My Son

The beefy captain squinted at Trajan, then his fat chin doubled, then tripled as he looked back down at the papers. The captain lethargically looked back up and met Trajan’s eyes, blinked, paused, handed back the papers, and waved him into the short tunnel. Several of the city’s fortress guns roared in the distance. A speaker crackled on and The Muezzin spoke.

“Children of Hyperborea, jewel of the Elysium Empire, congratulations! Fourteen of The Forces of Evil’s crawling citadels circling the city have been destroyed today! A bonus in rations will be allotted to all on-duty munition crews, gunner crews, and admins. The Final Covenant and The Mother thank you.” Trajan exited the tunnel through the thick walls and entered the courtyard. The courtyard was so large that several parks sprawled over it and most of the bureaus opened onto it. But, what dominated the view the most was the Grand Cathedral of The Holy Mother and her many minarets all composed of a mixture of neoclassical design along with glass and steel.

“Beautiful isn’t it brother Trajan.” Trajan looked over to see an older man pushing a large crate on wheels. Great, Zeal was the last person Trajan wanted to see. The man could irritate a brick and could drive even an inquisitor narcoleptic with his talk of The Bitoran. Thankfully, he was struggling with his burden to the point he couldn’t speak. In fact, Zeal was struggling significantly due to the approaching incline. Trajan sighed, slowed his pace, and began to help push the cart.

“Yes, it is,” said Trajan. A third man appeared and helped push the cart over the crest.

“No problem mates,” he slapped Trajan and Zeal on the backs. “Say, what's in the crate anyway?”

“Brooms,” Zeal wheezed.

“Hah, blundering bureaucracy at its finest. Anyways, where is the veteran payout?” Zeal was still recovering, so he turned to Trajan and waited expectantly.

“It's over there,” said Trajan pointing to a small crowd. “But, I'm heading a bit furt- .”

“Smashing! Let’s go.” The man grabbed Trajan and moved towards the crowd. Trajan couldn’t get a word in and the man’s arm was like a vice. The yelling ahead finally registered in his mind and, in a lapse in the stranger’s grip, Trajan slipped out and hurried toward the commotion.

“A pleasure meeting you, and thanks again for the help.” Trajan found the source of the yelling. A red-faced lieutenant yelling at an equally red-faced man from the crowd.

“If you don’t have papers proving you were in the Legion, how do you expect me to give you your payout?” The crowd grumbled and the red-faced man in front of the crowd spoke.

“Our papers were lost during The Great Fires and The Renegation! How do you expect us to provide them, you paper-pushing, swivel chair hussar!” Trajan jumped in and placated both sides. Though they had calmed down, the bitterness in the supposed veterans remained. Trajan looked around and thought of an idea.

“Zeal,” Trajan yelled, “Come over here.” Zeal hurried over with his cart and, as soon as he stopped, Trajan kicked the cart on its side. The brooms spilled out and he ordered everyone in the crowd to grab a broom. Though puzzled, they all did so.

“You know, we're not going to sweep this place for you. I do enough sweeping of the brass from the fortress gun floors,” said a man.

“Yes, I know. What you are all going to do is get in formation. You,” Trajan pointed to the red-faced man from earlier, “To the front and lead the manual at arms.” The red-faced man had shakes, likely an addict, but as soon as he barked out the first count, he and everyman in the formation moved with soldier-machine-like precision.

“Lieutenant, pay the men,” said Trajan. The lieutenant stammered at this.

“I don’t have to take orders from you, coward!”

“Good show my boy!” The stranger from the cart slapped him again on the back. “You are quite the honorable man in a den of thieves!” The lieutenant seemed to recognize the man and with a jump went out distributing the payouts. Trajan was debating whether to slap the stranger, though not on the back, when another man joined them. Trajan’s irritation vanished when he realized the man was Consul Domitian. Behind him stood dozens of legionaries and his entourage disdainfully looking at Trajan.

“Giving handouts now, are we Trajan?” Domitian spat on the ground. “I won’t overrule you on this, but know I am disappointed with your weakness.”

“Sir, The Mother says mercy and charity are -”

“Are weakness! I ought to send you through The Gates of Ishtar” Domitian roared. “Get out of my sight!” The stranger and Trajan hustled back through the tunnel. The cannons screamed their disapproval in the distance.

---

They were now in the unpopulated zone, close to the edge of the city walls. The alleys yawned open onto the street with dark openings like mouths ready to swallow passerbys. Trajan concluded Nerva, the stranger, was not half bad. Eccentric? Yes. But, he was a good man at heart and knew so much Trajan never heard before. He spoke about a place called Europe, about the religions of old, about The Final Covenant, but never about himself. They walked for about an hour completely alone until they came upon a crowded corner.

“Now, we’re here to play a game called chicken, but their rules require both teams to have someone they trust with them. I don't know why, but I have always wanted to play before I … well what do you say? It'll be as easy as falling out of bed.”

“What the hell is a chicken?” said Trajan. Nerva roared with laughter.

“Hah, how should I know?” He laughed again, gave a thumbs up to a man down the street, and climbed into the car. Trajan quickly followed into the passenger seat.

“So, how exactly do we play?” Trajan looked around the car and realized something odd.

