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When the Oracle Speaks (Part 2)

by Albert Chu

Outside the warehouse, the rain fell in sheets. It whipped the Azure River into a frenzy, and the waters responded with a hungry roar as they swirled past the dock. It pounded the warehouse’s loading bay, transforming it into a marshy field of shallow ponds and rocky islands. Nobody, not even a dock worker, was about; the only things that moved were the automata. They paced back and forth, their armor caked with rust, and as they splashed through the watery field, droplets running down their limbs, they showed no signs of minding.

The shadow of a narrow alleyway enveloped me, hiding me from the automata. For a moment, anticipation and fear flickered in my chest, before I exhaled and snuffed them both out. I stepped out of the alleyway, protected by my umbrella. Espionage mission or not, I wasn’t letting my hair get wet.

Both automata stopped and turned to face me; the rain filled the void of silence left by their stilled feet. I continued walking forwards with purpose.

One automata raised a hand, its rusted joints creaking as it did. It spoke, in a gravelly, muffled voice: “Halt.”
That was the first layer of defense, meant to deter commoners who’d ignored the posted signs against trespassing and somehow wandered this far into the docks. I didn’t slow. At first, the automata showed no reaction—those machine minds, hidden to me, recalculated and reconsidered. Then, as one, they both shivered. The illusion of rusted armor fell from them like an unclasped cloak, and now their carapaces, comprised of thousands of scales, gleamed in the rainwater.

“Provide validation.” Its voice was as smooth and bright as a stream of molten metal.

I spoke the passphrase from memory: “Clouds aflame. Flower verdigris. In a summer field, a single stone.”

The automata pivoted on their feet away from me, like a door swinging open, and I exhaled. “Validation accepted. Enter.”

With the rain still pounding my opened umbrella, I walked past the automata’s unblinking stares and entered the warehouse.

First it was quiet; then, the overhead lighting turned on with a droning buzz. I held one hand to my brow to shield my eyes from the unexpected brightness, while my other hovered by my lightgun. If there was a trap, they’d spring it now. But nothing moved, and slowly, I relaxed.

I saw what the warehouse concealed, and at first, I didn’t understand.

It stood in the middle of the stark white floor, its matte black chassis drawing the eye like a dark stone in a field of sand. Six conical thrust nozzles dangled from the underside; now, they all pointed straight down, but I knew from the holovids how, in combat, they could turn and dance to make the craft fly in impossible ways. On either side of the nose, weapons bays brimmed with missiles, hexagonal ports arrayed like the speckles of a cobra, its hood spread, staring back at me.

A hover-bomber. And as I circled around it, I saw, emblazoned on its side, the emblem of Samandir.

Pallets of sealed crates lined the warehouse next to the hover-bomber; I pried them open at random and examined their contents. Short-barreled rifles, the same ones brandished by the enemy in both propaganda holovids and classified combat footage. Clean-pressed mustard yellow uniforms, the signature mark of Samandiran shock troopers. All the props needed to stage an attack in the city and have everyone in Artan think Samandir responsible.
Such an attack, ending in the loss of Artani life, would surely cause all-out war to resume. But who could have planned something like this? If I discovered the general or prince responsible for this plot, I could ensure they were executed tomorrow morning.

Then I felt the gaze of that hover-bomber, laden with deadly missiles, pressed against the back of my head, and my thoughts came to a choking halt. I knew the answer. Only someone with absolute power, above the reach of punishment, could have set this plan in motion. He had been forced to end his campaign before he’d destroyed the enemy to his satisfaction. Now he would have his glory and his revenge.

My father. I’d misunderstood him.

---

Night had fallen by the time I returned to my suite, and Iuno was sitting on the divan, a steaming porcelain teapot before him on the parlor table. My room’s sunlamps, having dimmed with the onset of night, now emitted a warm, flickering glow. For a moment, I stood inside the doorframe and watched the teapot’s shadow dance across the table. The rainclouds had parted; the whole city was visible from my suite. Houses and storefronts and lounges, each a point of light, cascaded down the hill to meet the river.

“You’re back,” Iuno said.

