2626-4-28, New Babylon, Partion IV

Soft music drifted from the café nestled underneath a brick-and-mortar bakery. For a moment, the man took note of the Old-World architecture committing it to memory as he had with many of the buildings on the way through the Quiet Sector. Despite the care that had likely gone into the construction, several defects stood out from misalignment of bricks to erosion caused by the elements. These imperfects were rife within the sector, a testament to the beauty of the past as well as its flaws.

It wasn’t rare to see such archaic construction styles but they all had at least some incorporation of modern technology like Norean stone or flash fabrication. Mankind had advanced significantly in the centuries following the Great Trial but as a whole, it seemed unwilling to let go of its past.

Perhaps sentimentality is intrinsic to our being. The notion certainly would explain the difficulty of his cleansing protocols as of late. No matter how diligent he was, certain emotions persisted like chronic afflictions on his heart.

He banished the thought after a brief consideration. True or not, he had little time for idle contemplation while so close to his goal. He double-checked everything as he made his way to the entrance of the café, a stairway leading down to a wooden door with glass paneling. Finding everything in order, he walked down the stairs and pushed open the door.

A set of chimes jingled filling the dim interior of the café with bright noise. His gaze swept over the place taking in the cozy booths set against the wall to his left and the few tables neatly arranged to his left. There were no patrons in the café at the moment but someone stood at the counter taking a rag to an already pristine set of equipment from mugs to the nozzles of various drink dispensers. He had on a bright purple apron with flowers on it tied over what looked to be a crisp dress shirt and tie.

Despite a lifetime of preparation, the man froze upon making eye contact with the individual. The entity in the shape of a man had a gaze that pierced the deepest parts of his being. The layers of conditioning carefully crafted to hold under even the greatest of pressure peeled away leaving him… confused. He stood there for what seemed like hours until a smooth voice brought him out of it.

“Are you going to just stand there all day, young man?”

He blinked. “No, I…”

His mind blanked. What was wrong with him? He had been the sole subject to pass every exam administered by the Council of Six. His pedigree was unquestionable and his training beyond thorough. None before had been as complete. In the eyes of the Brotherhood, he was perfect, the lone man able to fulfill the great purpose set down by the Council after the events of the Great Trial. Yet, he faltered on the precipice after coming so far.

A laugh scattered his already haphazard thoughts. It was the man behind the counter. No, he wasn’t a man. He was an Aspect, the pinnacle of power. Yes, this was why he had come to the café, to meet this entity in human form.

He stood before the Father.

He had to move, to recover. Driven by purpose, he strode forward reaching into his pocket. When he stopped, he placed a bronze coin bearing a three-eyed skull on the counter.

“I come before you bearing the proof of my resolve. Please guide me with your wisdom and favor.” He rattled off the ritual words in a dead language that was ancient even before the Great Trial. He punctuated the appeal with the signature bow those of the Brotherhood used to show respect.

These were sacred words from the Old World, bound in Brotherhood’s oldest traditions. They along with the skull coin marked him as one who had proven himself and who had been recognized by the spirits of the forefathers.

The Father’s eyes remained crinkled with amusement the entire time. All the while, he ignored the coin and set about making drinks. The smell of fresh coffee wafted into his nostrils along with the distinct scent of lemon. The combination made the man’s mouth water and his eyes widened.

Desire. He wanted whatever the Father was preparing but desire had been one of the first things conditioned out of him. He hadn’t wanted something in nearly a decade and a half. He watched in a stupor as the Father stepped from behind the counter gesturing at one of the booths, two mugs in one hand, and a plate of small, fluffy cakes in the other.

“Come on and have a drink with me, son,” the Father said, sliding into a booth after setting the drinks and plate on the table and placing his apron on the back of a nearby chair. Numbly, the man joined him. He sat there, opposite an Aspect. Said Aspect gestured at the plate between the two of them. The tantalizing cakes looked delicious. “Help yourself. It’s one of my favorite recipes.”

He gave a practiced smile, took a cake, and frantically attempted to order the chaos within. The Father took a sip from one of the mugs and pushed the other across the table. Partially to avoid being rude and partially because he couldn’t resist, the man took a bite of the cake.

Then, he took another bite and another. Before he knew it, the entire cake was gone and tears welled up in his eyes. He recognized this taste, just barely— a fragment of remembrance from before his time in the Brotherhood.

“This is my mother’s recipe,” he said, his hands trembling. He had forgotten but the memory sat at the forefront of his mind as though it happened yesterday from the taste of the lemon cakes to his mother’s laughter. He made eye contact with the Father, his mental structure once again falling apart. His confusion overflowed in tandem with alarm at the continued disarray of his mind. “What is happening to me?”

