‘What!’ Zeven was bowled over. ‘I thought she was your daughter!’
‘She is my daughter!’ Anselm stressed. ‘Not that I had any say in the matter,’ he grumbled under his breath. ‘Who needs sex when you can steal DNA?’
Zeven’s mind boggled—he wasn’t too sure what Anselm was implying. ‘Do you mean to tell me that the Queen of Phemoria raped you?’
‘Genetically, yes, she raped me,’ Anselm stated. ‘You see, what they call “true Phemorians”, those women who aspire to be Phemoray, aren’t like other human beings. They detest physical contact with men so much that they have developed their own reproduction technique…the ability to absorb genetic material from the man they choose to father a child, or children, without any sexual act—or consent—taking place. Unfortunately, I discovered this after the fact! Believe me, the queen of Phemoria would not have been my choice of mother to my child. I wouldn’t want my daughter growing up to despise half the population of the USS, nor to be forced to govern a nation of prissy, repressed, prejudice-filled spinsters!’
Zeven was starting to feel sympathetic towards Anselm at this point. ‘But maybe Taren would change all that?’
‘Not if the Phemoray bewitch her. To prevent them finding her I stole Taren’s memory every few years, so that she could not remember her beginnings, her parents, and could not betray herself unwittingly to Phemorian telepaths.’ Anselm looked back to Zeven. ‘No soul alive knows all of what I am telling you and I don’t want any of this leaking out. That would only expose Taren to more danger.’
Zeven nodded.
‘To ensure that that remains the case, this room is completely secure. Anything that takes place in here, or is said, will only ever be known to us,’ Anselm said, but Zeven was not so fast to nod this time. Anselm wanted to know Zeven’s secret.
‘Why should I trust you?’
Anselm smiled as if it were a foregone conclusion. ‘You and I are the same…different talents, but extraordinary, nonetheless.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Zeven folded his arms in challenge. ‘What do you do?’
‘I see auras,’ Anselm said, and grinned, ‘so I can identify a gifted psychic upon sight. The only aura I’ve seen that is as expansive as yours surrounds my daughter…which is why I didn’t believe your escape from the black hole in the Maladaan system was just a lucky break. Damn it all,’ Anselm continued in an inspired tone, ‘how amazing it must have felt to discover you could defy the quantum world.’
Zeven gave a goofy grin, but still did not confess.
‘But quite apart from the fact that we share a secret,’ Anselm said confidently, ‘you are surely going to want to rescue Taren. Sermetica is the only nation that will be able to shield you and AMIE from the Phemorians’ wrath.’
Zeven went quiet in thought; he found himself wanting to help Anselm, something he would never have considered doing before this conversation. But could he be trusted? Or would Zeven find himself in Swithin’s sad situation, despised by those he cared for because of his decision?
‘I apologise for the shock tactics to get you to this meeting, but you are the only man in the known universe who can help me get my daughter back,’ Anselm appealed, sensing Zeven’s reluctance. ‘I do have one other PK expert on my staff, but I cannot trust him with—’
‘On your staff?’ Zeven blurted in surprise. ‘But I thought that—’
Anselm held up a palm to interrupt. ‘It’s better that the general population believe that all psychics are under government restraint. The secret services do not hate those with “the Powers”. They secretly recruit them and protect their identities from those who would rather see them exterminated. Only the few who pose a threat to society are detained and restrained.’
‘Is that a threat?’ Zeven wondered.
‘With your heroic tendencies,’ Anselm laughed, ‘I think not. No friend of my daughter’s is an enemy of mine. Help me get her back and I shall never forget it.’
Anselm’s favour was a great prize indeed, but only as long as it served his cause. Still, Zeven mused, at this stage of the game, it did seem that they were on the same side. ‘If I help you, I’ll do so under my own steam. You must let the captain and the girls go, and see them safely back to AMIE…including Kalayna.’
‘She has paid any dues she owed me,’ Anselm said with an affectionate smile.
