Father stepped through the doorway just as I reached the top of the stairs. I had come immediately from the Mercy. As I stood in the gate and watched him wave shut the door behind himself, Father seemed frail. It was not an impression I got from anything tangible. As usual, he was bigger than life but there was a missing element to his nature. There was a hollow place behind his eyes. The force of his life seemed diminished.

“Walk with me,” he said.

I fell in at his side as he marched around the curved mezzanine. We came to the last doorway right of his office. It opened at his approach and we entered to find two Olipharean techs attending a tree set up in the fore room. This was Nathlan's office. I had not gotten around to seeing him. I had been busy with the Kee, with the up-cycle, with the investigation. I felt shame as I approached the tree and viewed his still visage through the glass. His face was gaunt yet peaceful, a face I knew well. His white hair and sculpted beard made him appear like a wizard in reverie.

“He is dying,” said Father.

I had expected conversation about the Great Lady. Instead, I found Nathlan being treated in his office and I did not have to guess why Father brought me to view his oldest friend. Nathlan, like Father, was dying. Atomic Progression had ceased, had reversed. Disintegration was at hand. All that could be managed was a desperate attempt to slow death's advance. Father moved to the tree opposite my position and placed a hand respectfully against its cool metallic surface. He looked sadly at the face of his friend. Father and Nathlan were the last of the ancients. They had launched our odyssey through the stars.

Father said, “You and I will lay him on the altar of my GUF.”

I could only nod. I had no words. Father continued speaking. His words were soft, his tone solemn.

“It seems oddly ironic to see Nathlan in this tree,” he said.

“How so,” I asked?

“Nathlan invented the tree.”

“I thought he joined from the second world,” I said, surprised. “I thought you had invented the tree before leaving.”

“We were partners,” said Father with a sigh. “Mine was the theory; his was the tech.”

I looked at the cylinder of metal and glass. I noted the unshapely mass of tubes attached to the wall at all angles. I realized that historical lies had been perpetrated. It had always been taught that Father had created the tree, the ships, the GUF.

“And the GUF,” I asked.

“Nathlan and I worked together on everything, ” said Father and I noted sorrow in his voice. “We were brothers in science.”

Sighing deeply, Father turned away. I was aware that the techs had left the room. I wondered what Father thought as he stood silent, his shoulders slumped. That lasted but a moment. He straightened, turned, look into my eyes.

“I will be there soon. You know this.” His expression warned off my denial. It died in my throat. “But, enough of that,” he said with returning authority. “Take my hand.”

I took my Father's hand and immediately found myself no longer in the room with Nathlan. We were in another place, a darkened anti-chamber. I could hear voices from another room. I looked to my Father in alarm, with the unasked question on my parting lips. We had transported without a tree.

Father answered frankly, “Such is the atomic nature.”

I followed Father through the sliding door into the next room. It was austere. The transition from the darkened anti-chamber to an open room with three hover lights was brutal. Still, I immediately took in the situation. The room was circular with a desk in the center. A woman sat at the desk and along the curved wall to either side of the opposite door stood eight aides at attention. The realization of their uniforms and weapons came heartbeats later. What transpired took me by surprise. In quick succession, the aides tensed, the seated woman turned in angered alarm.

“Defend,” she commanded sharply.

The four closest to us stepped forward and drew guns from the holsters at their hips. Father waved them aside. As he did, all hands that held guns fell against the wall where try as they might, they could not pull them free. Their alarmed cries fell silent as they slumped to the floor unconscious. An attendee beyond the desk jumped up on the desk and leaped toward Father with a dagger in hand. Still facing the first four assailants, father stood vulnerable to the new attack – or so I thought. In the heat of the moment, I stepped between Father and the attacker. When the attacker suddenly flew back, bouncing from the desk at an unnatural angle to slam painfully into the wall, my uncertainty and fear were relieved by the impression that father was in full control.

The remaining three aides hesitated, then backed against the wall in submission. My vestigial heart was beating quickly in my chest. I stepped toward the submissive women to disarm them and, as I did, the seated woman charged up from her chair with a growl in the back of her throat. Father stepped toward the desk with absolute command in his voice.

“Oh, sit down,” he said in anger.