I sat beside him on the divan, my back straight, and accepted his offered teacup. As I told him what I’d found, the tea cooled in my hands. I didn’t drink.

When I finished, I turned to face him. “You knew,” I said. “You knew I’d find the hover-bomber there. You’ve known of the king’s plot this entire day.”

“I told you.” His voice was quiet. “If you wanted the truth, I would give it to you.”

Yes, as promised, he’d led me to the truth, and now I found it nothing but a burden. I could only submit to the king’s authority and accept that he held the reins of the future, not me. His lie would send millions of Artani people to their deaths, and I could do nothing—nothing—

“No.” I stood from the divan. “I won’t accept this.”

I paced from end to end of my suite, my naked feet padding against my rug’s softness. The room’s cramped size constrained me; my thoughts outgrew it. “No single member of the court can stop the king, but I can turn consensus against him. And to accomplish that…”

If the votes of a Great Circle fell in my favor, I could avert war.

“I will convince them,” I said. “Is honor dead in our ranks? My father’s plot makes a mockery of every martyr who died fighting the invaders.” I set my teacup, now cold, on the table. “They’ll see that my solution is the only path forwards. Quietly, so that no commoners are made aware, the king will surrender his rule to a council of regents. His plan must not proceed.”

I saw it all clearly—how my words, carefully crafted, would sway them. How I would gain power over that room. How I could fight and win.

I opened my bay windows and braced my hands against the sill. The night air was cool on my face, and before me, the city’s lights unfurled. Something surged inside me. Even as he descended into his own lust for war, my father tried to command fate, and now, I would do the same. I could accomplish something that men in the House of Hassam would speak of for decades to come—how one small prince, given a chance for greatness, had defied a king and prevented war.

I turned around and smiled at Iuno. “You see, don’t you?”

As seconds passed in silence, my smile fell.

“You’re relying on the court to prevent war.” Neither relish nor contempt marked his voice, only a quiet sadness. “But the last time they had a chance, they voted against peace. You did too.”

Heat prickled my face. “It’s different now,” I said. “My father wants to lie. It’s base. It lacks nobility.”

“We’re talking about a war.” He stared at me. “Nobility has nothing to do with it. You need to look at the situation clearly, Ahpa.”

I advanced from the window until I stood only a foot before him. “And what do you mean by that? The sun is almost down; the Great Circle won’t happen today. You have no special vision, and you see no more clearly than me.”

While I’d raised my voice, his remained level. “But I do. You’re a prince of Hassam, and you believe in your House’s virtue. You can’t see its darkness. You can’t see that you won’t stop them.”

My eyes widened. He truly was the same boy I had first met, a guest who had laughed in the face of a prince and, somehow, escaped punishment. Even as he dishonored the name of Hassam, I found that the lesser offense. “I won’t stop them?” I curled my lip. “Now I understand. You want me to give up. You want me to be chained to the future, as you are.”

“I only want you to accept the truth, Ahpa. The future holds war, and you can’t change that.”

“Stop saying that! When you speak your prophecies, do you enjoy reminding me of what I can’t change? Surely it’s amused you all these years, watching me fight for the smallest of chances to control my fate. Perhaps, instead of continuing to struggle in uncertainty, I really should live as you do, under destiny’s unerring command. Just like a fucking slave!”

Then there was silence, except for a faint ringing as that scream—my scream—echoed off the walls.

Cold air rushed in from my bay windows, raising goosebumps on my arms. My full cup of tea still sat on the parlor room table. There was the bookcase where, on the top shelf, we stored our favorite collections of classical poetry, exchanged as gifts when we were boys. There was the mirror where I had tried to tame his curls with the palace’s finest hair products, before giving up and suggesting he shave himself bald instead. There was the divan where we’d sat, side by side, and eaten dates.

“Iuno,” I said.

“You have no idea.” He was crying. “You’ve never seen.”

I stood there, as anger washed out of me and shame rolled in. I could not remember seeing him shaken before, and now he stood before me, drowning.

