Gemini Ecliptic : : Prologue
When the Conservators returned to Terra one-thousand years ago, they not only found the burnt out husk of our homeworld, they found that the satellites in orbit, long dead, still housed the truth of the final moments of Terra. The media satellites held the telecast of the religious fanatics who unleashed the atomic arsenals of all nations on the planet to hasten the return of their messiah, the dawning of a “millennial kingdom.” The weather satellites recorded the fiery death of all living things upon the surface of the planet. Within 11 minutes and 6 seconds, from the first detonation to the last, the jewel of the cosmos died. All of this happened within one standard year of the last ark’s departure from the Sol system. We did not launch the weapons, but that is our legacy. We must never forget.
- Diary excerpt from Justicar Conservator Mishuhara Ito as entrusted to Pontifex Gaius Johannsen in 2570 AT.
The great reflecting pool, the hub of the Classroom Core, perfectly mirrored the heavy clouds, ribbons of ebony visible here and there, the stars of the winter sky peeking through. The water’s surface remained untroubled, broken only by the eight “spoke” pathways of the Core, and by the scattered, giant, shattered fragments of the Spire. Great chunks of the once proud structure poked through the surface of the water like islands. Faint wisps of steam hovered above the pools, the pathways covered in centimeters of pristine snow. Two sets of footprints marred one walkway.
The prints ended at two barely visible figures, standing unmoving before what had been the foundation of the Spire. They felt the energies all around them: in the Academy’s reactors, in the induction matrix that covered the planet with invisible electricity, in the hidden sun and in the slumbering flora and fauna around them.
It would be enough.
They opened themselves up to the currents, channeling them, changing them, marshaling it all between the two of them. They saw the broken pieces of the monument, sensed where atoms were once joined, and the imperfection of the structure. The molecular bonds of the scattered pieces loosened, and then broke free, a swarm of atomic particles swirling around the foundation. They visualized the shape, as it would become, clearly in their minds, and the particles aligned themselves to their vision. The islands in the water evaporated, becoming wisps of material, swirling upward, a phantom of the helix sextet, uniting at a sharp point far above.
In seconds, the phantoms coalesced into a new Spire. One without flaw. From foundation to apex a solid, perfect piece of twisting crystal. The Academy sensors saw nothing but a blaze of incomprehensible brightness, and were unable to capture the event. By the time the machines recovered, the figures were gone. The gently falling snow had filled the footprints, restoring the undisturbed blanket of white.
The new Spire glimmered in the faint lights of the campus, in the nearly imperceptible reflections of the falling snowflakes.
Jeffrey Dean Morgan sat quietly at the table, one hand lightly wrapped around a steaming cup of hot coffee. The other was holding a scroll which consumed his focus. He had grown so accustomed to waking early; he could no longer sleep in on the few leisure days he took. Judging by the slightly bleary faces of Misha, Samantha, Sasha, and Jager around the table, they suffered his same malady. No one spoke, which suited the Justicar fine. His third time through the item on his scroll, and he had yet to fully comprehend what he was reading.
“You are surprised?” Misha broke the sacred silence. Morgan glanced up at him, eyes unfocused as though he was unable to process the empath’s question.
“Surprised?” he finally answered. “Not particularly. I blame you for this.”
“Well, naturally,” the dark-haired man quipped. He took a long sip of his coffee, before asking “What exactly are you blaming me for this time?”
“I blame you for creating this ridiculous fixation they have for a damned building.”
“Oh,” Misha took another sip. “That. I figured you would be relieved at not having to deal with the bureaucracy around rebuilding the thing.”
“Bureaucracy I can handle,” the older man barked back. “Sneaking off in the middle of the night to a forbidden destination without asking any of their superiors? I have a problem with. Factor in the complete absence of their visit in the sensor logs, and the structural impossibility of what they built? And we are once again on the edge of a media shit storm.”
Misha’s face fell, somberness taking over his features as he took in Morgan’s tirade. He remained uncharacteristically silent. The voice to break the quiet came from the seat at the table everyone least expected.
“I don’t think you understand why they did what they did at all,” Samantha said with an icy tone.
Everyone’s eyes widened, and she didn’t even wait for a response before continuing.
“Did you ever consider that this was an act of penance? Did it ever enter you mind that this was their atonement, their attempt to wipe away the visible scars of the attack? Did the concept that these two young men are haunted by what happened even occur to you? That they count themselves responsible for the assault? Do you go to a superior, or clue in your friends and peers when you need to perform an act of contrition?”
The barrage of questions ended, and thick tension enveloped the room. Samantha simply picked up her coffee, leaned back in her chair, and returned to her own scroll, effectively cutting out everyone else at the table. She waited for no response, and made it clear, none should be made.
Long minutes passed. No one looked up from the glossy wood surface immediately in front of them.
“Do you think,” Jager said just above a whisper. “Do you think they blame themselves?”
Samantha looked at him, her gaze kind. “No, Jager. I know so.”
The kinetic looked involuntarily upward, as though he could see their room from where he sat. “How do we fix this?” he asked as quietly as before.
Sasha’s broken voice answered him. “We don’t.”
Sam looked closely at Jager, noting the sheen in his eyes, the faint tremor around his lips and the barely contained grief he felt for his charges.
“We help them cope,” she said to him. “If they need to erase all signs of the damage, we allow them that. We allow them to grieve, and give them the space in which to do it. But we always, always remain mindful of what they are going through. We prevent them from withdrawing into themselves more than they already have. Above all, we let them do what they feel they must to buy themselves peace with what happened.”
She looked directly at Jeff. “And, if it makes our lives more complicated, fine. If it creates problems we didn’t have before, we deal with them.”
It was probably the closest she had ever come to giving the Justicar an order. Despite the breach of protocol, he had absolutely no inclination to call her on it.
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