Chapter 13

The final chapter of Moebius

Chapter 13

 

The top of a tree at the edge of the clearing popped its foliaged head above its neighbors, its trunk disintegrating, in a bang so loud as to be otherworldly. As the top of the tree crashed to the ground, some of the people nearby in the crowd screamed in pain.

“Nobody move!” someone shouted. “Away from the camera!”

Taea turned her head, not believing what she saw. Fifteen or twenty people in heavy gear and masks had run in from the opposite direction as the exploding tree. Three of them hounded the technicians away from the camera equipment while the rest waved big guns at the crowd and Aventari.

Why? Why would anyone attack now? After the battle of Mithra and the defeat of Spellcaster, the war was over. Especially with Freedom dispersed to the galaxy, everyone should be rejoicing, not setting off bombs.

One of the troopers looked and trained his gun directly at Taea. Taea froze. She did not even blink. In the boy’s eyes, she saw a beast. And in that moment, a fierce truth struck her.

She might be about to die.

In those eyes, there was no possibility of being swayed by reason or morality. No sign of uncertainty or distraction. Just an angry boy with a gun.

One of the attackers walked up to the camera, appearing on the large screens behind it. He wasn’t wearing a mask, and on his lower face beneath his helmet Taea could see tan skin.

“People of Tarran,” the boy said, his voice firm and loud, “you must be very proud of yourselves. Through your democracy, your elected leaders have made your nation prosperous and powerful. Surely you all share in the credit for what your nation has done.” He took a step back, and then clapped his hands together and spread them wide. “And surely you all share in the blame for the suffering it has inflicted!”

 The clap must have triggered a timer for a mechanism in his gloves, because they and his sleeves fell off, revealing mechanical arms.

“Lawrence!” Skipper cried, stepping forward. “What are you doing?”

“Silence that boy,” Lawrence said. One of the soldiers swung their rifle around and struck Skipper in the temple, and he crumpled to the ground. Taea gasped along with Conner and Corcell.

Lawrence? Taea thought. But why would he be here? Doing this? And now, of all times?

Lawrence faced the camera again. “One year ago, I was taken before your leader, the Disassembler, whom you elected, despite the fact that he is a demon from a netherworld in some unknown region of the galaxy. You knew of his insidious compulsion to tear limbs and remove organs. Other candidates were available. But you elected him. Him. The monster. The Disassembler.

“Look upon me! Do you see? Can you deny the torment you caused when its proof stands before you? My arms and legs were taken from me before I was rescued.”

Rescued by Skipper, you b*****d, Taea thought.

“I was taken up the Imperial Tower,” Lawrence continued, “through halls, up elevators, surrounded by Elite Service. And do you know who watched? Do you know who stood there, doing nothing as a helpless boy was led to what was sure to be a painful, drawn-out end?” Slowly, he lowered his left hand and pointed his right at the camera. “Tarrans.”

Taea was suddenly aware of the sound of an approaching aircraft, and felt a surge of hope. Perhaps help was on the way.

“Criminals of Tarran,” Lawrence said. “And I do denounce every one of you a criminal. The war is far from over. The plasma of righteousness will rain upon you until all know the suffering that your leader, that your nation, that you have caused. This is not a warning. It is a declaration.”

The aircraft appeared, flying over the trees on an approach vector. Taea’s heart sank. A Resistance drop ship, not the Tarran military. The Resistance soldiers shouted, and the audience scattered, making room for the craft to land.

Lawrence turned the camera to face the ship. “Take the precious time you have left to reflect on your crimes and prepare for your judgment,” he said. Then he joined the rest of his band as they ascended the ramp into the drop ship’s bay, the outermost members walking backward and sideways with their guns ready.

Taea felt surreal, watching it all unfold in front of her. She knew her body could move---that was certain with Freedom coursing through her---but through the event she had seen no possible course of motion that would have ended any differently than with her in the same position as Skipper. Even with a mind free of inhibitions, it was still possible to be trapped.

The bay door sealed. And then . . . the engines turned off. Taea blinked and shook her head. What was happening?

Then, something happened that none of the onlookers could have expected. The pilot hatch opened, and a red-haired girl popped her head out. Mara! She waved, and said in a sing-song voice, “Hey, we’ve got a bunch of renegades captured for you!”

“Mara!” Conner cried. Behind Mara, a boy appeared. “And Oliver! What are you doing here?”

“Saving the day,” Mara said, “what else?”

“But why are you with them?” Conner pointed toward the bay door.

“We’re not!” Mara said. “We captured them. Didn’t you hear me the first time?”

Conner opened his mouth and his eyes and took in a slow breath of realization.