“On Eshtan, I didn’t always wake up with the day’s knowledge. On the days when I did, I was useful. I told the village of a dust storm’s approach, and we took shelter. I told the Samandirans that their military police would soon come for inspection, and they hid their Artani wives and children, so the police didn’t whip anyone or take any children away. Whenever I saw a disaster approach, I also saw myself helping people. Saving people.”

His tears guttered out. He turned his head to look out the bay window, as if his gaze crossed the distance between moons to look on his old home. “But I always liked the days when I didn’t see the future better. On those days, whatever I did, I did it because I wanted to, not because I had seen myself do it. I was in control.”

He looked up at me from the floor. I couldn’t move.

“One day, the House of Hassam’s hover-bombers came over the horizon. They hit the Samandiran garrison. I remember the screaming, the fire. Smoke everywhere. I didn’t know that I would find yima and yiba under the rubble.” He shook his head and smiled, even as I stepped backwards in shock. “I didn’t see the future that day. I still believed that village boys controlled their own destinies. But since that day, I’ve understood—I have no power. Now, there isn’t a morning that I don’t see, because I’ll obey whatever instructions destiny gives me, just like a slave, as you said. Why wouldn’t I? I’ve nothing left to lose.”

Words froze on my lips.

The smile slipped from Iuno’s face. He stood, and I smelled my own shampoo on his hair as he brushed past me, and then he was gone, out the suite door.

The rain started again. I walked over to the bay windows and closed them, snuffing out the sounds of the city. Only the rain’s pattering remained, fingers tapping on my skull, and I gave in under their weight, leaned against the wall, and fell to the floor. I did not know myself; I was no prince. I was that monster, screaming in rage at Iuno, ruled by my fear of the future.

Look at the situation clearly. I’d always thought myself so clever—I saw through the court’s playacted nobility, the propaganda to glorify the House of Hassam. That messaging was for the commoners, not a prince. But I’d bought the same kind of lie as everyone else. Without thinking, I’d assumed that the enemy had killed Iuno’s parents, because I didn’t understand that a bomb was just a bomb.

I sat there for some time. The sunlamps began to dim, and as the hours passed, reality settled in my mind. Impending war with Samandir. The bleak chance that a Great Circle might prevent the slaughter. Iuno’s revelation about his past.

He wasn’t here, and I realized that even if Artan burned tomorrow, I needed to know that he was safe now. I stood, breathed, and left my suite.

I searched the common areas of the palace room by room. The few servants still awake cast each other nervous glances, wondering if they should offer help, wondering if I’d gone mad. I’d searched almost three full floors of the palace before I remembered—I was wasting my time looking indoors. I took the escalator down to the grounds and walked outside.

I had crossed half the courtyard before I realized that I had no umbrella, and rainwater was soaking my hair, weighing down the curls until they lost their definition, plastering them to my neck and back—

There he was, lying on the bench by the pond. Only the dim glow from palace windows above us illuminated him.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He tilted his head back to look at me. “You know, when I heard what you would say this morning, I wasn’t surprised. I always knew what you thought.”

“You knew me better than anyone else in the palace, then.”

“You’re good at hiding,” he said, “but not that good.”

I closed my eyes. “Please come inside. You’ll catch cold out here. If you want the suite to yourself, I’ll find a library for the night. If you want a different room entirely, I’ll have it arranged. And if you want to stay here, I’ll bring a tent.”

“It’s all right. I’ve slept in that suite with you for years. You’re still the same person.”

I stood there, turning his words over as the rain fell around me, and then I nodded. He took my offered hand to hoist himself off the bench, and together, we made it back to my suite. We toweled ourselves off in silence and stumbled into bed.

I was about to close my eyes when I realized what I’d forgotten to do. “The passphrase,” I whispered to Iuno. “Clouds aflame. Flower verdigris. In a summer field, a single stone.”

Then sleep took us.

---

I watched Iuno’s face as he woke. I thought to capture the moment when the future’s knowledge entered him. But he moved from sleep to wakefulness as easily as crossing a threshold, and his face betrayed neither surprise, nor dismay, nor understanding. His eyes merely slid open, and he turned to look at me.

