Chapter 147: [ Book 2 ] Chapter 7: Change of Plans

Sister Celescia never would have in her wildest dreams imagined herself a cultural icon, swept up in a revolution against her homeworld government of the past thousand years.

But sometimes the Spirits had a peculiar way of delivering one’s purpose in life.

The singer troupe padded along the corridor of Sanctum station at a leisurely pace. With their garments rendered in soft tones and flowing loose on their svelte forms, not a single passerby registered the possibility that cultural heroes—or infamous race sellouts—were within arms reach.

Despite the drama at the lounge, she was certain the performers would go unrecognized. For one thing, they’d already passed several female Pree dressed in a similar manner. None of them received any out-of-the-ordinary attention. A few civilians in passing discussed the show at the lounge, and none of them even looked in the troupe’s direction.

Camouflage in plain sight was a beautiful thing.

Celescia gazed upon others as they strode by, her inquisitive stare hidden by her PD interface. She’d always been fascinated with the greater galaxy since she watched the alien traders visit the spaceports on Preemona as a child. She saw the commonality of compassion and warmth in simple interactions. Traders playing with Pree children. Protopriests offering blessings to offworlders.

Much like the traders, the sentients roaming the corridors of Sanctum were a mixture of races. There were Humans and their wide variety of colors, shapes, and hairstyles. Green-skinned Slyvarkians, lean and angular in their bodies and amiable in their interactions with other races. The plodding, thick-skinned Ghupto, ubiquitous in small numbers through the galaxy. She found the quad-tentacled Crekzels an odd sight. Their gait reminded her of sea creatures venturing out from the ocean.

Each race was interesting and unique in their own right. But when viewed as a whole they became something more. A physical manifestation of the will of the Spirits—the beautiful miracle that was advanced life. Organisms who could find commonality that spanned the unfathomable distances between star systems—language, art, music, dance.

Her talents blessed her with the opportunity to experience these forms of connection firsthand in her travels throughout the Tyrcellus system and others. That her music allowed advanced organisms—who could be so different biologically yet found enough in common to live and thrive together—to connect through harmonious noise and synchronized movement filled her with a sense of purpose she’d never experienced before.

No matter a sentient’s origin, they all shared in a simple truth—the universe distilled to its base was clusters of vibrating atoms. What better way to embrace that simple truth than to channel it into something joyful and spirit-mending. A positive energy to feed the light of civilizations scattered in the infinite canvas of space.

This opportunity to connect came from the foresight of sentients wise enough to see beyond their immediate circumstances. To understand the need for unity. To create a construct like the Commonwealth.

The Pree were relatively new to the galactic stage and a prime example of why such a concept was needed. First contact decades prior had been a peaceful affair aside from a PD translation snafu between biological waste disposal standards and salutation gestures.

Diplomats of different races and coalitions visited Preemona. Traders came next, eager for the untapped market, and Pree explorers set out to see the wider galaxy.

What followed was the unfortunate and unavoidable side effect of entering the galactic community—piracy and raiding.

Historians, blessed with the benefit of time, concluded there was never a real threat to the Pree race. But the damage had been done to the collective psyche. Fear of others, of opening their society to the unknown, scarred large swaths of the Pree race.

But Celescia didn’t succumb to it. She understood the slivers of elitism, bigotry, and plain-old cultural misunderstandings that could enable such evil acts by segments of populations. It occurred in the Pree’s own history, as it had in every other spacefaring race like it were a necessary sin for ascension to the stars.

Only one collective effort attempted to solve the problem in its entirety: the Commonwealth and their charter. And, like most things in life, their success came as a result of a bitter tragedy.

She was an adolescent when the heartbreaking Auturia incident brought about the Reconciliation. The Commonwealth convinced—though some would argue coerced—all known races to agree to the charter realizing their ambitions of galactic peace and prosperity.

It only took a little over twenty years for it to begin to fall apart.

The decline began as a gradual, imperceptible sequence of events. Despite the success of the charter, there was still opposition to the very concept of the bureaucracy-heavy Commonwealth. The Pree Theocracy gradually fell into this camp. Celescia knew the truth of their feigned concerns—they were losing their power and influence as more Pree embraced ideas of the broader galactic community. A shift she knew ultimately benefited their race.

She’d seen the effects of integration firsthand. Felt the enrichment of her spirit and growth of her character from interacting with other cultures. The different religions, beliefs, and traditions. Their influences seeped into the troupe’s act, helping spread the message of openness. It was opposite of the Theocracy's manipulation of fear and ignorance that birthed the countermovement of the Preservationists.

She knew the horrible truth of what would happen should the Commonwealth be diminished or even fail—a return to the chaos of piracy, raiding, conflict, and even all-out war.

Sisters Celescia decided they had to take a stand, even if the consequences ruined their professional status. Or worse, they became an enemy of the state.

They made the decision almost a year and a half prior—sitting backstage recuperating after a show. Sisters Celescia would not allow their homeworld to revert while they did nothing. They weren’t regents or fighters. Their weapon was their voice, talent, and celebrity. They would campaign against the Theocracy’s attempt to nullify the charter. They would speak for the growing Acculturation movement.

They would rebel.

Their industry contacts granted them access to Acculturation leadership. The troupe found themselves immersed into the world of inteligence operations. They gained a support team and operations of increasing importance.

The journey was difficult. The hate and media attacks from Preservationist allies were intense. But so was the support. Sisters Celescia toured like commandos running a guerrilla campaign—sneaking into prominent venues, dodging corrupt security, parlaying the support of powerful allies.