“It’s nice of you to come to our award ceremony,” Corcell said, moving the attention away from Conner’s embarrassment, “even if you are late.”

“Core!” Mara said jogging closer. “How---” she paused by the camera. “Should this still be on?”

The technician who had been driven away from it raised his finger and nodded, running up to the camera, and pressed some buttons.

Mara turned her attention back to her friends. “How’ve you been, Core?”

“It’s Corcell, now,” Corcell said. “Core died when . . . she died that day. I’m wonderful. And terrible. Infinitely better.”

“How about you, Taea,” Oliver asked, approaching at a more normal pace.

Taea smiled, feeling joy well up from deep within her and display itself on her face. The waking nightmares, the depression, the unwanted pleasure, and now the fear of her life and her people. All of it was gone. “I have never felt so thankful to be alive.”

Oliver sighed. “Good.”

“Is something wrong?”

Oliver’s eyes flicked over to Mara. Couple troubles? Could Freedom have caused a fracture in their relationship? It was starting to look like Freedom wasn’t the paragon of goodness it had first seemed.

Htumoc joined the group. “Excuse me,” he said, “but there are several hundred million people who just received the scare of their life. Would you quickly tell us what happened so that we can turn the cameras back on and reassure them?”

“Oh, right,” Mara said. “Sure can do. It was during the celebration after the battle---”

“The Battle of Mithra?” Htumoc asked.

“Yeah, of course. Our squadron was eating and drinking and dancing together---I mean they were, and we were there---it doesn’t matter---anyway, that’s where we were when the whole Spellcaster thing happened. Talk about a nightmare. Then Conner took the staff and lifted the Shroud with Freedom. Which mostly made things better, but it also made Lawrence go crazy. He started talking about ‘bringing justice on the shadows,’ and stuff like that. He started getting the other squadron members riled up. It scared the pants off Oliver and me. Before we knew what happened, we were all on a ship, headed here.”

“Why didn’t you send a warning message?” Htumoc asked.

Mara’s mouth worked soundlessly. Oliver took up the slack, the grumpiness with which he spoke contrasting sharply with Mara’s ebullience. “That’s one of those things we look back on and see so many opportunities where we could have done it, and kick ourselves for not noticing them at the time. We have no excuses, because we should have done it, but for some reason we don’t understand, we didn’t.”

Mara nodded, her face turning a shade of pink that, Taea noted, kind of matched her hair. “Yep, that’s pretty much it. It was surreal. I kept thinking we were dreaming.”

“Like something out of a horror novel,” Oliver said.

Htumoc clapped his hands together. “Ooh, that’s a good line.” He repeated it dramatically. “Like something out of a horror novel. We definitely must use that line for our story.”

“Story?” Oliver barked. “We’re going to tell them the truth.”

“Of course,” Htumoc said. “But public relations is not just about what you tell, it’s how you tell it. The people will be suspicious of you because you flew their ship. But that suspicion can be assuaged if we can show them how frightened and brave you felt.”

A Tarran police aircraft coasted by and picked up the terrorist ship with a force tether, the technicians turning their cameras to capture it. Several police cars pulled to a stop in the park, and officers got out and asked everyone to remain calm and stay where they were.

That evening, after a long day of giving statements to the news and the police, the six friends were finally able to relax in the lounge of the spacious hotel suite the government had provided for them.

“Ugh,” Mara groaned, flopping onto one of the couches, “I’m so worn out.”

“But it’s over now,” Taea said, sitting next to her. Taea pulled one of the cushions on top of her and felt the soft warmth melt into her body on all sides. She sighed in contentment. “It’s all over.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before,” Skipper said.

“You’re a different person,” Mara agreed.

“I have all of you to thank for that,” Taea said. And my faith, she thought. She had made her decision. Spending time among people from other beliefs and ideologies had shown her that Ar’eus was not the One True Way, but one way out of many. And to her surprise, she was okay with that. For she realized that life was not about knowing the truth, but a search for it, a journey that always brought one to places of greater meaning, but never ended. Some traveled together on the journey, while others took their own paths. In Taea’s heart, she was Ar’eus. Her life belonged to Drucan. But she would return to her religion not as a devotee, nor as a heretic, but as a reformer.

“I’m looking on the news,” Skipper said, holding his computer pad with his elbows on his chair’s padded armrmests. “It looks like there’s been a lot of crazy stuff happening the past few days. Governments have been overthrown, unions have taken over corporations, millions of people have changed jobs or religions or walked out of abusive relationships, there has been an explosion of arts and hobbies of all kinds, loads of laws and regulations restricting people’s personal lives have been struck down.” He inclined his head and raised an eyebrow. “Violence and crime have skyrocketed. So have littering, pollution, not covering mouths when coughing and sneezing, and all-around selfish behavior against the public good.”