The woman fell helplessly into the desk chair and glared at father with unadulterated rage blazing in her eyes. Father stared back into her eyes until she looked away. I removed the holstered guns and tossed them to the deck by the unconscious women. As an afterthought, I pulled the fifth woman into the general tangle of the other four. It was then that I was better able to note the details of our situation. The aides were a female version of our military, dressed in red, black, and gold. All of them were humanoid with short black hair spilling over their gold headbands. Their guns were fashioned after the tools used in Terra-forming which could instantly and precisely dissolve the hardest rock and were immediately deadly to Atomics.

The seated woman was tall, statuesque. Her long white hair was braided behind her head, cascading over one shoulder. She wore a tight-fitting jacket, red like the uniforms of the others and filled with medals. She completed her uniform with black trousers and shoes. Fierce blue eyes were set in a pale face both stern and admirable. Father stood directly over the woman and beckoned me closer. I stood before the desk, he motioned with a wry smile.

“Son,” he said, “I would like to introduce Imabelai – your older sister.”

Talk about a shock. As she seethed in silent frustration, I looked deeply into the eyes of a sister I had never known. Father had never spoken of her. When she returned my gaze, there was only anger to be seen. Suddenly, she snorted disgust and turned away. The room was silent except for my ragged breathing. A strange and out of place thought came to me. I wondered how much older my sister was. Her face was smooth and lovely, giving no indication of age.

Father took her arm in hand and yanked her to her feet. They stood face to face. Father looked into her fiery eyes. Imabelai stiffened and squared her shoulders, taking a rebellious stance. Father blazed white like a star so that I had to shield my eyes. Father utilized the true strength of an Atomic. Few of us were as adept or as powerful as my father. Imabelai at last submitted, lowering her face.

Father commanded, “Take us to Ishtara.”

“You'll never get that far,” she said, attempting but failing to pull free.

I must confess, I was gripped by father's display of force. What happened next, however, made me quite afraid. I actually stepped away and stood with the cowering attendees. Father held his free hand above the desk. Before a question could form in my mind, the desk rose up from the floor to touch his hand. Father turned his hand toward the door we would exit through. He still glowered at his daughter. Imabelai glared at the desk held against an open hand; she seemed quite as shocked as I felt. With the desk legs pointed at the closed door, the desk unexpectedly shot toward it – and through it. Then, the door, itself, disappeared from sight.

Father calmly replied, “Oh, I think we shall.”

At no point in my relationship with father had I ever been made aware of the full range of atomic powers. It was as if I had awakened from a pleasant dream only to discover the utter brutality of truth. I am pretty sure that I stood with open mouth. I exchanged stunned glances with the attendees I stood among. All of us felt the wall against our backs and knew we could retreat no farther. Father shoved Imabelai toward the gaping hole that had been a door. She stumbled and righted.

“You and your girls will lead the way,” said Father. “You will do the responsible thing and save your people. Now, move.”

Father's tone left no room for second opinions. There was one course, we were all too aware that father's will would prevail. Five attendees lay unconscious on the floor as Imabelai and her three remaining aides walked through the open door and into the brightly lit hallway. Father and I followed them. The women turned right and walked slowly down the broad hallway as I hurried to fall in at father's side.

The hallway was long and straight, studded with closed doors. Ahead of us, the hallway took a sharp left turn. As we turned, another long hallway greeted us. There were more closed doors, each one numbered. I remember signs on the walls, but I was too preoccupied to read them. We approached a descending stairwell. The din of voices issued from below.

The Tzhan Simach was an upside-down pyramid at the base of which depended a rather large sphere. That sphere was the residence of the Great Lady. Four stout columns projected down past the sphere. The broader top of the pyramid was the common housing, as I understood it. I was also aware that the hallways of the craft were the same on every level. Each level had three hallways joined to a four-square lounge that was accessed by a stairwell at either end. We were headed down into one of the lounges but I had no idea which level we were on. An expansive square room, brightly lit, assailed my eyes.

