as the place to build their new settlement, after reaching this part of the galaxy.

The Empire had begun from this city.

Now, the jewel was a blanket of darkness, its life revealed only by the twinkle of lights across skyscrapers throughout the sky. Garryn loved Paralyte. He enjoyed wandering through its pavilions, promenades, museums and its parks. One could make a day of riding a hover train from one end of the metropolis to the other, stepping off only when something of interest happened to be along the route.

His mother loved the bazaars and she made him love them too. He relished walking through the stalls, taking in the aroma of spices from exotic places. One could listen to the merchants for hours, haggling as they sold their wares to wily customers who came from all corners of the Empire. When they were children, Aisha had brought him and his sister to explore the markets. They would conduct these trips in anonymity, because she thought the best bargains were made when the pedlars did not know she was the Imperator's wife.

She was gone now and Garryn still missed her. Being home again without his mother waiting to greet him was almost as disconcerting as sleeping in a room opulent enough to be a museum. He was a fool to believe life could ever be the same, given the approach of the Ceremony of Ascendancy. His being in this ridiculously lavish room was proof of it.

For the last decade of his life, Garryn had played the part of soldier. Joining the ranks as just another recruit, his comrades had no idea of his real identity and he preferred it, to avoid any special treatment. He enjoyed soldiering and would have been content to remain one, if not for the responsibilities of his station.

He was always proud to be the son of the Imperator. Not because his father was the ruler of Brysdyn, but because he was a good man and a better father. He'd led them through its most turbulent years and won the undying devotion of his people in the process. It was hard for his family to not share it. After the nightmare of the Scourge, family became the singular concern of every Brysdynian and Iran was no different. He treasured his own as a precious gift.

Even though Garryn was a New Citizen, he was expected to become Imperator one day. The ceremony was only the first step. He wondered if hesitation in taking up the mantle was due to being an adopted child. Perhaps royal blood was necessary to be the Imperator. He was the same as any other New Citizen brought to Brysdyn after the Scourge.

What made him special enough for the Imperator to choose him as the next ruler?

Nothing, except he loves you, Garryn told himself. Because, adopted or not, you're his son.

Garryn discharged himself from military service to return home for the Ceremony, which was only a month away. Once he became Prime, he would fall under the direct tutelage of his father and learn the intricacies of running the empire. Even if the responsibility was daunting, Garryn knew he would do the best he could, because the only thing worse than failing the Imperator was disappointing his father.

Now, if he could only get a good night's sleep, things would be fine.

The number of times he was waking up in a cold sweat was growing. The nightmares had started months ago, but he was at a loss to understand what had triggered them. True, he recently returned from Erebo. The military was sent to suppress a violent uprising on the colony world and, while war burdened a man's conscience, he was a pilot, not a front line combat soldier. Aerial attacks spared him the ordeal of seeing the devastation of his missions up close.

If Garryn dreamed about war, it was one not familiar to him.

Perhaps he should take Elisha's advice.

His sister, the Princess Royal, was two years his junior and very much her mother's daughter. Breaking the stereotype of the vain, frivolous aristocrat, Elisha was no dilettante. Aisha, a child of the Jyne Delegation, raised her children to value tolerance and knowledge. Thanks to their mother, she grew up to be a conscientious young woman whose first loves were her causes and her books.

Spoiled scandalously by their father, Garryn dreaded to imagine what monsters they could have grown up to be, if not for Aisha's discipline. Since her passing, Iran was free to indulge Elisha's fancies, including allowing her to choose her own husband. The majority of Brysdynian aristocracy frowned upon the decision, of course, but Garryn knew his father did not care. Elisha was his little girl and he would never force a political marriage on her.

He was grateful for this. When they were children, they were confidantes; as adults, best friends. It was Elisha who knew the right things to say when he had doubts and it was only natural he would confess his nightmares to her.

Like all soldiers, he distrusted men of medicine, even if he recognised their contribution to society. Elisha suggested he consult a mentalist for his problem. At first, he baulked at the notion. If Healers were bad, mentalists were worse. These physicians, who claimed to study the psyche, saw no sacrilege in demanding access to one's most intimate memories. Garryn neither liked the idea, nor wanted to submit to such treatment.

