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By Gary Sapp
Copyright 2013 Gary Sapp
Amazon Edition
Cover Art:
Les Chatfield
Table of Contents:
Main Content
Dedication
Nest Egg Publishing Note
Nest Egg Publishing Presents Gary Sapp
Where to Find This Author Online
A Nest Egg Publishing Special Announcement
Main Content:
TRINITY MUTTERED A prayer, crossed herself, and caught a reflection of Earth and her own pale face outside the portside window.
Then she kissed her ass goodbye.
This is really happening, kiddo. All the wheels are churning. Stand or fall. Live or die.
The bomb detonated with a deafening roar. Trinity sprinted past the angled crooks and swarthy corridors of Section G, through the bowels of Artemis Mining Station searching for masses of her fellow slaves jolted out of sleep only standard minutes after bed check should have commenced. The initial blast shattered glass into thousands of radiant barbed fragments, scattered debris in every direction, and launched shrapnel in a maddening rush, pulverizing eight sublevels of community quarters in both Core and Centauri sectors of the outpost.
Even set at its lowest yield, the weapon was proving to be more systematic in its destruction than the simulation had predicted. How did the insurgency ever think to harness such power? My God, Micah, this plan of yours had better work.
Warning! The feminine automated voice of the station’s defense mainframe tunneled out from the speakers above, Subsequent explosions have destroyed sectors five, eight, and nine of the Biosphere. All Surviving Centauri are advised to evacuate adjacent sectors for the Moon’s surface facilities immediately.
After a brief calibration it reported, hull stress levels have been compromised in sectors 20 and 21. Latest diagnostics indicates a 60 percent increase above maximum recommended tolerances. The defense mainframe concluded what a now smiling Trinity already new. A hull breach is imminent. Abandon the appropriate sectors of the station. This is not a drill.
After joining hundreds of her people in the exodus, Trinity inhaled a lungful of the thick fumes gutting what remained of the artificially induced air. The lack of sufficient oxygen flowing to and from her brain punished her ability to concentrate.
Don’t die here, kiddo. You’ve come too far…
Trinity and the other Earthers left the worst of the hellfire behind in the Core Sectors. They crossed through ruggedly constructed wired gates into preordained checkpoints. Waiting Centauri solders, clad in combat armor across their torso and armed to the teeth, lead them across the promenade to secured zones. You’re taking no chances of an insurrection amidst this chaos are you, Governor Amadeus. She knew death would be her people’s only escape tonight.
Finally, their oppressors halted the workers progress at a congested intersection filled with dozens of other Core citizens. I’ve lived on this monstrosity for the better part of two years…but I don’t recognize this sector. The rotund shaped maze of the ceiling seemed to scrutinize each one of them from its rafters, while the marbled floor cracked open and misaligned beneath their feet. Edged corners and bulkheads prickled at the careless and the weary without prejudice. A hefty old woman fell over a hand railing to her death. Or did one of the guards push her? Two elderly men dropped to their knees in exhaustion. A five year old was crying. Each life is precious, each loss of life catastrophic, Trinity reminded herself, even here at the end of the world. Trinity forced herself to look away. She wished it had helped her. Now, each silver or copper plastered in her sight stood stained in ash, soot, and fresh blood. She shivered; her bony shoulders trembled in panic as each direction they were marched towards mirrored its predecessor. And all around her more Earthers were dying.
At last…
Raised above her left shoulder, she soon recognized an old, forsaken exchange shop looking neglected and unkempt; two expansive Martian restaurants that she and her uncle had once frequented were still open for business, and loitering in front of the local brothel were the twins Gwynn and Lynn. Trinity had never been so thrilled to see those old whores strutting about. Sorry ladies, you’re probably getting the witching hours off tonight.
Suddenly the cold, spiraled barrel of a Centauri rifle shoving into the base of her spine ruined her temporary moment of tranquility.
“Don’t you see the rest of your people moving?”
“Sorry. I got distracted. It won’t happen again.”
“Whatever. Don’t stop again unless you are instructed to, wench.” The soldier scowled at her, his hot air warming her ear lobes. “Move along.”