We stood at the bottom of the stairs looking back into the surprised faces of fifty or more females of all races. The moment was tense. Father and Imabelai were in front of me, her arm firmly in his hand. The three aides I stood among awaited the coming action with no less uncertainty than myself. No one in the lounge was armed. I saw shops along the walls with tables in front. I saw plush seating in dimmed corners meant for intimate conversation. I saw women rise up from their seats in alarm. In all of my experience, it had never been the case that a man stood so deep in the heart of Tzhan Simach. My imagination took hold of me, presenting my mind with a picture of fifty women rushing angrily toward father and me. Instead, Imabelai made a gesture with a raised hand and the women backed away. A clear corridor stood open to the opposite stairwell.

Father, Imabelai, and I started forward. The three aides left our company. Our walk toward the stairwell felt far too casual. I wished for the pace to be more brisk. Women stood on both sides of us. I could feel their eyes on us. They witnessed something they would never have expected to see. Yet, even at a loss, their eyes seemed as hard as polished steel. Eyes were everywhere. Axerri, Olipharean, Humanoid, all eyes had the edge of a drawn sword. I was never so glad to reach a stairwell as I was in that tense exchange of charged glances. The stairwell, rather than going up, went down. By that, I realized where we were in the ship. We descended to the foyer of the Great Residence. We were in the sphere.

The foyer was unadorned. Bare metallic seats extended from the walls on either side of the stairwell. There was a plain sliding door that gave no hint of rank beyond. Lighting was fixed in the ceiling. A simple drinking fountain was inset in both ends of the room and that gave me the unnerving impression that people often found themselves waiting for unspecified periods. I was glad to be past the last of my hurdles, father had taken charge. I was hopeful that matters would soon be resolved but the room gave me no joy as father sat us on opposites seats.

“Sit,” he commanded. “Enter when I call.”

Father turned and entered the Great Residence. The sliding metallic door sealed with a sad sound, like finality itself. The air was cold. The eyes of my beautiful older sister were cold. The seat upon which I sat was cold. I wished I had dressed more warmly. The plain room held nothing for my attention. I looked at the door, at the ceiling, at my hands. I tried not to look at Imabelai as I could feel the waves of cold hatred coming from her. When I finally chanced to look her way, to relieve the itch of my boredom, I found her cold blue eyes stripping the flesh from my bones, vestigial as they were.

I stammered, “I never realized I had a sister.”

“Nor I a brother,” she answered sternly.

“Are you his natural daughter,” I queried?

“Adopted,” she said.

“Oh,” I said, warming to the conversation, “so am I.”

“Talkative are we?” Her sneered question effectively shot me down.

After a moment, I confessed, “Nervous, I guess.”

I decided to press forward while I had the opportunity. I said, “I have a brother, LUC. My name is 5E5U. Most people call me Sais or Jeez.”

She stood and walked to the fountain on her side for a drink. She straightened her uniform and, finding nothing else to do, returned to her seat with a forced sigh. Men just were not allowed on the ship of women. Seeing a woman of any race was new to me. Seeing a humanoid woman and knowing she was my sister gave me feelings I could not explain. I fear I stared a bit much. Imabelai snorted and turned away from me. I confess I was overwhelmed. I wanted to conclude my business. I wanted to get Sama and leave. I wanted to know that I could depend on the cooperation of Ishtara in my investigation and the upcoming trial. Yet, I could not help but stare at my new sister.

“What is your rank,” I asked?

She turned back to me, peeled away the natural smile from my soul, and answered, “Commander.”

“I would not have guessed,” I parried, “that your ship had or needed its own military.”

“We take care of our own,” she replied, losing none of her edge.

“I manage the Seed Ship,” I offered.

Her cold blue eyes narrowed in a calculating manner. She said, “I grow weary of your fawning.”

“Oh?”

I was stunned. I felt belittled. I was clueless why she was so angry with me. We had only just met. Still, I was drawn to my new sister. I wanted to know who she was, where she came from, what she did as Commander. I felt a hunger for information that might only be relished in the moment. As I sat looking into her embittered eyes, the environment of our conversation seemed rocky and fraught with unexpected pitfalls. I wondered how I might proceed. Before I could form a plan, Imabelai spoke.

“You men are all the same. You and your father are mankind in a nutshell – either fawning or bullying. I would see the oppression of women stamped out.”