“Ahpa,” he said.

It was still me.

We dressed and ate breakfast together. I asked him about his childhood on Eshtan, and for the first time, he really talked. About the stories the soldiers told of life on Samandir, before they were conscripted. About the nights when he looked up and saw Artan, a blue disk crawling across the sky. About his parents. His yima, returning from the day’s work, the smell of machine oil wafting off of her. His yiba, greeting her at the door with a kiss.

After we finished eating, I poured us two cups of tea. We nursed them on the divan.

“I have been an awful host to you,” I said.

His eyes were closed; his nostrils dilated as he inhaled his tea’s fragrance. “Yes. You have been.”

“Though I have no right, I must ask you for something.”

His breath whistled across his teacup’s lip. “Go on.”

“I will convene a Great Circle today. I will reveal what I know of the king’s plan and do what is in my power to stop it.”

My hands shook. Here, in the morning quiet, the world was still and ready to shatter at the lightest touch, a sheet of glass spiderwebbed with cracks. Tension pulsed in my temples, and sweat beaded my forehead. I didn’t want to step forwards into the future. I couldn’t look down.

The treasures and trophies of a prince’s life surrounded me—my richly colored rug, the jeweled jacket hanging by my door, vials upon vials of hair cream and conditioner and gel. I exhaled and released it all. In my mind, the rain washed it down the hill to the river, and the waters took it.

“Please,” I said, “come with me when I go. Watch what happens. So that you can tell me now, because you already see it, what happens in the Circle.”

“And if I see that you fail…”

“Then you should tell me. I will still try. I must.”

“You tell me,” Iuno said, and I shivered at his words, “why you want it this way.”

I leaned back into my divan and inhaled the scent, soaking its fibers, of home. Only darkness lay ahead of me.

“Because,” I said. “Whatever happens, I won’t hide from it.”

---

Iuno says that we walk into the throne room together. He says—

The throne room is held, like a jewel in a scepter, in the palace’s highest spire. As he walks inside, Iuno passes his eyes over the glass floors and walls, shining with reflected light. He can’t believe it—we’re so high up that we can watch the rainclouds roll over Artan’s surface.

The princes, ministers, and generals watch us. The princes, my half-brothers, whisper among themselves. Iuno sees me in them—the curled black hair, the sharp, proud nose, and, in their eyes, the faint, ever-present glimmer of fear. Even in this glass room without shadow, their eyes dart from corner to corner, looking for hidden enemies.

King Azora Meira em-Hassam sits at the front of the room, his generals arrayed on either side of his throne. We kneel before him, and the room falls silent. Nobody knows why I have convened this Circle.

Iuno sees me trembling. After we leave the room, I will tell him that I wanted to run—that the knowledge that he gave me on the divan (that he gives me now, as he speaks) nearly strangled the words from me.

But still, I speak.

I address the princes and ministers in the room. I tell them of the king’s plot to instigate another war with Samandir. For a moment, some of their faces break in shock, but they quickly conceal it.

I speak of honor and peace. How many of our bannermen will die in another war? How many Artani conscripts—merchants, students, engineers? How many of the enemy, sent to fight us by powers beyond their will, do we wish to kill?

All for a lie?

I place my resolution before them: the king must surrender his rule. Seconds pass in absolute silence.

Then the king breaks it. When he speaks, anger presses his words into a low growl.

First he turns to the ministers. Remember, he says, when you bureaucrats and administrators feared that the enemy would destroy us? In the shadows, you whispered to me that I alone could save our House. You chose me as your king. They avert their eyes and nod; half their number is gone.

Then he turns to his generals. Remember, he says, when we took our army’s leaders from the academy, not the battlefield? To replace them, I selected each of you regardless of your previous rank or station. I chose you for your strength, and together, we would have achieved total victory, were it not denied from us. Will you fight with me again?

From the front, they roar their answer with one voice: Glory to the king! Glory to the king!

Then he turns to his sons. Remember, he says, my generosity. War is my gift to you. Who among you will drive our armies into Samandir and attain greatness? Who will defend my legacy? I am still watching, and I have yet to make my choice.