Whether by the grace of the Spirits or the will of the people, it worked. The issue hit a turning point. Spies within the Theocracy reported that the Imperatrix had begun to reconsider opposition to the charter. Victory was in sight.

Everything changed when Auturia was destroyed. The Imperatrix and several ministers perished. That elitist tyrant Rragustus ascended to power, and the Pree’s interim charter was once again at risk by his hand guiding the resurgent Preservationist movement.

Sisters Celescia continued touring, promoting, preaching. The charter vote loomed like a figure in the mist, always present but never fully formed.

The announcement reached Celescia a few days prior on their approach to Sanctum: the Commonwealth diplomatic fleet would arrive in two cycles. The charter ratification vote would happen.

Sisters Celescia vowed to do everything in their power to ensure the vote succeeded. Even if it meant risking their lives.

To the public, the troupe would have appeared on Sanctum—orbiting on the outer bounds of Tyrcell—for a surprise performance.

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But Celescia had another reason in mind, one very few knew about.

A reason she would soon collect.

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The station public comm announced the next ship docking. Neither of her partners had spoken much since leaving Captain Anderton.

Celescia could sense the animosity oozing out of Yanna about the unplanned mid-performance rant. Something had to be said but Celescia couldn’t summon the strength to do it.

It was Trystais who inadvertently pushed the issue when he dropped a navigation beacon in their PDs. He trailed several meters behind them, his hard eyes scanning for threats.

“The contact just sent us the exchange location. Follow the route,” he said.

Celescia found his presence reassuring, like a raincoat in a heavy storm. He’d kept them safe so far—scaring away overzealous fans, avoiding protesters, even ducking the occasional Theocracy operatives—despite his rough edges, like the aggressive incident in the lounge’s dressing room.

Both Yanna and Ruki swung their heads to Celescia.

“Exchange location? We weren’t scheduled to meet with the contact until a few shifts from now,” Yanna said.

“I received a message from them shortly before our performance began. They said they may have been compromised and needed to deliver the asset as soon as possible. So I used the rant to give us an early exit,” Celescia answered.

She swept her eyes over the sparse traffic ahead. Vocalizing their clandestine mission added a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before like some all-knowing force could have listened in and discovered the troupe’s secret—they served as active operatives for the Acculturation movement. But nothing hostile manifested in reality ahead of her to confirm her fear.

Yanna grunted understanding and disapproval at the same time.

“It was a clever way to get us off the stage without suspicion. But you still could’ve told us,” Ruki said.

“You’re right. I only told Trystais so he could do his security preparations. I kept it from you because I didn’t want to burden you. I figured a few songs with both of you fully committed and not distracted would give the audience enough of what they came for,” Celescia said. “Regardless, I am sorry.”

“Your concern is appreciated, Sister, but we’re professional performers with a lifetime of training. We can compartmentalize our feelings,” Yanna said.

“Most of the time,” Ruki said, and wrapped her arm through Celescia’s.

Celescia smiled. Memories of outbursts and wrestling matches tickled her consciousness. It had always been two of the troupe getting into an altercation with the third playing peacemaker. They carried the pressure of their performance, of elevated status in society, on a daily basis. Their public support of Acculturation added a whole other level of scrutiny, harassment, and outright threat. With that came added stress.

But the cause was worth the consequences.

Yanna said, “Zellis assured us it was a simple retrieval assignment. Where did the sudden pressure come from?”

“I don’t know. I share your concern. But we all accepted the risk when we decided to enlist our services in aid of Acculturation,” Celescia said. They would find out once they returned the retrieved asset to Zellis.

“Yes, we did. I am fine with the risk. But we must balance our ability to aid the movement with our capability as messengers. If we are arrested, or worse, it would be a massive blow to our cause.”

“You’re so self-important, aren’t you, Yanna?” Ruki said. It was meant both as a tease and a barb.

“I speak the truth and you know it. Our talents and dedication have given us a platform few others have. We must use it for good.”

“And we are,” Celescia said.

“Still, I feel deceived. If there’s one thing I learned in all this playing spy non-sense, it’s that you never get the full truth."

“I’ve already informed the support team and Trystais. The ship will be ready to leave shortly.” Their team consisted of a captain and pilot, and then a tech and health attendant for support. The attendant had been a unique addition. Nutrition, sleep, and recovery were even more critical to the troupe when traveling under austere conditions—no hours-long spa sessions, no freshly grown food, no top-of-the-line facilities. Their public support for Acculturation meant a grueling return to the life of a traveling entertainment troupe. One Celescia had thought she’d never experience again.

Some part of her longed for her previous life. The comforts and amenities, the prestige and wealth. But another side of her spirit embraced the slice of reality, this authentic connection to real people. It stirred the memories of those visits to the Preemona ports, of her first meetings with other races. The reset gave her a perspective no sim or spiritual healer could provide.

She knew, of course, that those selfish desires and thoughts were inconsequential in the face of her true mission: granting her race a say in their future.

The captain acknowledged the update and said they were all heading out to rendezvous with the team. “We’re already on the move. It’s not a negotiation, Sister. We will be with you shortly,” the captain said despite Celescia's protest.

The troupe reached a junction and turned off the main corridor. The crowd thinned until only a random civilian passed by every minute or so. Trystais took the lead as the beacon drew closer.

Celescia drew a breath and followed. Nervous energy tickled her limbs. It reminded her of the feeling before her shows. But instead of performing for adoring fans, she was about to meet with an Acculturation agent who carried an asset of vital importance.

She did the same thing she practiced every time she walked on stage—drew her shoulders back, thank the Spirits for her blessings, and did what needed to be done.

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