While Nerva had a driving wheel and brakes, Trajan also had brakes.

“Well, you just sit there and look pretty.” The car launched and went squealing down the empty street.

“Trajan my boy, how do you feel about The Mother?” The strangers' change in tone made Trajan think for a moment.

“She is our savior, the one who united a fractured mankind after The Big One, led us against The Decay, and now leads us against The Forces of Evil.”

“I didn’t ask for a history lesson my boy, how do you feel about her?”

“Well, I’ve never seen her. I don't think anyone has. But The Inquisition carries out her will I suppose. They are … dedicated men and women.”

“They are savage zealots. A perversion of faith and morals.” Nerva’s knuckles were white, gripping the wheel. There was now a heart-shaped locket dangling from a chain around his fingers.

“Well, The Mother, at least from the stories, was strong in mind, body, and spirit. She was known for her ability to command and organize. Most of all, she held deep love and mercy for everyone - like a mother for all, for humanity.”

“Aye, she was just that.” As he said this, cannons shouted nearby on the perimeter of the walls. Trajan rubbed his ears and spoke.

“What was that last part?”

“Nothing my boy, nothing. Now, the game is commencing.” Trajan focused on the road and saw another car barreling towards them. Trajan felt a wave of panic. He looked at the speedometer: 183 kilometers per hour.

“By The Mother, slow down!”

“Calm down my boy, this is the game. I’ve figured out a full-proof plan to win.”

“Game? How is this a game! Turn so we don’t crash into that maniac or I'll hit the brakes!”

“My boy, you have to be manic to win! Whoever turns off the collision course first loses. Don’t fear my boy, with a little brinkmanship we’ll be golden. You have to trust me on this. Do you trust me?” Trajan quickly nodded, mostly out of trepidation.

In one motion, Nerva had somehow detached the wheel. He dangled it out the window for the other car to see, then threw it. The cars would collide in seconds. Trajan closed his eyes, then opened them wide. He wouldn’t go out a coward. The other car swerved, narrowly missed their car, and proceeded to crash into a building several blocks down the street. Nerva and Trajan whooped.

“Alright, I think I’m ready.”

---

They got out of the car in front of the tunnel leading to the courtyard. Thankfully, Nerva had brought a spare wheel. They began to walk toward the cathedral through the park.

“Think about this, my boy. We all have responsibility. How we respond and our ability to do so. For reasons both my own and not, I have shirked my responsibilities far too long. I need to right what has been wronged.”

“That doesn’t explain any of my questions, nor does it make sense,” said Trajan. They were now on the steps to the cathedral. “And if you plan on going in there, they'll kill you.”

“I am afraid that is all I can tell. Now, I must go. The world is a fine place and worth fighting for, my boy. Remember that.” Nerva ascended the steps and disappeared into the cathedral. Trajan waited several moments. Off to the right, he saw Consul Domitian, inquisitors, and legionaries hustling into a side entrance. Trajan popped up. Before he knew it, he was running into the cathedral and down the central corridor. Finally, he burst through the door into the Inner Sanctum. There stood Nerva, Consul Domitian, and a host of inquisitors and legionaries with swords and guns drawn. Trajan was immediately seized by two inquisitors.

“This is what gives me the right, Domitian. I am The Son of The Mother and have returned,” said Nerva. He held up a heart-shaped locket. It was open, but Trajan couldn’t see the contents. Domitian gasped.

“Where did you … no matter! Iconography of The Mother is punishable by death. And claiming to be the prodigal son, blasphemy. Inquisitors, take him!”

“Wait!” yelled Trajan. They spun to see him. “Nerva, challenge Domitian to The Gates of Ishtar!” Several of the inquisitors grew grins, ugly things slowly corrupting their hard faces, upon hearing this.

“Idiot boy,” said Domitian.

“Trust me, Nerva, name me as your second,” said Trajan. Nerva, for the first time, looked uncertain. Then it was back.

“Sure thing my boy. I demand the Gates of Ishtar trial and name Trajan as my second.” The inquisitors sprang into action with glee.

“I accept, but elect myself to the position of second and elect legionnaire Goliath as my first,” said Domitian. It all happened in a flash. Goliath and Nerva were given stun-swords and Trajan and Domitian were stood in front opposing Gates of Ishtar, wheeled in for the occasion. The rules were simple: If Nerva or Trajan yielded in their respective function, then they lost and vice versa for the other team.

Trajan and Domitian faced each other from within their gates. Trajan ripped off his family crest, a capital punishment, while looking at Domitian.

“I’ll never be your son again, father.”

“Idiot boy,” said Domitian.

To Trajan, it felt like it ended just as quickly as it started. Trajan came to and saw his father in a heap, smoke rising from him. Nerva was wounded but alive and Goliath was on his back. They had won.

“Righto. Let's see my mother, shall we?”

Nerva and Trajan entered the final door by unlocking it with the locket. Once inside, the pair found a glass tube and in it a beautiful, stately woman. Around her was a machine, the brain of the empire Nerva called it.

“They enslaved her brilliant mind. Now, we free her and the empire.”

They opened the hatch and, after a moment, her eyes opened.

“My son … ”