The princes glance at each other, and then they follow their father’s eyes and look at me.

Softly, the king curses me. You, he says. I thought you cunning and capable. To act, to war, to command—this is your province as a prince. What has rotted your mind?

I do not answer him. Iuno understands: nothing remains to be said. I call for votes.

The outcome is obvious. The ministers think of themselves; if any of them vote with me but my motion fails, they’re doomed. The generals want war, and they don’t care how it comes about. And my brothers crave the power that my father dangles before them: a chance to rule fate instead of being ruled by it.

A minister counts the votes—unanimously, the Great Circle rejects my resolution.

Iuno stands next to me, silent. He watches as the king’s hand rises.

---

I stood before my father in his throne room. Every word he’d spoken doubled in my ears; I heard, as one, the cold clarity of his voice as he spoke in the present, and the soft crackle of Iuno’s voice as he relayed the king’s words in the past. The uncontrollable tremor in my shoulders, the view of the clouds crawling beneath us—it was all as Iuno had said it would be. I, too, watched as the king raised his hand.

He extended his arm straight from his chest and curled his fingers into a fist, as if he grasped an invisible scepter. I exhaled. It was the Hassamite gesture of command.

“You no longer have power here,” he said, “and you are nothing to me. If any power remained to you, I would command you to die—but now, you are beneath even that. So I command you instead to disappear. I will never hear you speak another word, and I will never see you again.”

Cracks in his mask of royal calm revealed the contempt roiling beneath. As a child, I’d seen him as a great man. I had fantasized of sharing in his greatness. Now, I turned my back on him and let those fantasies fall from me. As Iuno and I walked out of the throne room, I looked straight ahead, without returning anyone’s stare.

I had walked into the future knowing that I would not succeed. In that room, I had seen the great power of the wheels of war. Was my destiny to place my hands on them over and over, failing each time to stop their turning? Then I would do it, if only for the hope of one victory.

Our footsteps echoed in the narrow passageway as we descended the steps of the throne room’s spire. My father had not ordered my execution, but he had killed whatever remained of Prince Meira Pashel em-Hassam in that room. A wild and roaring future now lay ahead of me. Perhaps it would carry me to distant lands and lives beyond my small imagination. Perhaps, in a week, it would dash me against the rocks.

We returned to our suite together. I waited until nightfall, when Iuno was asleep, to leave. In the note I tucked under his arm, I was not sentimental. I had forfeited that privilege when I called him a slave. Instead, I only left instructions on how to find an off-moon safehouse, beyond the reach of the House of Hassam and war, though I could make no guarantees.

I had already packed my bags that morning. I slung them over my shoulder, opened the bay windows, and leaned out. In a few minutes, I had rappelled down the palace wall and disappeared into the city.

If I had burdened Iuno with emotion in my note, what would I have said? In my head, I apologized to him for my endless offenses—the arrogance, the fear, the anger—that, frozen in the past, I could not erase. I wished him well as he walked into tomorrow, knowing that the future could not be commanded and hoping, as much as I could, all the same.

The herbal smell of tea bloomed in my nose; a fresh date’s thick paste coated my tongue. It tore my heart, and I smiled. I thanked Iuno. It was fitting to remember him by this pain.

I’d made arrangements to leave the city by river ferry. The boat’s silhouette, a black shadow punctured by light shining through the portholes, bobbed on the waves. The creaking of the wooden pier overlapped with the rush of water beneath me. One of my men waited for me by the entrance ramp to the boat.

He walked up. “Sir,” he said, his voice low, “there’s a problem.”

I tensed. Not even out of the city, and already beset by obstacles. “What is it?”

“It’s… him.” By the dim starlight, I saw that he seemed more confused than frightened. “I don’t know how he found the boat. Perhaps it’s better if you speak to him directly.”

And there he was, walking down the boat’s ramp.

“Finding shortcuts down the hill has been useful,” Iuno said. He yawned. “For things like this. Wherever we go next, I hope we won’t have to live in one room for years on end. Maybe we can find some shortcuts together.”