‘Was she recruited for having a Power?’ Zeven was curious as to how Kalayna had got involved with the MSS, but Anselm shook his head.
‘She was recruited for her technical expertise and her obvious physical attributes.’ He raised his brows, knowing Zeven had fallen for her charms. ‘Or so I was informed, as I was not the one who recruited her. But I agree to your terms.’ Anselm looked Zeven squarely in the eyes and nodded his head firmly.
‘I also want AMIE fully serviced and stocked once we reach Sermetica.’
‘It will be done.’ Anselm held out a hand to shake on it.
Zeven was still hesitant to commit. ‘And what of Taren?’
‘Her fate is hers to decide, as it always has been, even though she does not remember.’ Anselm seemed saddened at thinking of the position he’d placed her in. ‘I guess there is really no point in keeping her past from her any longer. Qusay-Sabah has found her now, so she may as well have her memories back.’
‘You still have Taren’s childhood memories?’ Zeven asked on Taren’s behalf.
Anselm nodded. ‘A copy of them, anyway.’
‘A copy!’ Zeven was appalled. ‘A copy could have been screwed with.’
‘The original data is stored in the MSS mainframe computer on Maladaan,’ Anselm said apologetically, ‘wherever that may be now.’
‘So you are as much in the dark about Maladaan’s disappearance as we are?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ the politician confessed.
‘In my humble opinion, the MSS were largely responsible, however unwittingly,’ Zeven told him. ‘If that sample had not been stolen from our project by your agents, our planet would still be where it belongs.’
Anselm laughed at his perception. ‘They were not my agents as I am not head of the MSS—’
‘But Swithin was your agent,’ Zeven rebuked.
‘Only so far as getting Taren onto the AMIE project, as that was her greatest aspiration. I thought that, in space, she’d be safer than anywhere. Apart from that, Swithin never answered to me.’
‘I know for a fact Swithin has recently been answering to your viceroy, Khalid Mansur,’ Zeven said.
‘Has he? Well, that’s very interesting.’ Anselm’s eyes narrowed as he dwelt upon that piece of information. ‘So Maladaan’s disappearance did have something to do with that gas sample,’ Anselm said, going back to the other part of the conversation that was of interest to him.
‘It was not a gas sample,’ Zeven set him straight. ‘It was a small part of a larger being, infinitely more powerful and advanced than we are. Swithin Gervaise had been ordered by our captain to release the sample as soon as it reached Maladaan, but MSS agents intercepted it.’
‘I would very much like to speak with Swithin Gervaise,’ Anselm decided.
Zeven knew it was his captain’s desire to rescue his brother from the Phemorians and the pilot smiled, holding out his hand to shake Anselm’s at last. ‘If it will help clear AMIE of being implicated in Maladaan’s disappearance, I think I can arrange that.’
CHAPTER 22
ANGELS IN FAST MOTION
The Phemorians’ secret city was beautiful, an accomplishment of the imagination and psychic ingenuity.
Qusay-Sabah Clarona explained that the physical world also had many subtle planes of awareness that were worlds unto themselves—just as the physical body served as a vehicle for the spirit in the physical world, so everyone had an emotional body in the astral plane of awareness, a mental body on the mental plane, and a causal body on the lower causal plane of awareness; beyond this level of existence the spirit, no longer needing individual expressio
n, was formless, as it prepared to merge with the collective consciousness of all there is. Taren imagined that the higher causal realm was the level of consciousness where the being Azazèl-mindos-coomra-dorchi was currently operating from. The secret to accessing these other realms of existence lay in being able to employ one’s own subtle bodies. The way to do this was to attune one’s sonic vibratory rate to oscillate in harmony with the consciousness you had on the plane of demonstration, or awareness, that you wished to experience.
Taren was sceptical, as the world she was passing through seemed very real, vibrant and solid, as did the form she was walking around in—possibly even slightly more so than usual: she was hyper-aware of colour, smell, movement and all sensations. ‘Are you saying that I am not employing my physical body right now?’