“Looks like Freedom is making people lose their inhibitions without giving them the wisdom to use it responsibly,” Oliver said with a sourness to his voice.

“Like Lawrence,” Taea said, looking at Skipper.

Skipper took a long breath. “Yeah. Like Lawrence.”

“But it’s Freedom,” Conner said with an edge of uncertainty. “It’s good, right?”

Corcell put her arm around Conner. “We’re all glad for what you did.”

“I’m very glad,” Taea said, pouring the gratitude from her heart into her words. “Trust me, no matter what downsides there are, Freedom is infinitely better than living under the Shroud of Spellcaster.”

The rest of the group nodded and made noises of agreement. Conner relaxed.

“So,” Oliver said, “now that all this is behind us, I guess Mara, Conner and I will be heading home soon.”

“Um, actually,” Conner said, putting his hand on Corcell’s knee, “I was thinking we might stay a little longer.”

“Well, Mara was wanting to get back quickly,” Oliver said, squinting and giving her a sidelong glare.

“It’s fine,” Mara said, looking away. “Now that the war is over and we can leave whenever we want to thanks to the chrono actuator, I don’t feel as much . . . I don’t feel as trapped.”

Oliver turned his head to look at her more directly. “Wait, does this mean---”

“No.” Mara shook her head without looking at him. “No.”

They broke up, Taea thought. Or at least, that would make sense, given the way they’ve been acting. She looked at Conner and Corcell, who sat hip-to-hip, savoring each other’s closeness. It looked like, even though the galaxy was saved, for some the aftertaste of victory was bittersweet. Such is life. We must follow it’s path where it leads us. Sometimes it unites us with others for the briefest of moments, before taking us our separate ways. Yet onward it goes.

And Taea found herself thinking of her own path into the future. It looked so uncertain, splitting into an unknown number of mist-shrouded branches. Yet she knew---she had faith---that on the other side lay clarity and beauty. And she was certain that the same was true for these friends of hers from the past. They may have known each other for only a short time, but this time would remain vividly and wonderfully in their memories.

 

* * *

 

Conner laughed sheepishly as heads turned to watch Corcell haul him playfully by the wrist through the Resistance headquarters on Mithra. “Where are we going?” he pleaded for the eleventh or twelfth time. They ran into the residence hall, and Corcell stopped by a door and scanned her thumb and typed a code into the keypad. Her quarters, Conner realized, blood rising to his face. Could she be making a final move on him, now, on his last day in the future?

Corcell noticed his reaction as she opened the door. “Oh,” she laughed, “relax, it’s fine.” She waved him in after her.

The room seemed different this time, as if it had changed along with her personality. Conner noticed the light wood furniture, the blue neatly-made cover on her bed with minimal yellow patterning, the window looking out upon the artful Mithrassi landscape, and a small bouquet of flowers on the dresser in a narrow glass vase of water. The same flowers, in fact, that Conner had picked for her. With a start, he realized that in order to have prevented them from wilting, she must have put them there before the the mission to Tantalus. Back when she was . . . different.

“I have a gift for you,” Corcell said, bouncing on her feet. She turned and opened the top drawer in her dresser, and withdrew a thin stained board the width of a yuman chest. She held it up and grinned. “I drew this for you. It’s been so long since I painted. I thought the first thing I would draw would be something for you to remember me by.” She flipped it between her hands and held it out to Conner.

Conner took it delicately, the smudges of brownish colors looking as if someone had eaten a fruit salad, and then a bowl of mud, and then vomited it onto the canvas.

Corcell’s face fell. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“No, uh,” Conner tried to force a smile, and could tell it wasn’t convincing. “It’s the thought that counts.”

“No, that’s not it.” Corcell pulled open her dresser drawers in sequence. “Where did they . . .” She moved to the closet, and Conner heard her rummaging things around. “Aha!” She brought out a stack of colored plastic sheets the same size as the painting and placed them on the bed, then took the blue on off the top. “Look.”

She placed the sheet over the painting. Suddenly the picture became a scene of gentle waves, the sense of ugliness and chaos disappearing. “Oh,” Conner said.

“And then,” Corcell said, switching the blue plate for a green one, “take another one.” The picture became an impressionistic scene of rolling hills and plant stalks. She switched to the yellow filter, and it turned into upward-raining energy packets.

As Corcell cycled through all the colored filters, each showing a different beautiful abstract image, Conner’s breath slowed as he realized the depth of her talent. To use the same ugly pattern to make so many beautiful pictures on the same canvas. It seemed too incredible for a yuman to achieve.

