She was in one of those strange dazes that came over her after poring over the old scientific databases with her father. Such evenings always left her dreamy, optimistic, those mysteries of the universe unfolding with answers for her.
Despite my desire to keep her focused on Tyrus’s words, on the threats facing her, I couldn’t help but give in when she patted the mattress next to her. I sprawled out next to her, an odd, warm feeling settling over me at the familiarity of this. From my first days at the fortress, Donia had nestled up next to me like a . . . like the way I’d imagine sisters did, to tell me things. Like two people, two friends, speaking to each other as equals. Stories, sometimes. Once she’d begun showing me images of letters, determined to teach me to read. I’d learned within a few weeks.
Today she related to me some of what she and her father had read in his study. “I told you how our bodies are made of tiny atoms, these things called ‘elements,’ didn’t I? Well, it’s most incredible, Nemesis. Do you know where those elements come from?”
She leaned her head against my shoulder, and I felt that odd indulgence I only felt toward her. “I couldn’t begin to guess. Tell me.”
“From within stars! Think of it.” She stretched her arm up above us, marveling at it. “Every single bit of us comes from this process called nuclear fusion that only happens inside stars.” She stifled a yawn. “Strange to even think of it. We are all of us but stardust shaped into a conscious being. The Helionics and the old scientists really do agree, even if no one realizes it.”
I pondered her words, weighing them. If what she said was true, this bed, the fortress walls about us, everything came from those glowing lights outside the window.
Donia smiled at me sleepily. “I told you that you have the same divine spark I do. I was right all along, Nemesis.”
She fell into a slumber at my side, and I watched her chest rise and fall for a while before slipping off her bed to my place on my own pallet. A strange pit settled in my stomach as I turned over her words. Donia had the temperance of her mother and the curiosity of her father, but she was kinder than both of them.
She could be great one day. She could do what her father never could and bridge those two factions in the Senate, unite the Helionics with those who wished a return of scientific pursuits . . . if she survived long enough to do so.
And she would survive.
A sharp determination spiked through me.
As long as I had breath in my body to defend her, she would survive.
I’d heard the tale from Sidonia and the vicar many times. It was one of the central Helionic myths. Centuries ago, there’d been five planets dedicated solely to storing all the accumulated scientific and technological wisdom of humanity on massive supercomputers. A great supernova had wiped away all of them at once. It was an important event to all Helionics. To them, the stars were the means by which the Living Cosmos expressed its will. The Interdict—the spiritual leader of the Helionic faith—declared the destruction wreaked by that supernova a divine act.
The Empire suffered a devastating blow. The Emperor of that day united his domain in common cause by declaring a Helionic crusade. The faithful systematically destroyed other repositories of scientific and technological knowledge. Education in sciences and mathematics was banned as blasphemy. And ever since then, no new technology had been created. The only starships and machines in existence were those constructed by human ancestors before the supernova. The starships still functioned because machines repaired them, and other machines repaired those machines, though all of them were deteriorating. This technology rested solely in the hands of the Grandiloquy.
The Excess, those humans who lived on planets and obeyed imperial rule, had to content themselves with only the machines they were lent by their Grandiloquy betters. Because it was blasphemy to learn sciences, they would never be able to build starships of their own.
The stability of the Empire hinged on this basic divide between the Excess and the Grandiloquy.
In rallying members of the Senate to challenge the ban on scientific education, Senator von Impyrean had threatened the very balance of power. The Inquisitor’s visit signaled growing royal impatience with his actions.
It was a warning the Senator did not heed.
A transmission came from the Emperor one evening. The shouting that ensued jerked me from my sleep. Donia slept through it, unable to hear as well as I could. I slipped from my pallet and rushed down the corridor. Just inside the Senator’s atrium, I found them: the Matriarch in her nightclothes, striking at her husband’s arms, and the Senator cringing back from her blows.
“Fool! You FOOL!” she screamed. “Did you think no one would find out? You have destroyed this family with your actions!”
I closed the distance and wrenched the Matriarch away from her husband. Sturdy as she was, the woman proved no match for my strength. The Senator stumbled back, straightening his tunic.
“Idiot! Miscreant! We are all undone!” screamed the Matriarch, still struggling against my grip.
“My dear,” said the Senator, spreading his arms, “there are things more important than whether one person lives or dies.”
“And our family? And our daughter? We will lose everything!” She turned and seized me. “You.” Her wild eyes found mine. “You, take me from here. I can’t bear to look upon him a moment more!”
I cast the shaken Senator a long, measured look, then drew his wife away. The Matriarch shook where I held her. I led her like an invalid toward her chambers, where she promptly collapsed onto a chair, clawing at the fabric with her hands. “Undone . . . We are all undone. . . .”
“What’s happening?” I demanded. “Tell me at once.”
No one issued orders to the Matriarch, but if Sidonia’s life was in danger, I needed to know immediately.
“What do you think is happening?” she said. “My husband made a move against the Emperor! The fool thought he was being crafty. The Emperor would not loosen his restrictions on scientific education, so my idiot husband took the roundabout way—and sent information from those ridiculous old databases to some members of the Excess.”
“The Excess,” I repeated, shocked. Was the Senator insane? “Is he hoping to be executed?”
Her lips twisted. “He’s imbecile enough to believe he can force the Emperor’s hand. He thinks that if the Emperor’s worst fears come true and the Excess begin to develop their own starships, then the Emperor will insist the Grandiloquy follow suit and create new ones of their own. He thinks this will lead to the Emperor seeing matters his way.” She gave a bitter laugh. “He miscalculated, of course. The Emperor had those Excess killed. He just notified us that he’s aware of my husband’s role in the debacle.”