Still, he couldn't afford to be mentally unbalanced at this time. Not when he was only weeks away from being crowned the Prime. There was also a nagging fear in the back of his mind that he might truly need help. If so, he not only owed it to himself to correct the situation, but to the Imperator, who would need his Prime in the best of health.

So, for his father's sake as well as his own, he had no choice but to see a mentalist, no matter how loathsome it might be.

II Imperator

“We are the children of the White Star, warriors of House Brysdyn. Are we to give up the warrior instincts that helped us build our empire? When did we become a gaggle of cowards choosing to hide behind a book of law! Peace, my friends, is a word we are using to become a nation of old women. When will these alien ideas cease to influence our society? We must defend our heritage before it collapses from our indulgences!”

Garryn stared in amazement. General Edwen had always disliked his father's policies, but listening to the man voice his opinion before the whole Quorum was unnerving. The commander of the Security Elite stood proud and defiant, staring hard at the Imperator, daring him to respond, but he lacked the authority and charisma Iran commanded in the Quorum. Still, Edwen's nondescript and disarming features bore a quality that often tricked people into underestimating him.

Garryn did not.

Being a member of the royal household had taught him how to distinguish friend from foe. Years before, Garryn knew which camp Edwen belonged. He wondered how Iran intended to deal with Edwen's anti-Jyne sentiments voiced so publicly. This was years in the making and did not surprise Garryn at all. Aisha had made Garryn aware of Edwen's rising discontent with the Jyne years ago.

Her father was Elvan, Chancellor of the Jynes' Delegation. The match took place during a visit by Iran, then Prime, to Jyne, where he met Aisha at a state ball. Neither Elvan nor Darian, the Imperator at the time, intended a wedding to come out of the trip. The Jyne did not believe in political marriages and Brysdyn found the Jynes' diplomatic approach to everything tiresome.

Nevertheless, the two different young people fell in love, to the complete surprise of both fathers. Their relationship produced the unexpected possibility of a new White Alliance, in the manner of their ancestors of ages past. Many welcomed the union as the merger of two powerful nations, while others, such as Edwen, supposed evil from the start.

Until the Scourge, the marriage and the impending alliance became a constant source of debate on the Quorum floor, leaving Aisha with the guilt of causing so much enmity.

Garryn never forgave the slight against his mother.

Today, the old argument had resurfaced in force and Garryn was grateful Aisha was absent for Edwen's vitriolic speech.

Not yet the Prime, Garryn could only view the proceedings from the visitor's gallery. How would the Imperator react to the General's challenge? No matter what the context, this wasn't just a challenge to Iran's favouring of a non-aggression treaty with Jynes, it was also an insult to his wife.

In announcing his opposition, Edwen denounced both.

The members of the Quorum, the elected body representing the regional districts of Brysdyn, held their breaths as two titans waged their cold war across the floor. General Edwen had fired the first volley and they awaited the Imperator's response with anticipation.

After a lengthy pause, he spoke.

“General, if I may be allowed rebuttal.”

Iran the First stood up from his seat and descended the steps leading to the Speaker's podium. Edwen, a tall thin man, who sometimes appeared ghoulish, vacated the position and returned to his own place in the Quorum Hall.

As he prepared to address them, Iran reminded Garryn once again how impressive his father could be. His father matched Garryn's tall height and bore the same dark hair. They both shared blue eyes and were often mistaken for flesh and blood, even if any similarity between them was coincidental. In Iran flowed the bloodline of a thousand generations of House Brysdyn, something Garryn would never possess.

When he reached the podium, Iran did not glance at Edwen before he started speaking.

“My friends, throughout our recorded history we have been a race of conquerors. We defined our culture by expansion and the subjugating of less aggressive races. For us, there was no other way to live. Our empire is proof of everything we achieved, but the Scourge forced us to change.”

A ripple of acknowledgement moved through the assembly and Garryn witnessed the effect of mentioning the Scourge. No matter what argument Edwen made against Brysdyn losing its identity, nothing withstood the reality of the Empire's darkest time.

“Many of our children are only now thinking about having their own,” Iran continued. “The Scourge is only a quarter of a century behind us and our lack of a sizeable new generation cannot be ignored. Years ago, our dedication to war stymied our advancement in every other field. Perhaps if we had devoted more of our resources to more scientific pursuits, such as medicine, we could have escaped being neutered by the Scourge.”

