They crossed through a high overpass and entered a grand building that was surely the seat of the government.
“The leader’s chambers are at the end of this hallway.” The man stood by one wall, lifting a hand to indicate the direction.
Siddhārtha walked on alone, acutely aware that so long as Jesus of Nazareth was at large, he could be walking into a trap.
A door at the end of the hallway opened automatically at Siddhārtha’s approach.
A single tall man was standing in the middle of the large room beyond, wearing yellow-brown robes that cast a long shadow in the dim illumination.
“You are the leader here?” Siddhārtha called out from the door.
“I am. And you are a traveler from another star. You have come here to meet me,” the leader replied in a low voice that nonetheless was clearly audible in the spacious chamber.
“My name is Siddhārtha. I came from Earth, in the Sol System,” Siddhārtha said, sensing a sudden increase in the leader’s interest.
“The Sol System?”
“Is this surprising to you?”
“No, it is just that, as you can see, we are in the middle of a great rebellion here, and it is very dangerous for travelers from abroad. You should remain here within the government complex for your own safety.”
Siddhārtha nodded noncommittally and walked closer.
Observed from less than two meters away, the leader’s cheeks were shiny, with the same porcelain smoothness he had seen in the face of the man who led him here. He had a smooth head and silent eyes with a cruel gleam to them.
“If I may ask, what is the cause of your rebellion?”
The leader nodded. “Our citizens are of two minds, and these two schools of thought have developed into armed conflict. That is to say, an armed conflict though one side has yet to even show itself.”
“I believe I heard them shouting they were going to kill the leader, which I assume to be you.”
The man averted his eyes, anguish rising in the lines on his forehead.
“Unfortunately, I cannot acquiesce to the rebels’ demands. That is why they protest.”
Siddhārtha tried piecing together all he had seen in his mind. Still, he was unable to reach anything like a satisfying conclusion.
“Soon, the rebels will come here,” Siddhārtha said. If it came to it, he and his companions could protect this leader while developing a strategy.
“No, do not worry. The only way into these offices is by the suspended corridor you came through, and it is already sealed by a barrier. Nothing may pass through.”
“Why do you not try to appease the two factions? Is that not a leader’s role?” Siddhārtha asked, an edge to his words.
“Already I have tried reconciliation dozens of times, not entirely without success. But it is a lost cause now. I’m tired. But enough of that. Tell me, why have you come here?”
Siddhārtha paused, unsure of what to say. In truth, he had no real purpose in coming here. He had jumped onto the spaceway in pursuit of Jesus of Nazareth. Yet he still didn’t know why he even had to fight Jesus. The only thing he knew were those words: “Yellow 17 in the New Galactic Age, the Planetary Development Committee on Astarta 50 received a directive . . .” and a vague sense that this curious, shielded city was somehow connected to the Kingdom of Atlantis where Orionae claimed to hail from, and to the barren flats and ruined city that Siddhārtha had found upon emerging from the sea. There was an overall trend toward destruction and ruin in all that he had seen, and lately Siddhārtha had begun to think that some power had placed him here for the sole purpose of investigating that trend and possibly divining its cause and origin.
“I’d like to meet with the other faction of your citizens,” Siddhārtha announced, dodging the leader’s question.
The leader considered this for a moment, then waved his hand off toward his left in a silent gesture. The entrance door slid open and a man stepped inside. This man, too, was wearing a jumpsuit with bands of yellow and brown.
“Take this man to the A-Class Citizens’ compartments,” the leader instructed the new arrival.
“A-Class Citizens?” Siddhārtha echoed out loud, lifting an eyebrow.
“At once,” said the man behind him, and he led Siddhārtha out of the leader’s chamber.
“So your citizens are divided into two classes in this place?” If that were the case, a rebellion made a certain kind of sense, he thought to himself.
Outside of the leader’s room, the corridor began a gentle downward slope, suggesting that wheeled vehicles had been used both inside and outside the building when it was first constructed, making the age of the building at least two thousand years old, judging by the level of the technology he saw.
Together with his guide, Siddhārtha went farther into the depths of the government complex, following the gradually sloping corridor downward. From the length of the descent and the lack of windows, he guessed that they were probably underground by now. At last they came to a giant door at the end of the corridor. Siddhārtha’s guide spoke several times into an intercom on the wall before a red light lit above them and the door slid upward into the ceiling.
The man motioned for Siddhārtha to go through, explaining that he was unable to accompany him any farther.
Steeling himself against the chill that ran through his heart, cold as a polar wind, Siddhārtha strode through the doorway. He glanced up at the bottom of the door as he walked beneath it, noticing that sandwiched among its many layers was a composite silicon layer for filtering radiation. The heavy door shut behind him.