The queen nodded. ‘You left your physical form back in my council chamber.’
Taren gasped and smiled at once. ‘This is an OBE!’ She suddenly felt the hyper-state she was moving about in; Taren had documented cases of patients having out-of-body experiences, but she had never had one.
‘We prefer to call it astral projection’ the queen advised, ‘being that one is employing an astral form to move through the astral realm.’
Taren observed the goings-on in the city below from the queen’s enclosed, private walkway that sprawled around the secret city. ‘Then where are all the physical bodies of these citizens?’
‘We have a secure facility beneath the government sector of the city, where their bodies reside in a state of stasis, perfectly aware of their life within this city. These women and girls have freely chosen to renounce life in the physical world and live a life of spiritual discovery and seclusion here.’
‘But what of all the experiences they are missing?’ Taren thought some of these girls too young to make such a decision about their lives.
‘They are free to return to their physical bodies at any time, and are in fact required to at least a few times a year,’ the queen informed.
As a scientist, Taren was most intrigued. ‘But don’t their physical forms atrophy?’
‘As above then so below,’ said the queen. ‘When we exercise and nourish ourselves here in the astral realm, our physical bodies benefit. Much like your studies on athletes who run a race, or otherwise exercise, in their mind. Don’t their bodies reap the benefit?’
It was true. ‘But they only receive fifty per cent of the benefit of doing the exercise physically,’ Taren said.
‘Ah…but if your test subjects were as psychic as we Phemorians, then it would be one hundred per cent! Physical wellbeing is all in the mind,’ the monarch stated, ‘just as you have been trying to prove for years.
‘This ethereal city, everything you see around you, has been constructed from the imagination and willpower of Phemorian women who have learned to mould etheric matter as a potter moulds clay.’
‘Etheric matter?’ Taren queried.
‘You might know it better as atomic mass,’ the queen conceded with a smile, ‘although the etheric matter of the astral world is more subtle and open to manipulation than the atomic structure of the physical world, you understand. But soon we shall be as efficient at controlling one as the other.’
‘Whoa,’ Taren was impressed. ‘They can control matter at an atomic level?’
‘As we all do,’ the queen concurred, ‘some with more intention than others.’
The etheric city was beauteous, harmonious, spotless, luxurious and sweet-smelling. It was all that women love and cherish. Every female here, from the old to the babes, seemed to have mastery over one Power or another. In the open city square, there were performances, demonstrations and lessons in psychic skill taking place.
Taren had never really kept the company of women—her life choices and interests had steered her into situations that were dominated by men. As difficult as men were to deal with at times, she couldn’t imagine cutting them off altogether! As she observed a group of young girls, Taren had to ask: ‘What happens to the male babies born here?’
‘A true Phemorian’s will is such that there is seldom a male child,’ the queen replied winningly, ‘but on the rare occasion a male child is conceived, the mother may choose to move to this city’s twin in the physical world to raise him. She may then return to her Phemorian sister city once her son has left her care.’
‘I bet not many of those women return here,’ Taren mused, thinking that raising a child was a lifelong commitment.
‘No, they don’t,’ said the queen with pity. ‘They grow old and wither in the service of their men.’
‘But you must have loved a man at one time, or I would not be here,’ Taren reasoned, sensing that the queen was not happy with the line of questioning.
‘I am sorry to shatter any romantic illusions you may have, but an attraction is all that is required,’ she stated coldly. ‘Anselm means as much to me as I do to him.’
Clearly, this was not a welcome topic, so Taren returned to a more general one. ‘What if a mother does not choose to raise her boy herself?’
‘The child will be adopted. There are couples on other planets who might cherish a son,’ the queen concluded bluntly, hoping that was the end of the matter.
‘But surely the sons of Phemoria are as psychically gifted as the daughters?’
The queen laughed. ‘Without Phemoray training they will never realise their full potential. They are no threat to us.’
‘But I managed,’ Taren said meekly.