The Father took another sip of his coffee and offered a full-toothed smile. It considered him for a few seconds then chuckled. “You had a few subliminal compulsions woven into your subconscious, masterfully crafted ones I might add. When you made eye contact with me, they started to unravel. I figured a drink and a snack might help since you’re no doubt experiencing some mental backlash.”

“And the cakes?” he asked, unsure how to process that information given his state of mind. He took a sip of the coffee. The bitterness of the coffee helped steady his nerves. He reached for another cake as the Father began to answer his question.

“Oh, I probably taught one of your ancestors the recipe back when I used to travel more,” said offhandedly. The Father paused to dip a lemon cake in his mug before regarding the man. “If I had to put my finger on it, I’d say you’re one of Lianna’s brood. You wouldn’t happen to know how she was doing, would you?”

“No… sorry,” he answered. Why would the Father ask such a question? Surely, an Aspect, an entity powerful enough to claim entire star systems, had ways to keep track of anything they desired. Was the question a test? He can’t be just making small talk…

The man watched the Father toss his coffee-soaked cake into his mouth while he munched on his own. It was so good that he momentarily forgot about the mission. His focus solely on the mystery of the Father’s question.

He racked his brain trying to find any recollection of someone named Lianna. A picture of a woman, eyes as black as the void, with her arms wrapped around a younger version of the woman he now recognized as his mother popped into his mind. It had been one of the many photos his mother kept on the accent table near the front door of his childhood home.

“I think I remember her. My mother had a picture of her from before I was born. I…” His brow furrowed. “Where are these memories coming from?”

“Ah, that. The compulsions were blocking your memory. Mind control is a tricky thing to pull off. The controlled mind will always fight for dominance so it’s best to weaken it. Brainwashing and memory inhibition are the simplest ways to accomplish that.” The Father chuckled staring up at the ceiling, his eyes growing distant for a breath before they returned to the man. “Given how deeply those were in your subconscious, its seems a unique combination of the two was employed. I’m guessing you were tricked in rooting the compulsions in your own mind through some sort of daily ritual which you believed to be essential. It’s an ingenious method, I have to admit. The mind rarely rebels against its own falsehoods.”

Meanwhile, the man fought back a mounting sense of horror. Brainwashing? Memory inhibition? Had the Brotherhood really done this to him?

He thought of his daily cleansing protocols and shuddered. He had been taught them from his earliest days in the Brotherhood. With each day, he had grown more focused and driven. He everything but his training faded into the background until he became a revenant of purpose cultivated over decades by minds far greater than his.

Was everything I went through for the Brotherhood a lie? Just a pretext to fuel the compulsions?

His contemplation carried his mind away and they sat there for several minutes in silence drinking coffee and eating cakes.

The quiet was comfortable, calming even. By the time they finished the cakes, the man found himself feeling refreshed and clearheaded. He still struggled with many emotions from existential dread to homesickness but if anything good had come from his grueling training, it was his discipline which managed to reign in the maelstrom.

He glanced at the Father. The Aspect had lit a cigarette though the smoke that wafted in his direction was sweet and pleasant instead of pungent and harsh. After taking a long draw, he sighed then caught the man’s gaze.

“Feeling better?” the god-like entity asked.

“Yes,” he said and it was true. He did feel better despite all. Something about sitting there in the café, the cocktail of sweet and bitter aromas in the air, and the gentle tunes in the background. Part of him wondered if it was all some sort of hypnotism even though it felt so natural.

“Good,” the Father said tapping the ashes of his cigarettes into a tiny tray that hadn’t been there a second ago. “So, what’s your name, son?”

The question once again gave the man pause. Not because of its strangeness, but because it made him realize something. Until a quarter of an hour ago, he believed his designation to be Cal or more accurately, Project C-41; however, that was what the Brotherhood called him. Now, he remembered; he had a name, given by his mother.

“My name is Maru,” he said with so little conviction that it could have been considered a question. Delight danced in the Father’s eyes and he extended a hand across the table which Maru took more on impulse than anything else.

“A pleasure to meet you, Maru,” said the Aspect. “You can continue to call me Father or, if that’s too uncomfortable, Mr. Erik will suffice.”

“You honor me, Father,” Maru said falling back into the etiquette drilled into him for most of his life. Of course, he would keep calling the entity Father, to do otherwise would be to deny or ignore the magnitude of what he was or what he had done. “Mr. Erik” was especially egregious because Erik sounded like a first name. Even questioning his purpose and the Brotherhood in general, there was little excuse for such disrespect even if he had been given an out for it.

A slight smile touched on the Father’s lips at his formality. Two taps brought Maru’s attention to the tabletop. The Father’s right hand rested on the table; his pointer finger pressed against the skull coin that had been left at the counter.

“Now, tell me, Maru. What is it you hope to accomplish here?”