The Jewel of Citizens
In the heart of the Andromeda Galaxy, amongst the billions of planets orbiting the stars, there exists a hidden gem: Odisiris, The Jewel of Citizens. The world of Citizens is a complex one. They are deemed superhuman; a remarkable hybrid race whose distinction lies not in the colour of their skin or their physical attributes but rather the colour of their blood. But this isn’t about how Citizens came into being. This is about The Chancellor of Odisiris…
Eron Brailey hailed from a prestigious lineage of Ruling Chancellors, and his role was akin to that of a monarch, with one crucial distinction−he possessed the ultimate authority in all matters concerning the governance of the realm.
His paramount duty was to safeguard the prosperity and welfare of all the Citizens within his domain, but his primary allegiance always lay with his own kind, First Status Citizens.
On the fateful morning of his untimely death, Eron had met with esteemed members of the Parliamentary Elite. They were aggrieved to learn that three Unmarked Ones had managed to infiltrate the city.
‘We must obliterate Brevons Beach,’ declared Ricryn, a prominent member of the Parliamentary Elite. Age had not crippled him. One hundred and twelve years of age, he stood tall and straight-backed. ‘That’s where they came from. And while we’re at it, we should destroy the Red Caves. Put an end to this scourge.’
Eron, visibly troubled, wrung his hands together. ‘They came looking for food, nothing more. We should not sacrifice our lands for the sake of a few Unmarked Ones. Dealing with them should be a simple enough matter.’
‘They breed. What if there are more?’ Ricryn continued. He was always fretting about something even if it was his mane of well-oiled hair. ‘Their count goes Unchecked, and as for the Red Caves, I’ve heard they’ve burrowed underground.’
Eron tried to block out his voice. He didn’t care about Unmarked Ones. Most of the Parliamentary Elite spoke as if they were animals and not a sub-species of human. He shared a glance with Osaphar.
Only last week Ricryn had complained about a handful of Peltarcks carrying out weaponry defence training at the military base in the 8th District. He was of the notion they would use aliens from their own planet to pursue another rebellion.
Eron wanted Ricryn gone. He had too much influence within the Parliamentary Elite. He had a charm about him and an enviable amount of confidence to go along with it
He moved on from the topic. ‘I wish to see Connor. Bring him to me,’ he asked one of the cyborg sentinels.
Connor burst into the room before a sentinel had a chance to summon him, his eyes wide with fear. He bowed to his father. ‘It happened again, Father. He appeared in my dream, in the dead of night.’
Eron interrupted, ‘Shh, now. Do not speak of dreams.’ He had advised his son repeatedly about discussing dreams and nightmares in the presence of others, but his son failed to listen. He had hoped to spend more time with his youngest son, but duty called, and his priority lay with Luke, the next in line. There was much for Luke to learn about obligation.
He couldn’t confide in anyone, not even Osaphar, but he sensed Osaphar might have some inkling Connor was one of them, one of the ‘gifted’.
Lately, his own thoughts had been shifting. He found himself questioning the treatment of Citizens and the notion of a hierarchical system, not to mention the Unmarked Ones. Shouldn’t they also have a rightful place in society?
The primary responsibility of the Ruling Chancellor was not only to govern, but also to uphold order and tradition, ensuring nothing changed from the established ‘norms’. The distinction between First and Second Class Citizens remained intact, with the former enjoying elite status. Third Status Citizens, on the other hand, were respected but not admired.
He remembered the girl who had died in the Red Caves at Skelos’s hand: an Unmarked One. She hadn’t looked much different from a Citizen, only she was starved and ragged-looking.
Citizens viewed the Unmarked Ones as beasts, but what did they know? How could they know? He knew some of them still dwelled in the caves but those the military had captured, he had disposed on Brevons Beach to give them some chance at life. He had tried to do so with the uttermost discretion, but rumours were spreading about his sympathies towards ‘lesser Citizens’ and ‘other beings’, his friendships with Peltarcks and other audacious foreigners who dared to land on their planet. He needed to make amends, dispel these notions, and regain the trust of the Parliamentary Elite before they turned against him.
‘You must always align with us,’ Osaphar had insisted. ‘Or at least appear to do so. All Unmarked Ones should be eradicated. Peltarcks should fulfill their obligatory duties and then depart, rather than mingling and feasting as equals. Send the Peltarcks back to their home. Brevons Beach is becoming overrun with Unmarked Ones and other species I choose not to name. There may come a time when they unite and turn against us.’
‘You can’t think this is right? You were there with me in the Red Caves. You saw what happened.’
‘What would you have me do? Send them to Pyridian as alien fodder?’
‘I would have you do nothing.’ Osaphar pointed to his chest. ‘We are all that matters.’