Nothing he said warranted cheer or applause, only a sad acknowledgement. Their condition could not be denied, Garryn thought with a tinge of pity for those who lived with intimate knowledge of what the Imperator meant. Not even Edwen appeared unaffected by the same sadness affecting every Brysdynian man born before the Scourge.

“The Weavers gave us a second chance with our New Citizens. Our hope is renewed because we were given children, strong and healthy. They are our future and I want to see them live long enough to succeed us. I do not want another war where they'll die as senselessly as our unborn did in the Scourge! Our empire was saved from extinction. Let us not squander our next generation by forgetting how precious they are.

In regards to this Alliance, let me remind you all the Jyne were the only ones willing to help us during the Scourge. Remember when the others turned away and refused to even listen to our pleas, the Jynes did not. They didn't exploit our weakness to their advantage, nor did they try to invade us when we were at our most vulnerable. Instead, they helped us try to find a cure. House Brysdyn, like House Jyne, departed the White Star together. Our ancestors meant us to find a new home together and live in peace. We were always meant to be united, if not in territory then at least in friendship.”

After the summation, deafening applause erupted, although Garryn expected nothing less. His father was a charismatic leader with the ability to speak and reach his audience. The enthusiastic response allowed General Edwen to make a discreet exit. The challenge was met and answered, for now, but Garryn suspected this matter was far from over.

Still, he felt some satisfaction at seeing Edwen disappear out the rear door with his tail between his legs.

* * *

When the Quorum council chose to break up for day, Garryn waited until the last of its members finished with the Imperator before he went to meet his father. Making his way into the restricted entrance, Garryn was allowed passage by the guard on duty.

His father, flanked by his guards, was on his way out when they met halfway down the hallway. Falling into stride with Iran, his protectors stepped aside and increased their flank to allow father and son some privacy.

“Edwen showed his hand,” Garryn remarked.

“I was not surprised,” Iran shrugged. “He was never thrilled at the idea of an Alliance and I expected him to voice his opposition at some point. I gather you weren't either.”

“Mother taught me well.”

His father's expression saddened and a flicker of a private pain surfaced in his eyes. Garryn suspected Aisha's death was still raw for him, making him squeeze Iran's shoulder in comfort.

“Yes, she always was so clear on such things. I still miss her.”

“You were married for thirty-five years, father. Letting her go can't be easy. She was my mother and when I go past her favourite garden, I still hope she might be there at her bench, reading. I can't imagine the pain you must feel.”

Iran gave his son a grateful smile at his understanding before they both lapsed into a silence as they walked through the halls of the Panopticon, where the Quorum conducted its meetings.

“Edwen bears watching now.”

“No, I don't think so.” The Imperator stated, but did not care to explain as they reached a set of doors at the end of the hallway.

They hissed open and both men stepped into the Panopticon Bay. While not as large as commercial ports in Paralyte, the bay was adequate in size to accommodate the transports belonging to the Quorum leaders. It also housed mechanics and the equipment necessary to service the vehicles.

Most of the Imperator's protectors were waiting for him in their escort vehicles. A guard took his customary seat up front with the driver and the skimmer began to move after Iran and Garryn climbed into the back seat. Upon approaching the exit, a computer voice declared its deactivation of the security grid, allowing the motorcade passage out of the Panopticon.

Outside, the day was warm. Paralyte was full of activity today. The good weather brought everyone out and the bazaars and pedlars were out in force across the city. With tourist season here, visitors from all over the Empire and beyond were moving through the streets in an exotic assortment. Some paused to gawk at the Imperator, snapping holo shots as his convoy passed them by.

“I wish I could enter into Paralyte unnoticed like you do. Your mother had the right idea about using disguises.”

“She did,” Garryn agreed, but was not about to be deterred regarding Edwen. “So what are you going to do about the General?”

With his gaze still fixed on the sights as they drove past, Iran answered without looking back at his son. “I am going to do nothing at all, Garryn. Edwen is a voice and voices are allowed to say whatever they wish.”

“He has support. His Security Elite are still very loyal to him. I wonder whether we are wise to allow him a forum with the people he has at his disposal.”

“True,” Iran conceded the point before turning to Garryn. “But the numbers of raw recruits joining them are small. Erebo left a bad taste in people's mouths and the Security Elite was in some part responsible for what happened there. Edwen may be a formidable speaker, and I do not doubt he has supporters in the civilian sector, but it's not enough to overcome Erebo.”

