Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin) Read online

  LOCUS ORIGIN

  MERILLIAN

  BY

  CHRISTIAN MATARI

  Copyright © 2011 Christian Matari

  All Rights Reserved

  Published by OZ OM Books

  ISBN 978-9935-9067-5-5

  www.locusorigin.com

  Locus Origin – Merillian is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  To my amazing father, whose affection for science fiction

  is truly contagious.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  For the tireless dedication of my editor Luke John Murphy, the spectacular artwork of Mark Molnar - which never ceases to inspire - and the amazing advice of my friends Björgvin Björgvinsson and Jón Thorsteinn Jóhannson, and last but not least, to my sweet Nino, for putting up with me during all of this, I owe my deepest thanks. Your continued support is nothing short of amazing.

  Books by Christian Matari:

  Locus Origin – The Never Born

  Locus Origin – Merillian

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Prologue

  Space: so vast and unyielding, an endless, unforgiving abyss. Yet it brings hope to those such as us who would otherwise have none.

  Was it truly out there, somewhere amidst the billions of stars, billowing radiant nebulae and endless clouds of stardust? Every night my dreams are the same: a city among the stars, a bastion of hope, always beyond my grasp. Each morning I awake drenched in sweat, though I know not why. There is nothing in my dreams to cause such distress. Still, the more I reach, the more blurred the memories of my dreams become. Subtle details seem to shift and change, forever altering perception. Yet I know it’s out there. I can feel it. Some would call it faith.

  Despite having known such pain and sorrow in my short and meager existence, there are those who would say that I could know little of faith. Yet I find it in the strangest of places, not only within my own self, but in those with whom I share this voyage, my friends, my family. Though their numbers have surely diminished, my faith grows stronger. Where others would see only the emptiness, I see a path, a journey of the mind, the body and the spirit. Even death itself is just another journey, for we are all born from these stars. We are simply returning to the beginning.

  Chapter 1

  The few faded reeds jutting from the base of the gravestones swayed on the tender breeze. The ground was covered in a thin layer of powdered snow which had fallen throughout the day. Overhead, the sky was overcast in dark, billowing clouds, throwing the eerie shadows of barren trees across the small cobbled path.

  Takahashi leaned on his cane, a constant reminder of his frail and failing body. He wore a long thick coat of woven wool, dark grey in color, with a high collar. His russet leather shoes had contracted streaks of white along the soles from where they had made contact with the snow.

  “Just a little further,” said the driver, a squat stoic man who had escorted him towards the grave despite Takahashi’s protests.

  “I know where it is,” Takahashi snapped, shooting the man a stern glare.

  “Yes Sir,” the driver responded, wearily averting his gaze.

  Takahashi drew a few labored breaths before continuing on the path. It had been months since last he had visited his wife’s grave. Given his stature, one would assume he was simply too busy to visit more often, but the truth was that he had been avoiding it. He dreaded coming here, being reminded of all that which he had lost.

  On a gnarled branch high overhead a pair of small robins quarreled, huddling together for warmth. The path climbed steadily amidst rows of ornately carved marble head stones. Only the privileged were buried here, according to customs dating back to earth. Those without proper means had to rely on cremations, or unsanctified burial outside the city limits.

  Takahashi had secured a plot on a high hill overlooking Sol. Though he knew his wife had long departed this earthly realm, he found at least a small measure of comfort in knowing that he had appropriated such a calm, scenic location for her remains. He and his daughter Mariko had never visited the grave together, not since the funeral at least, but he knew that she visited often, and hoped that she thought the plot suitable. He would have preferred a simpler plot, somewhere out in the countryside, but he knew Mariko wouldn’t have liked that.”

  “Cursed steps,” Takahashi muttered as he climbed the last part of the path, halting beside a colossal grey marble headstone, inlaid with gold. “Here lies Lillian Muromoto, beloved wife and mother,” he read aloud.

  So informal, he thought. But then, he was never one for showing sentiment through words. If only he’d have told her how he truly felt, that every breath he drew without her by his side was more painful than the one before it. In his heart he knew that she had felt loved, but he had never been one for saying it out loud.

  After she had passed, he had tried to change, to be more openly affectionate with his daughter, but she had pushed him aside, not only personally but professionally as well. Over the years she had slowly, secretly gained the trust of the Board of Directors of the Muromoto Group, only to seize power, replacing him as CEO and Chairman of the Board. Strangely, Takahashi felt more proud than disappointed. He knew that she had always blamed him for her mother’s death. He only hoped that through her machinations she would find some manner of closure, though he suspected otherwise.

