There Is No Peace - The EOS Chronicles, Book One | SAMPLE

CHANGE

My father's voice booms through my aching ear's subdermal biotech. "Lieutenant Commander Martin, meet me at the Library of Historical Records in one hour."

I hope last night's fun was acceptable, because the Caretaker recorded them through my biotech, relaying deeds to God for salvation. My memory of the whole night is questionable.

"Yes, sir." It is late morning. Between the hang over and the sharp realization of graduation, my mind meanders over past days. Before my graduation, at this hour I'd be in Zerian Society class. No more studying ways to better myself for service to the Pod. God had given us the Caretaker to make many decisions for us, so we could focus on service.

The hour sped by as I was occupied with cleaning the remains of last night's expelled liquor and dragging my body from room to room. By the time I arrive for the meeting with my father, I feel hazy but semi-human. The library holds displays of illustrious Zerian events such as famous battles with the Kavarkians, the nuclear death of our atmosphere at their hands, and the invention of the Caretaker. The events are required study for all Zerian children.

"Reporting, sir," I say with a salute, but the gesture alone can't convey my pride in my father and my dissatisfaction with myself for not being what he wants.

My father composed cloaked in the commanding suit of authority, he always seems so strong, stood next to the holographic display of our planetary arrival. He gestures at the display and says, "Centuries of our history is condensed down to our arrival on Kavarka. History is tricky and malleable most by the conqueror and less by the enslaved. Both sides have their truths. The final story told is decided by the needs of the winner. It can be the truth, a lie, or a combination of both. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," I reply. Another private lesson. At least it's a short one today, but I'm unsure where to apply it.

"Things are transforming, as I'm sure you can deduce. You must stay awake."

"Yes, sir."

"You will leave this planet."

"What ship will we be on?" A very childish response, I think too late after voicing it. Blame it on the residual liquor.

"Not 'we'. You'll have your own. I am dividing the elite among the thirteen vessels, with immediate promotion to executive command aboard. Since this is a military mission, you will be in charge."

"Which ship will you be on board?" The promotion didn't excite me. The thought of being apart from Father caused my throat to tighten, choking the words.

"You'll be on the Scimitar. From below, I can better ensure your escape." Any negligible level of excitement drained into sudden pronounced stabbing pains. With only thirteen vessels, there is no escape for him. He stays to die. My body automatically leans forward to take a step towards him, but I pull back. I'm trained not to react whether in public or private quarters. "I will give you every tool for survival. Announcement forthwith. Dismissed." He's matter of fact announced his death and leaves never to observe the desolate aftermath.