“I have to agree with you.”

He was lucky to have been only a pilot during the uprising. The surface troops who landed on the moon endured the real hardship. No good soldier enjoyed shooting down civilians, let alone a poorly armed, untrained group of civilians. For months, the settlers of Erebo fought desperately to keep alive the dream of a new nation, even if it never had the slightest chance of becoming reality.

Iran did not miss the shadowy expression on Garryn's face.

“They gave us no other choice, Gar. We offered them full pardons to lay down their weapons and go back to work or to come home if they wished. They declined and we will never understand what they were thinking when they chose to suicide by igniting the ore. Perhaps, for them, dying was better than to face defeat.”

“They shouldn't have been driven to such a position at all. The soldiers who came back from Erebor after the clean up was done were haunted. I don't think I'll ever forget the horrors on their faces and it won't be dispelled from their minds for a long time.”

“I share their torment,” Iran sighed and Garryn guessed he was thinking about something other than Erebo. The grave expression passed from his face and, a moment later, he regarded Garryn again. “Are you now convinced Edwen is no longer a threat?”

“I don't know. I still think he should be watched,” Garry admitted.

“But we would be no better than his Security Elite, would we?”

Garryn had no argument to offer.

III The Mentalist

“Jon, you are not going to believe this!”

Jonen gaped at his normally efficient and composed assistant after she burst into his office out of breath and excited. Always perfectly coiffed and never prone to making unnecessary displays of emotion, Mira was a monument to restraint. Except when she was standing at his desk, staring at him like a wide-eyed teenager.

“Mira, please, pull yourself together.” He couldn't resist teasing her.

He never had the opportunity to turn the tables on her. It was always Mira telling him to calm down when some matter made him raise his fists to the universe in protest. Small as this victory might be, he relished the chance at vindication. Mira had managed his practice since its first day and over the years they had enjoyed a comfortable relationship that allowed for playful ribbing.

Eyes narrowing, Mira Giving straightened up immediately and adopted her cool demeanour once more.

“Garryn is here,” she stated, her voice devoid of its earlier enthusiasm.

Jonen did not immediately understand the significance.

“Garryn?” He stared back at her bewildered.

Mira rolled her eyes in sarcasm. “Garryn, the one who is going to be crowned Prime in a matter of weeks, that Garryn.”

Watching the shock descend across his face, Mira took some pleasure in his reaction and held back any further information until his impatience grew intolerable.

“And?”

A smug smile stole across her face at making the winning move in their bout of verbal chess.

“He is in the waiting room outside.”

“The heir apparent needs a mentalist?” Jonen blinked, still grappling with his surprise.

He was used to seeing patients of importance in his practice, but unprepared for royalty. Technically, Imperators were not meant to be considered such, but to a common Brysdynian they were near enough. Even if his reputation as one of the Empire's most notable mentalists was deserved, receiving a visitor of this calibre was still a coup.

Did Garryn need his services?

Other questions emerged during the short seconds before he gave Mira further instructions. Why would Garryn come all the way here to consult him otherwise? His office was located in the heart of the respectable Rura District in Paralyte. Someone of Garryn's stature could afford to summon a mentalist to him without any difficulty.

“Shall I show him in? We can't leave him outside to wait. He is, after all, going to be our next Imperator.” Sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Yes, of course!” He made a face at her unabashed triumph.

She left the room smirking.

Watching her go, a sudden burst of affection filled his chest and Jonen wondered what he would ever do without her.

Once she disappeared out the door, Jonen tidied his desk of any work conducted prior to Mira's unexpected announcement. He got to his feet and smoothed the material of his light-coloured suit, hoping he was in the state to receive such an auspicious visitor. Cursing himself for not trimming his greying beard when he had the chance this morning, he grimaced as he ran his hand over his chin.

Despite a receding hairline, he kept his once dark hair neat and that made grey streaks seem distinguished. Standing at an average height with a slight paunch at the belly, he projected the image of a man who took care of himself without being vain. At least he no longer dressed like a rumpled academic, even if he still felt like one.

Mira returned a few seconds later with the young man following behind. He appeared younger than the media footage Jonen viewed on the Transbands. Of course, those programs were never reliable and it was a well-known fact the Imperator did not like his children in the public eye. It was only recently that Garryn had finally been captured on holo-vid as an adult.