“It’s called pluralism,” Corcell said. “Many pictures existing in the same place, adding and subtracting from one another.”

“It’s amazing,” Conner said in a hushed voice. “Beyond amazing.”

“Here,” Corcell said, picking up the stack of lenses, “why don’t you take these too. I’ve gotten enough experience that I don’t need them.”

“Wow,” Conner said, accepting the stack. “Uh, thank you.” He looked around, not knowing what he was looking for. “I wish I had something to give you to remember me too.”

“Oh,” Corcell said, placing her hand on the dresser beside the flower vase, “but you already have.”

Conner smiled, suddenly overcome with a powerful mix of emotions. Their week together on Mithra had gone by so fast, and they had spent it doing so many things together, running from one thing to the next, as if scrambling up a mountain trying to keep the sunset from ending. But here it was, their last moments together in the fading light of young love. Conner’s eyes felt wet, and he said, “I don’t want to go.”

Corcell stepped close, guiding his hand to lay down the art materials, and looked into his eyes. “I don’t want you to go either.”

Time stopped while they looked into each other’s eyes, the mystery of their closeness like a quantum glass, ever filling, ever running low. They reached the peak of the mountain just in time to watch the last rays of sunlight fade beyond the horizon.

Corcell leaned in and kissed him. In that moment, he was knocked out of space and time just as completely as when the staff of Spellcaster had struck. The touch of her lips, the action of affection, trust, and connection. He kissed her back. And then it was done.

“I’ll find another chrono actuator,” Conner said, his blood swirling with energy, each breath full of life. “I’ll search the galaxy. I’ll come back for you.”

Corcell gently touched his cheek. “Conner. Please. Live your life and move on. For me.”

“But---”

“The universe put us together so we would have the strength to do our part in the war. It gave us this time with each other when it was over, but it never intended for us to be together for long.”

“Do you . . .” Conner hesitated, the slow inevitability of loss and loneliness swelling up within him. “Do you believe that kind of thing?”

“When it helps me,” Corcell said. Conner could see tears dampening her eyes. “It’s like the painting. There are many truths, and sometimes we get to choose which ones we see.”

“There you are!”

Mara’s sudden voice made Conner jump, and he turned around to find her standing in the doorway with luggage bags in both hands.

“Should have guessed you two would be fooling around at the last minute.” With a swing, Mara tossed Conner’s bag to him, and he caught it. “Come on, Oliver’s already waiting in the Black Fire.”

Corcell touched the inside of Conner’s arm. “Don’t forget your painting.”

The journey through the base was brief, and it seemed only the blink of an eye before they stood at the stairs into the Black Fire’s hatch. Oliver had come out, and Skipper was there to see them off.

“You sure took your time,” Oliver said, arms folded and grinning.

Conner stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Oh come on.”

“Well,” Oliver said, “this is your last chance. Why don’t you kiss her?”

“Hey,” Corcell said, “I’m here too.”

Conner wanted to say something witty and take control of the conversation, but it was all he could do not to stammer as the blood rushed to his face.

“Ha!” Oliver cried, throwing up his hands. “You diiiid!”

“Hey,” Corcell said loudly. “What’s with you?”

“Sorry,” Mara said with a chuckle, “it’s payback for something Conner said four hundred years ago.”

“Well that’s fine,” Corcell said with exaggerated indignation, “but how am I supposed to get payback?”

“Maybe you can deface my grave or something,” Oliver said.

They all shared a hearty laugh, and Conner found he felt comfortable again.

“I hope you hear from Second Light soon,” Oliver said to Skipper and Corcell. Since being swallowed by the monstrous hyperspace tunnel, there had been no word from Corcell’s father, the vice admiral, nor from Callum and Veronica. That could mean they were still in hyperspace, or something on the other side had them keeping quiet. Either way, the wait had been disconcerting.

Corcell sighed. Conner looked at her and was filled with compassion. She had lost her brother, she was losing Conner and his friends, and her dad and other friends were missing. Despite getting her emotions back on track, this was going to be a tough time for her.

She met his eyes, and then pulled him into a tight hug. The mixture of warmth, firmness, and softness of her body pressing against him sent feelings and emotions blazing through him. He returned the embrace, not caring about the sappy noises the others made.

Corcell took a deep breath and then let go. “Goodbye, Conner,” she said.

“Goodbye Corcell.”

Conner felt as if in a dream as he, Oliver, and Mara embarked, and the Black Fire rose above the land and into the space between worlds. It was eternity, and it was no time at all. And then the chrono actuator was triggered, and the Black Fire slipped into a waterfall of time and space as elusive and mysterious as the sources of meaning, emotion, and consciousness.