EVE Fiction

Alizebeth sat at her desk, an actual book in front of her, open. It was one of many such tomes she’d acquired throughout her life and she rather enjoyed doing her research in the physical media. So far today, Lyse had cross-checked the practices of seventeen orders created in the past century. There would be a time when the Theology Council would turn a close eye at the Order of Jamyl, if they had not already.

Lyse mentally shook her head. No, not this soon. They would let things shake out. Too many things in flux to really inquire about. Besides, Holy Mother Alizebeth wasn’t some fringe crack pot. As a member of the Council in the past and one of the Society of St. Aroum, she was fiercely devoted to orthodoxy. Even if some of her colleagues did think she’d gone off the deep end with the Empress’s death, they would probably give her a bit to find normalcy before coming down on her. Unlike the capsuleers that had already compared her to Ocilan Ardishapur of the EOM.

Her computer beeped with the notification of a new neocom message. That was unusual enough, as she had a one ISK CSPA charge that kept most of the spammers away. Fear, confusion and even a bit of hope flashed across her face as she blinked, reading the message four times. It didn’t take her long, as it was only two lines.

Our loyal subject. Come to X5-0EM II. Tell no one and delete this once you read it.
Further instructions will be given to you when you enter system.

The message was simple enough, but what sent Mother Alizebeth reeling and tears to her eyes was the sender: Jamyl Sarum I.

Naturally, Alizebeth dropped everything she was doing and hurried to her pod, stripping off her robes as she walked, leaving them in a mess on the floor. Even the merest chance, the slightest possibility had to be investigated. Her already fragile mind was battered on the rocks and shoals of her emotions and thoughts as she dared, dared to imagine that her Empress was alive.

As Lyse plugged into her pod, she never even considered that technically the Empress had violated canon law in cloning. Lyse didn’t care, even if she did. The important thing is the Jamyl was alive. The details didn’t matter.

She maneuvered her pod into the bay of TES Irony, a Leopard-class shuttle. It would get her across the void in the fastest possible manner and, more importantly, was a solo ship. The instruction to come alone was no mere formality. If the Empress was alive, that knowledge needed to be jealously guarded from anyone. The trip wasn’t that long, but the constant jump, warp and jump again was grueling. By far this was the longest such trip she had ever taken and there was no respite. She had to get there as fast as possible.

Upon entry into X5-0EM she got a message directing her to a landing platform on one of the temperate coastlines. It broadcast all the correct Imperial Military codes in the landing beacon and she brought her Leopard in for a smooth landing. House Sarum paladins attended to her and helped with the pod decanting procedure. They even provided her with a rope to wear as, in her haste, Lyse had forgotten to pack one.

Despire the clerics repeated questions the paladins said nothing, but escorted her to the nearby villa. There, standing just in front of the doorway was a woman wearing a white dress, with a golden tiara on her head that accented her soft features. Alizbeth fell to her knees as she recognized her Empress.

It was only when Jamyl walked forward to meet Alizebeth and touched the cleric gently on her head did Alizebeth look up, tears cascading down her cheeks. Lyse tried to talk, tried to say something, even to choke out a ‘Your Majesty’ but she had lost the ability of speech. Relief, joy, happiness all crashed against her in a cacophony of emotion.

“Do not weep any more, Alizebeth. I am here and you never have to leave me again,” the Empress said, soothing her subject. “Please, stand, come inside and we will talk.”

And with that, Jamyl turned around and headed up the stairs to the villa. Lyse stood as well, her face cooling as the sea breeze swept across the beach and a cloud passed overhead. She was aware of the whoosh of waves and the smell of the salt and even the dead things that were left in the tidal pools. Yes, this was a place that she could live out her life and would do so unhesitatingly, so long as Jamyl was here.

She took a steadying breath, wiped the tears from her eyes with her robe. It was alright. Jamyl did clone after all. Alizebeth turned her head to the sky to offer up a prayer of thanks to God and froze.

It was not a cloud overhead. It was a Silverfish, a drifter battleship, just like the one of a hundred that had killed EF Seraph not a month ago. Lyse shook her head, willing it to be a hallucination, to be a māyā of her fragile psyche. She looked down at Jamyl, walking into the villa.

“Your Majesty!” Lyse yelled, begging Jamyl to come back, to come away, to be safe, God dammit to do something!

Jamyl turned around to look at Lyse just as the drifter fired the weapon destroying the villa to splinters and vaporizing the Empress as Alizebeth watched.

Alizebeth woke up in her bed, covered in a cold sweat, her sheets on the floor, panting. She threw her head back and wailed in agony.

Verdiet, Lyse’s longtime housekeeper, slipped in the room with a glass of water. The portly, old Sebiestor woman had a mug of herbal tea with her.

“It’s okay, mother,” she said gently. “You were having a nightmare is all.”

However, as Alizebeth sipped her tea, she looked out the far window at the wreck of the titan and knew that it would never be okay again.