Garryn was a New Citizen, although one could be forgiven for mistaking Garryn as the Imperator's biological offspring. They resembled each other closely. Still, he did not present himself like royalty when he stood in Jonen's office. He wore the clothes of any young men Jonen might encounter in the city, clean-shaven, but his eyes belied his youthful features. They appeared older than his years.

Jonen stepped out from behind his desk to greet him.

“Garryn Prime, I am honoured.” Jonen extended a hand and, to his pleasure, the heir apparent returned the handshake with warmth.

“Oh please, just call me Garryn.” The distaste at the title crossed his face in a slight wince.

“Then I am pleased to meet you, Garryn.”

This put Jonen at ease and dispelled his anxiousness at having such an important visitor. In that one sentence, Jonen gained an insight into how Garryn wished to be treated.

“Please sit down,” Jonen guided him to the soft leather armchair in front of his large desk.

Jonen returned to his chair and noticed the young man shifting in his seat, trying not to appear self-conscious.

He doesn't want to be here.

This was not unusual. Most of his patients had difficulty with the first consult.

“Now, Garryn, how can I help you?”

Garryn let out a sigh and swept his gaze across the room. He studied the plaques on the wall, the pictures of family and even the paintings. He took a moment to study the park beneath the window and realised he trying to avoid the mentalist's question.

“I guess you can tell I don't want to be here.”

“It's not an uncommon reaction,” Jonen assured him. “Please don't be uncomfortable by your hesitation. Many of my patients begin the same way. As Brysdynians, we possess a natural aversion to calling attention to our mental health. Why don't you tell me what brought you here and I'll be able to tell you if I can be of help?”

Despite his ambivalence, Garryn confessed the mentalist was nothing like what he expected. Elisha had recommended him after reading the various papers written by the man in the science journals she was so fond of perusing. His own view of mentalists was not flattering, but the physician appeared be honest and direct and this inspired confidence.

“I still have my reservations about all this. My sister thinks I need help. The trouble with being a soldier is you become used to dealing with mental issues by not dealing with them at all.”

“A soldier?” Jonen exclaimed with some surprise.

The last two decades of Garryn's life was not in the public eye. He appeared from time to time with the family during holidays and national celebrations, but remained out of sight for the most part. Now Jonen started to realise that it might be for a greater purpose than just their safety.

“Yes,” Garryn answered, understanding the man's confusion. “I have been a Fleet pilot since my eighteenth year. I enlisted under an assumed name to avoid complications. I only recently left the Corps, because its time for me to assume my duties as Prime.”

“And soldiering was your choice?” Jonen asked, fascinated.

“Yes. Believe me, this is a long-standing tradition. I think one Imperator studied and became a Healer, while another sculpted under an assumed name. In my case, I didn't believe I could lead an empire if I didn't understand how it works.”

This impressed Jonen. Aristocratic children with exalted lifestyles often grew up to be arrogant adults, but the Imperators avoided this by allowing their children their own paths. It made them become more than just political tools and allowed them to escape indulgent upbringings to become better rulers.

“I must say, I'm rather impressed,” Jonen admitted. “Is your reason for being here related to your experiences in the recent engagements on Erebo?”

Following the uprising, a few of his patients were soldiers suffering from the effects of the war. It would make sense for Garryn to be similarly afflicted if he was in active combat.

“I don't know,” Garryn admitted and he started to relax the more he spoke to this mentalist. “The truth is I have bad dreams.”

Jonen tried to hide his shock and give away nothing as he bade the Prime to resume his tale. He activated the recorder on the side of his desk as part of the standard procedure for a consultation.

“Please continue.”

“They began when I went to Theran. The Uprising was in its third month and my squadron and I lent air support to the ground forces. The dreams started not long after I arrived in the system. While I was stationed on the orbital above Erebor, they came almost every night. At first, I thought it might be the stress, because of the civilian targets. Except I was dreaming them even before I flew my first mission, so I'm at a loss to explain what they mean or why I'm having them.”

“Describe them.”

The idea of describing what he had been living with these past few months was difficult, but Garryn knew if he wanted this mentalist's help, he would have to share his dreams.

“They begin peacefully. I am on an alien planet, one with a star not quite as amber as ours. The sky is blue. Can you imagine it, a blue sky?”

He expected Jonen to stare back at him with incredulity, but the mentalist only leaned forward in interest.