‘You have royal Phemorian blood in your veins. My daughter was always destined to be one of the greatest psychics that ever lived, and you have nowhere near discovered your full potential. Forced to survive in a man’s world, your true Power has been repressed, but here…here, the opportunities for you are endless.’
Taren could see the truth of that. She had never thought to be trained in the psychic arts as they were outlawed everywhere, but here—where she was from! Taren knew she had been repressing her skills to date, but even so there were several others of her acquaintance—most of them male—who she believed to be equally, if not more, gifted than herself. Her heart began beating rapidly as she considered the loaded question she had to ask…‘Do I have a brother?’
The queen looked affronted, but her anger was quickly hidden by her regal smile. ‘Not from my quarter, I assure you.’
‘A cousin perhaps, or—’
‘Why do you ask?’ The queen looked at her curiously. ‘Does that man of yours have psychic ability?’
‘Lucian?’ Taren found the thought amusing. ‘Ah, no…but he is very open-minded.’
‘Damn shame,’ the queen said brusquely. ‘He might have proved useful for mating.’
‘What?’ Taren could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘Lucian Gervaise is one of the finest scientific minds and visionaries of our lifetime. He does not exist for me to use.’
The queen merely raised her brows at this. ‘You’re right, maybe his genes do have some merit.’
The reply was frustrating. Taren wasn’t getting through to the monarch at all. ‘What I meant was—’
‘No matter. We need to leave to be in time for our meeting with the Phemoray. Are you ready?’ The queen held out both her hands for Taren to take hold. ‘Trust me…I am your mother, after all.’
Taren was hesitant. She knew she was in way over her head with the Phemorians…let alone the super-beings they called the Phemoray! This is even more dangerous than allowing the MSS to screw with my head—she strongly suspected that the secret services were amateurs in psychic control compared with these women! She had no real knowledge of the spirit realm, nor a means to protect herself from the forces therein. Still, there was one being she knew who was more evolved in the cosmic scheme than she was. If etheric substance was the vital, unifying, all-pervading life force of creation then it followed that it spanned the vast reaches of existence, distributing cosmic light and consciousness throughout. So, surely Taren could use this unified field
to find any being in creation?
Taren placed her hands upon those of the queen, but inwardly her focus turned to her celestial friend. Azazèl-mindos-coomra-dorchi, please hear me, please help me. She willed the message forth through the etheric web as the celestial city began to be obscured by light and shadows. Be compassionate and watch over me…protect me from harm and delusion…
From Taren’s physical being, through the spherical order of matter to the molecular level, her request for protection connected and spread through the etheric matrix of the spiralling universes, up through the astral, mental and lower-causal dimensions, to beyond…
In a small galaxy of a distant universe, Taren’s request for assistance registered in the condensed memory of the monad Azazèl-mindos-coomra-dorchi.
This being was very aware of the distress caused to the physical manifestation that now sought help, when her planet had been swept through into this universe. The monad was also aware that the Interdimensional Council of Watchers had a plan to aid the displaced planet. This soul appealing for help was a very big part of that plan, but she was calling to the part of her monad that was way beyond being of personal service to her.
Azazèl-mindos-coomra-dorchi was a causal being and, as such, could no longer become involved in the struggles of those soul-minds still existent on the lower planes of demonstration. But the monad had progressed through semi-causal incarnations of experience to reach its present Arupa state of consciousness. Those many individual manifestations of the monad had semi-causal bodies and were known as the grigori—the Dwellers on the Threshold between physical and spiritual planes of awareness. The grigori were in the service of the Council of Watchers who were in the service of the monad.
The dwellers would be directed to respond to the call of the soul-mind who was the best hope of restoring the imbalance caused by the displacement of her planet…
Azazèl floated toward the antechamber of the Council of Watchers for debriefing, flanked by Armaros and Sammael, who were fellow grigori. Their last crusade into the physical realms of existence had been a great success and they were to be reinstated to cosmic service. No more split-soul missions into the physical realms for them; they were completely over any lust for earthly pleasures. Their vocation was guidance, inspiration, support and compassion from now on.