They were alone in the lush gardens of their ten-storey home. Botanical droids floated among the plants and vibrant flowers, attending to their needs. Glass bridges and verandas connected the various levels, providing panoramic views of the city.
‘Tell me again,’ said Eron.
‘A Technopath,’ said Connor, hopping to keep up with his father, who was striding around a miniature waterfall with his arms crossed behind his back. ‘I don’t know when or why, but he’s coming for us.’
Eron frowned. Why did his son come to him with such dark thoughts. He didn’t know any Technopaths. And his son may have been thinking about something that happened long ago. His youngest found it hard to distinguish between the World of Dreams and actual dreams. But he had never spoken to him of Technopaths. He could have learnt it from elsewhere. ‘What you saw wasn’t reality,’ he reassured his son and himself. ‘As I’ve told you before, some dreams are so real to us, we sometimes believe we’re awake, watching, partaking even, but in truth we are not, we simply cannot be−’
Amid his sentence, a bullet, thin and swift, tore through his temple with deadly precision and settled in the depths of his brain where it made itself undetectable. And deep within the recesses of his consciousness, a flicker of existence persisted, refusing to succumb to full death. Somewhere he lived on.
A MONTH LATER
‘Why isn’t he regenerating?’ said Bural, perplexed by the lack of healing in Eron’s brain. The wound on his temple had closed, leaving a minuscule hole. There were no visible signs of internal damage, and despite undergoing a scan, no abnormalities appeared on the images.
‘Perhaps he’s not a Citizen,’ said Queduan, a waif of a practitioner in a rumpled lab coat and a shaven head.
Bural scoffed; her gaze fixed on the hologram screens surrounding the examination table upon which Eron lay. High above, the rows of observation windows were empty. Cyborg sentinels guarded all entrances and exits. ‘Don’t be absurd.’
‘It’s possible he’s an imposter,’ Queduan replied. We know there are individuals capable of cloning themselves, acquiring all the abilities and traits of our kind.’
‘It’s Eron,’ interjected Osaphar, who was watching over them.
‘Remind me, who was with him last?’ she said.
The First Status Citizen was not dressed for the Stores. Her blonde hair cascaded down her pleated nanoscale gown, which shifted between shades of indigo and blue with every step she took.
‘He was alone in the gardens with his son, the youngest,’ said Osaphar. ‘The cameras didn’t show anything, and the sentinels failed to log any unusual activity.’
Darkness had fallen. Glass and steel towers pierced the night sky dotted with stars. Air shuttles zipped between the buildings, ferrying Citizens around the sprawling metropolis. Osaphar wished he were among them. He had hardly slept in weeks.
Bural pressed his hand to Eron’s forehead. ‘There’s no heartbeat, no brain activity. He’s not regenerating. I hate to say this, but it looks as if he’ll never recover.’
‘He can’t be dead,’ said Osaphar. ‘His body is intact,’ He had consulted every leading brain scientist on the planet, not to mention a handful of others. He had been discreet as he was able, but he couldn’t trust all would stay silent. He had seen fear in some of them, bewilderment, and curiosity in others.
‘Maybe he is an outlier,’ said Bural, echoing what some other brain scientists believed: Makers Will. ‘Stranger things have happened.’
‘He was with his son, you say?’ said Queduan, scratching his bald head as he gazed at Eron’s lifeless body.
‘Yes, for the fourth time,’ said Osaphar. It was not their place to act as inquisitors in the matter of his assassination or attempted one.
‘The boy has been talking excessively about dreams.’ Queduan shared a meaningful look with Bural. The fear rose in his voice. ‘I heard rumours he might be one of them.’
‘One of them?’ Bural perched on the edge of a low table, tapping her arched heel on the floor, and fiddling with the black opals around her neck. It was evident she had other places she would rather be.
‘A gifted individual. A Dream Emissary,’ explained Queduan. They have the power to invade minds, manipulate their consciousness.’
‘I spoke with Connor. He swore he saw nothing. Did nothing,’ said Osaphar. He drew an exasperated breath. ‘On record, it’s an assassination. We’re still looking for his killer. His family will need to go off-world, until Luke can take his father’s place.’
‘Not sure I believe in Gifted Ones,’ mused Bural. ‘Eron won’t wake and likely never will. We’ll put him in Cryo, back-up his memories. Perhaps a day will come when we can revive him.’
Now that Luke has come of age, he is eager to return to his home planet and assume the role as Ruling Chancellor. But does this position lay vacant or forgotten? Odisiris is not as it was. There are unseen threats and levels of uncertainty that must be overcome by a cunning mind and a stealth approach.
Questions linger in the minds of the Citizen populace: should their new ruler serve all or the privileged few? Will they strive to unite races or annihilate their coexistence?
In a planet plagued by uncertainty, a strong leader would do well to be cautious, mask his true intentions, and yield to those who proffer injustice.