“I remember the place so clearly sometimes. The trees have ash-coloured bark and the birds are snow white, with enormous yellow feathers cresting the top of their heads. I'm surrounded by some kind of wheat, but it's nothing I recognise. The aroma of them is rich and they're the colour of gold. I'm standing in a field of them and it's beautiful. Everything is so primitive. I can feel raw soil under my feet and how loamy the dirt feels between my toes.”

“It sounds like a most pleasant place to be,” Jonen remarked, stroking his beard. “What happens next?”

Garryn's darkening expression did not surprise Jonen.

His chest tightened as he steeled himself to tell the mentalist the rest. When he was in combat, experiencing dangers capable of killing him easily, he was never as frightened as he was when revealing what came next in his dream.

“The scene turns bad, nightmarish. I can't describe it all, but I remember the smoke and fire. I wake up sometimes and still smell the cinders from the flames. It's like the death follows me into the waking world. The nightmare only lets me go when everything around me is dead.”

Sweat trickled down his brow, even though the room was cool. A part of him was surprised by how distastefully describing the dreams could be. When he told Elisha, he felt some vulnerability in exposing his nocturnal troubles, but he never revealed them to this detail.

The nausea gripped him like bile creeping up his throat. He'd hoped telling this stranger would help him, but instead he felt worse. Embarrassed, he hesitated meeting Jonen's gaze until he saw the mentalist pouring him a glass of water from a pitcher on his table.

“Take a moment. Catch your breath. Everything is all right.”

Garryn nodded and took the cup, swallowing several gulps. His throat still felt dry and a minute lapsed before he was able to speak again. “I didn't realise I would have so much trouble talking about this.”

“No one finds it's easy to confide something so private to a stranger. How often are you having these dreams, now you're home?”

“Since my return from Theran, three or four times a week. On those nights, I get two or three hours sleep at the most.”

Even if nothing in the way of treatment took place today, Garryn did not regret taking Elisha's advice and consulting Jonen. A weight was lifted off him just talking about it. Perhaps keeping the images to himself was as damaging as the dreams themselves.

“Am I going crazy? Am I suffering battlefield stress? I know it happens.”

“You are not crazy,” Jonen insisted, because many patients feared not being found out they were ill, but rather being branded with the stigma of madness. In this day and age, people still had trouble telling the difference.

“No doubt something is going on in your head. Dreams are the mind's way of coping with stressful situations and the subconscious vents what the conscious is not ready to reveal. Our goal is to try and interpret these messages, to learn what your subconscious is trying to tell you. Once we discover what the message is, they will go away.”

“That is good to hear,” Garryn retorted, although he thought this could not happen soon enough.

“Now I need to ask you some routine questions,” Jonen asked. “I assume you are a New Citizen?”

“Yes.”

“How old were you when you were adopted?” Jonen asked, entering Garryn's answers into a console in front of him.

“According to my mother, three years old. Elisha is not my natural sister. I believe she was only six months old.”

“Any memories before your adoption?”

This was the question to which Jonen wanted an answer most of all. This would determine everything.

Garryn tried to recall his first lucid memory.

* * *

He cried a lot until she came and wrapped her arms around him, telling him nothing would hurt him again.

“You're safe now, little one.” Her voice was like a song and her scent familiar like flowers. The scent reminded him of someone…

The memory remained elusive, but it was enough to make him cling to her. He would call her mother soon enough, but during the first year, she was the flower lady.

Before her, he remembered nothing.

* * *

“No memories.”

* * *

Hours later, Jonen pondered the days' events while sitting in his chair and staring into the sunset. Garryn's first session lasted more than two hours. Jonen should have kept the session short, as preliminary sessions ought to be, but this case was too important to treat as routine. Mira was undoubtedly livid at all the appointments she was forced to cancel, but it was worth the inconvenience.

The young man needed treatment, but feared exposing his condition to the Empire. Even though to Jonen it seemed a minor consideration, Garryn insisted on the need for discretion. As the next Prime and some day Imperator, his mental state needed to be above reproach. This was why he came to Jonen instead of summoning the mentalist to the Domicile.

Jonen had spent the rest of the session listening to Garryn, making certain his suspicions were founded. If correct in his assumptions, it would be in Garryn's best interest to attend his next appointment. What Jonen had to tell him might trouble the young man, but in the end would prove satisfying.