Her hair sour, the unforgiving floor a pillow, Trinity curled into one of the station’s countless narrow corners one hour later. She lit a candle for all who had perished in the aftermath of the evacuation. May all of you find the peace and happiness in death that our enemies denied us in life. Soon she drifted off, sleeping through what passed arbitrarily for midnight on the station. She dreamed of the other woman who’d shared her name, appearance, and history in a parallel matrix of existence.
And yet, on each side of this temporal window similarities and subtle differences remained, each universe tugging at the continuity of the other side. Yes; your people are slaves for the moment as well, kiddo. Trinity knew her temporal twin had hope of not just survival, but eventually escaping Centauri rule and tasting freedom.
She also had a living daughter.
My Solaris is dead. I want you and your daughter to live long enough to see the Centauri vanquished back into their space. I believe I can help you, Trinity. You will finally know peace in your temporal window if we succeed in our mission here. I’ve seen it.
Then the recurrent, haunting nightmare returned. The harrowing stench of charred flesh rotting on the station’s bloodstained floor, the shriek of her uncle’s friend from her childhood clutching at this failing heart, and during this endgame’s climatic anthem, Trinity fidgeting herself under the hardened gaze of a chestnut haired woman she’d never met.
Trinity waited to reverse the course of the Dominant Universe where Solaris still lived, while altering the fates of this and thousands of recessive universe sisters in her dreams. She waited for any sign that God himself would extend his blessing over her mission.
I’m still waiting, she thought bitterly.
TRINITY FOUND HERSELF gaping into the barrel of a Centauri rifle minutes later. Magistrate Jonas of Proxima, the station’s head of security stood thin and wiry, his arms crossed in familiar inpatients, while eight Centauri solders flanked him to either side.
“Pardon this call at this ungodly hour, my lady. Our esteemed Governor Amadeus of The Centauri Empire, the First of his Name, requires your attendance at your earliest convenience,” Jonas announced, turning ever slightly, so she could note the presence of the armed deputies standing behind him, in case being awakened so suddenly had dulled her vision or wits. When Thomas eyes found hers again, he ushered one of the rifle’s barrels away from her face with his knuckles and extended his right hand to her. “The governor has an immediate opening in his schedule. I suggest you take him on his offer right now.”
THE EIGHT ARMED guards’ numbers had been sliced in half, with three of the ashen face aliens split into strategic positioning around the perimeter of the governor’s office. The fourth remained motionless, but near enough at her heels to hear him grinding his teeth. The safety mechanism on his rifle unlatched with an automatic click. Trinity cursed him underneath her breath. Good morning to you as well. Still, if a bad situation worsened . . . she surveyed her tactical standing; Trinity surmised if she had any chance of surviving any altercation, she would have to kill him first.
Governor Amadeus sai
d, “My dear, are you alright? You seemed distracted. Please forgive me for calling on you at this late hour. May I offer you some water? Or perhaps you would find a glass of tea more refreshing?” He rose to his full height from behind his rectangle shaped desk. He held his own cup of water in his right hand, his missing index finger noticeable underneath the LED lighting. The Centauri’s office was pocket sized at best; she found the lack of personal space, the warmness, and the company she was keeping unsettling most of all.
The water would have cooled the dryness lumping up in her throat. She shook her head instead. “I’m fine, and no thank you, sir. What can I do for you, Governor?”
Amadeus kissed her hand above her ring finger with chapped lips, grinning through teeth bleeding at the gum line. A hereditary sign of anxiety in middle-aged Centauri men, she reminded herself. The governor glanced at Jonas for a brief interlude, ignored his patient subordinates, and turned his full attention back to her.
“Trinity, born in your planet’s Northern provinces or so I’ve heard. The traitorous city of Philadelphia if the Magistrate informs me correctly.” He eyed her bosom, violating her with his eyes as he always had since her arrival. “How truly wonderful it is to be graced by your loveliness again, my dear.”
She forced herself to smile at his graying face. Humans who lived in the atmospheres beyond the Belt, the worlds of Jupiter and Saturn, carried a certain