I only stared a moment before I burst into laughter. I didn’t need to ask him how he’d found me. After a second, his laughter, exactly as ugly as I remembered, joined mine.

Eventually, the gravity of my situation reasserted itself, and the laughter died. “Iuno,” I said, “this is foolish. There’s too much danger in staying with me. And…”

We locked eyes.

Why would you want to?

“My time in the palace with you was interesting. Complicated,” he said. “You were often cruel to me, without realizing it. But you were also kind.”

His voice was soft. “I don’t know what the future holds,” he said, and at this, his lips twitched in an ironic smile. “You may become more cruel than kind, and then I’ll slip away some night and walk alone. But I’m not ready for that yet. It’s been some time since my life held something I cared not to lose.”

I considered the qualities I wished for myself. For so long, I had striven to be nobler and bolder, but now I wanted to ride this boat to a place where I could find humility. Kindness. Where I could be happy to say that I was still myself.

I wanted to argue with Iuno and push him from my path, so that I knew, no matter what happened, I could harm him no more. But I had already harmed him, and here he remained. So, I only said, “Thank you.”

“Besides,” he said, holding up a lumpy bag, “you forgot your hair products.”

“It’s actually customary for exiled nobility to cut their hair. Perhaps I should do so before I board.” I turned to my man, who snapped to attention. “Do you have a knife?”

Iuno’s face crumpled into a pout of mock dismay. “Oh, let’s not be so dramatic. That hair shouldn’t go to waste.”

I smiled.

After I boarded, we walked to the prow together. The boat cast off from the dock, and, gradually, the city’s lights grew dimmer behind us. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the night.

---

Host Commentary

Once again, that was part two of “When the Oracle Speaks” by Albert Chu.

The author had this to say about his story:

“When I wrote “When the Oracle Speaks” in Fall 2022, I was inspired by two things. First, I wanted to write a classically anti-war science fiction story that examined and challenged the narratives which large, powerful states spread to justify war—often by literally calling the war a “just war.” Second, I wanted to use time travel tropes to talk about a feeling that I often have while trying to fight for justice—the knowledge that something probably isn’t going to work, because injustice is entrenched and powerful, but needing to try anyway.

“Since writing this story, the themes and ideas I put into it have taken on additional meaning because of the ongoing genocide of Palestinians in Gaza, backed and funded by the United States. As I’m writing this, the genocide has continued for over a year, with estimates of over 45,000 people killed by bombing and several times that number killed by starvation. While the movement for Palestinian liberation is larger than ever, its inability to stop America’s unconditional military support for Israel and stop the genocide has been extremely discouraging and demoralizing.

“If you are part of this movement for Palestinian liberation, and you have been fighting, in whatever way you can, for Palestinian life and against the genocide, I hope that this story spoke to you. Please join me in continuing to fight. To maintain their domination over the world, the forces of colonialism, imperialism, racism, and genocide must win day after day, but we need only the hope of one victory.”

When we consider the contest between destiny and free will, the mutual exclusivity that arguably exists between the concepts, we often conflate free will with self-determination. But are humans essentially the accumulation of a lifetime of choices, laid down like sedimentary layers until we’ve compacted into predictable personalities? Can anyone escape the fate they’re locked into by the force of their own history? Does this include class, race, gender, sexuality, even geography? And without agency, without the power to make choices that actually change one’s life for better or worse, what kind of free will truly exists? It’s tempting to consider these notions and default to nihilism, to become the prophet who sees the immutable and despairs at being powerless to prevent it. But there is still value in being true to who we are, refusing to be silenced, fighting back in whatever way we can even when it’s a losing battle. The immediate future may be fixed, predictable, and deeply disheartening, but beyond that narrow window we can still hope for something better—not tomorrow, maybe, or the next day, but soon, eventually, someday. We can keep working for change until the immutable tomorrow is filled with joy instead of hate, until our destiny is one we can look forward to instead of dreading. That future will always be worth fighting for.

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And our closing quotation this week is from Sophocles, who said: “If you try to cure evil with evil you will add more pain to your fate.”

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