“I've rescheduled all the appointments you cancelled today.” Mira announced, making her entrance into the room. With office hours over for the day, she closed the office to the public.

Jonen swung around in his chair and faced her. He had known her long enough to recognise her tone of voice. “Do I sense a rebuke?”

“No, only a reminder that one important patient should not be treated at the expense of others.”

“Sit down, Mira,” Jonen gestured to the chair.

Mira raised a brow at the suggestion. Her dark brown eyes narrowed with puzzlement as she realised something was going on. She sat with her usual elegance. Her hands resting on her lap as she waited for him to tell all.

“We've got another one,” he declared.

She did not need to ask what he meant. It was common practice for mentalists to share their assistant's confidence. He discussed his cases with her on the understanding she was bound to the same rules of confidentiality. Jonen found Mira's intellect to be formidable, because she was unencumbered by popular theory or academic fact.

Mira said what she thought and it was often precise and unique.

“The Prime?” She was shocked, but recovered soon enough.

“Yes,” Jonen nodded. “With Garryn, the number is now fourteen in Paralyte. I spoke to mentalist Darix an hour ago and he's reported another two cases. That brings its up to nine at Tesalone. Alwi at Rainab says she has seventeen patients now. This may be the first psychological epidemic we've ever seen.”

“We have to tell someone!” she exclaimed.

“I would like to, but for now I agree with Darix and Alwi. We still need more information. If this is a virus, it is the most specific one I have ever seen. It does nothing to deteriorate the physical body and only manifests when the subject is dreaming. It also operates in a very particular age group. I doubt the Healers Circle are going to take it seriously.”

“But something must be wrong. How can this condition affect only New Citizens? Despite the small number of people unaffected by the Scourge, children were still being born when the New arrived. How can they be susceptible but not our indigenous population?”

“Well, those children were born in the Empire. The New Citizens are not,” Jonen reminded her. “We brought them from Cathomira when there was nothing left of their planet. None of the rescue teams dared to remain long enough on the surface to gather anything but survivors. The Fleet had enough time to get them out, not go digging for medical texts about the nature of Cathomira's biological war.”

“And the dreams?”

Jonen had no answer. The dreams were the most enigmatic thing about the condition. They seemed so similar. In every case, they had all mentioned a blue sky. What was it about a blue sky? Some had never been off planet. Those who did travel never came across a place like the one described in their sleep.

It couldn't be Cathomira. Once Jonen had learned all his patients were New Citizens, he'd read everything he could about the doomed world. The planet orbited a red giant. Prior to receiving the distress call, no one believed in the existence of any habitable planets in its system.

“The dreams are odd. The pattern is the same, but the description is different. They all start off pleasantly, but descend into violence. It's always on this alien world. I keep thinking it is Cathomira, even if the descriptions are inaccurate. There isn't much information on the place, other than the mission reports when the rescue team landed. What pictures there are described a world that appears nothing like the one people are seeing.”

“A memory, perhaps?”

“I considered the idea. The destruction of their home world is quite a traumatic thing. Many have no memories before arriving on Brysdyn, which does lend credibility to the theory of a shared experience. It could suggest repressed memories due to extreme trauma. Children do block what is too distressful to cope with.”

“That must be it then,” Mira said confidently.

IV The Dreaming

Justin!

Where are you, Justin?

Surrounded by the fiery remains of golden stalks, she called out once more, but no answer came, only the braying of dying animals over the crackle of fire. Tears ran down her cheeks, either from smoke or anguish. Frantic, she continued to run like a rat caught in a maze with no exit.

What are you looking for? He wanted to ask her, but he was only a phantom in this dreamscape. Despite numerous visits to this place, he'd never found anyone but her. She was alone in this field, with only the exotic creatures around her for company. White birds, herds of large docile bovines and ludicrous animals that bounced across the landscape on powerful hind legs.

Justin!

She cried out again. She slipped past the edges of panic and ran headlong into hysteria. Terror gripped her, although he suspected she did not fear for herself. Whatever she sought with such desperation made any thoughts of self-preservation secondary. Even when the smoke overwhelmed her, she stumbled forward doggedly, determine to keep searching.

Once she crested the hilltop, she paused to catch her breath and wiped the sweat from her brow. Surveying the terrain, she glimpsed something that made her eyes widen and her expression flood with relief.

Justin, stay where you are!