  Flakes of snow drifted on the light breeze, starting to melt as they touched the ground. He could feel the tension in his aging muscles. The cold always brought with it such discomfort. As his eyes were drawn to the city’s skyline, his thoughts were pulled away from his beloved Lilly. Something was very wrong on Terra. He could feel a change looming in the wind. The war with the Nyari had drawn out far longer than he had anticipated. Though the Terran military had been on Nyramar’s doorsteps for almost two decades, and his informants assured him that a relatively small increase in funding and a few strategic assaults could end the war for good, Takahashi knew that the Terran Republic had been withdrawing support from the military, decreasing spending with each passing year, citing
much-needed reform and economic aid for the homeworld and the outlying colonies. It wasn’t that Takahashi disagreed with the Republic’s assessment, but he’d discovered that the funds set aside for such reform were actually being diverted elsewhere. It was difficult to spot, to be sure, but not impossible for a man of his means. But where were they being diverted to? He hadn’t yet been able to find out.

  Now that his daughter had taken over the Muromoto Group, and his time as director of C-CORE had come to an end, Takahashi was left with far too much free time on his hands. Nothing felt worse than the lack of purpose. He was alone most of the time, despite a constant barrage of servants and unscrupulous callers asking for favors. There was no one he could truly confide in.

  The night time was the worst. He never slept. His memories haunted him. With all that he had surrendered for the cause, how could they not? At least he had been successful. By now, Captain Mitchell and the others were probably nearing the end of their journey to some distant world, one so far away that they would never return.

  “All things come to an end. What matters is how we use the time we have,” he muttered, a phrase his mentor had used frequently. He knew it to be true, though he found little comfort in it now. He had to keep busy. He couldn’t let his nightmares get the better of him.

  “Sweet Lilly,” he sighed. “If only you had known. I would welcome your council now. You always were the wise one.”

  He fiddled with the strap of his old wristwatch. His limbs had gotten thinner over the years, and it kept sliding either too far up or too far down. He’d meant to remove one of the links, but had kept putting it off. Somehow he felt the act would confirm the true state of his body.

  “They’re up to something. I can feel it,” he murmured. “I’m getting too old for this. Perhaps it’s time I stepped aside and told our daughter the truth.” He hung his head in regret, a moment of silence as he contemplated his dilemma. “She’s strong. Stronger even than I ever was,” he admitted. “I know she will not believe me at first, but with time… perhaps…”

  He raised his gaze skywards, as if awoken from a dream, breathing in heavily and stuffing his wrinkled hands into the pockets of his coat. A lone tear began to form at the corner of his eye, his lips trembling as his mind was drawn back to the beginning, the very beginning.

  “The truth is, I’m afraid,” he whispered, his voice cracking and his lips trembling with remorse. “Afraid that I’ve made a most terrible mistake.”

  “Sir,” his driver interrupted from afar, tapping his wrist to remind his employer of the time. Takahashi shot him an angry glance, forestalling any further attempts at disruption.

  Takahashi fiddled with the keepsake in his pocket. He ran his fingers along the smooth curves of the cold metal, hooking his fingers on the delicate chain. He withdrew the circular pendant from his pocket, staring at it briefly as it rested in his palm. He had given it to her during their courtship. He remembered the questioning look she had given him, a brief moment of confusion which she had then tried to hide with excitement.

  “Hearts are fickle,” he had said, “unimaginative. A circle is eternal, just as my love for you,” a momentary stint of sentiment on his behalf, one that would see little repetition in later years. Upon hearing his reasoning, her feigned excitement had become genuine, and magnified tenfold. He remembered her embrace as if it had happened yesterday.

  He knelt down at the foot of the grave, laying the pendant to rest on the snow below the headstone, tears swelling in his eyes.

  “Our circle is eternal,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

  Chapter 2

  The raging downpour of the previous days had slowed to a half-hearted drizzle.

  What the crew of the Tengri had found at the end of their journey had been vastly different from what they’d been hoping for, and the weather had done little to brighten their spirits. Marcus had told his fellow clones of his vision: a city among the stars, surrounded by thousands of ships of all shapes and sizes. Given that the coordinates of the star system they’d been travelling to had been gleaned from the navigational crystal of a crashed alien ship, one vastly more advanced than the Terrans’ own, Marcus and his squadmates had eagerly awaited contact with advanced civilizations and alien races.

  Instead, a planet of primitive humanoids was all that had awaited them. The disappointed Terrans had landed their shuttle a few hundred meters from a haphazard arrangement of huts and tents of wood and hide surrounding a central fire pit. It sat on a broad hilltop amidst soaring trees with leaves so large that the cascading rainwater they collected drizzled down in clear and steady streams, dispersing into the wild weeds below. All around the disembarking crew, the jungle had encroached upon them, so thick and seemingly impassable that they’d wondered if this were the only semblance of civilization to be found on this planet.

  The locals had come running upon sighting their shuttle, halting only a half a dozen meters or so from the landing site and immediately falling to their knees, apparently in worship. They were enormous, easily twice as tall as a man. Their stocky frames and limbs, thick as tree trunks, bulged with muscles under taut, pale-greenish hides that looked though enough to stop bullets. A single dark, reflective eye was situated on each side of their bald heads, tucked beneath a protruding ridge. A series of puckered holes along the back of their short, massively-thick necks apparently served as their means of breathing, although their wide, gaping mouths looked large enough to swallow a man whole. One of the support staff – the naturally-born Terrans that ran and maintained the Tengri’s systems and sustained her crew – had remarked that they looked like a cross between a man and a frog, though Marcus hadn’t been familiar with the animal until he’d looked it up in the ship’s database.

  Much to their relief, the natives had proved to be gentle beings. ‘Golan’, they called themselves. It had taken the crew’s linguist, Serena Kim, the better part of the two weeks since they’d first landed to get a grip on the basics of their language, although she’d made remarkable progress in the few days since then. Meanwhile, the rest of the crew had spent most of their time aboard the cruiser in high orbit, only a handful choosing to remain planetside, enjoying the hospitality of the Golan tribe.

  If it weren’t for the near-constant rain and the high gravity, Marcus believed the others would have had an easier time of their brief stay. Still, he was glad of their absence. He found solace in the sound that the raindrops made as they impacted on the canopy of leaves above. This world was magnificent, so lush and green. He’d found the perfect spot to spend his days in silence, enjoying the peaceful nature of this world and its gentle creatures, propping himself up on a set of logs underneath a small tent the Golan used to store firewood.

  ‘Ga’ouna’. What a beautiful name for such a tranquil world. And so far away from home, he pondered. Their ship, the Tengri, a Benediction-class exploration cruiser, had brought them thousands of light years from the Terran solar system, further than any Terran had gone since the Lazarus’ one-way trip more than two centuries before. It had been almost ten years since the survivors of Marcus’ squad of clones had said their farewells to Takahashi, the man who had arranged for their voluntary exile and saved them from a fate worse than death at the hands of Division 6, a shadow agency that coveted their unique abilities.

  Of course, the squad – and the other crew of the Tengri – had spent most of that time in cryo-stasis, so it only felt like a few weeks. Still, Marcus was happy to be free from the constant threat of abduction, or worse. Even if the Tengri hadn’t found the advanced civilization they’d expected, these gentle creatures offered something Marcus would never have been able to have back on Terra: a life of his own, the freedom to choose for himself.

  The only thing he truly missed was Eve, the beautiful clone-woman he’d met in training before his squad had first been deployed, and then again after their near-fatal last stand at the Last Oasis. They’d said their goodbyes there, on New Io, hoping they’d soon meet again
. Had he known it was to have been their last encounter, Marcus felt he would have done things differently. The best he could hope for now was that she had forgotten all about him and found someone else, someone better than him. Someone who wouldn’t make her a target for Division 6.

  The rain kept pouring down from the cloud-cast sky. It felt so refreshing, given the warm atmosphere. Jakunu, the Golan tribal chief, had explained to Serena that the rainy season would soon be at an end, and that his people would have to leave for ‘Lo’Mock’, a form of tribal gathering.

  “Marcus?” He started, only now noticing Serena standing outside his shelter, her long flowing brown hair soaking wet from the rain. “The others are heading back to the ship. Do you want to join them?”

  Just then a pair of Golan children ran past them, chasing a plump, purple fly the size of a clenched human fist, giggling hysterically. Marcus smiled, following their playful antics. Even though they were just children, they were almost as tall as he was.

  “No, I think I’ll stay,” he replied.

  “Are you sure?” she questioned, her narrow brown eyes crinkling, hinting at her relief. “It will just be me and you then.”

  She and Marcus were the only ones who seemed more content with the Golan tribe than they did aboard the ship. She was a naturally-born Terran, not a clone, and her delicate features, fair skin and petite frame seemed better suited to a career working in libraries than alien jungles, so Marcus was surprised to see how much she had taken to the Golan people and their primitive way of life. She always wanted to experience all of their customs, taste their food and their wine, take part in their tribal dancing and play with their children. Like him, she seemed more at home in the jungle.

  “I’m sure,” he assured her, “though I can’t seem to get over the rain.” he added. “It’s amazing.”