Forbidden Love - Fragments of Forgotten Love

Chapter 16

The old man smiled, revealing teeth stained purple from some local fruit. "I tell them what my grandmother told me: choice is what you make now, not what you wish you'd had then."

His simple wisdom stayed with us as we continued our exploration. By midday, we'd seen enough of Haven's Gate to understand why the resistance had flourished here—the community was built on principles directly opposed to the Council's rigid control. Diversity was celebrated, experimentation encouraged, failure treated as valuable learning rather than fatal flaw.

As the hour of the meeting approached, we returned to our dwelling to prepare. I changed into the clothes Elena had brought earlier—simple but formal garments that marked me as neither leader nor follower, just a participant with valuable perspective.

"Ready?" Costa asked, adjusting the collar of his own new clothing.

"Not really," I admitted. "But I don't think anyone ever is truly ready to face their jailers again."

The community hall was larger than I'd expected, its curved walls designed to carry sound naturally without technological amplification. Representatives from the other Sanctuaries appeared on crystalline displays that materialized from the walls themselves—faces weathered by natural living, eyes bright with intelligence and determination.

"Before we begin," said an older woman whose image flickered slightly in the display, "I want to make something clear. We're not asking you to lead us or make decisions for us. We need information."

Costa nodded respectfully. "We understand. What do you want to know?"

"The preservation pods," another representative interjected, his voice carrying across the space with crystal clarity. "Dr. Thorne's team extracted seventeen intact units before destroying the facilities. Our intelligence suggests they're being transported to an unknown location."

A chill ran down my spine. "Seventeen pods... that's exactly the number of times they reset us."

"The pattern isn't coincidental," Elena said from her seat nearby. "They're not just salvaging equipment—they're collecting specific data."

The first woman leaned forward in her display. "What would they need that data for?"

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to remember the clinical procedures, the cold efficiency of the medical bay. "Memory mapping," I said slowly. "Every time they reset us, they had to chart our neural pathways, catalog our resistance patterns."

"They were learning," Costa realized, his voice tight with anger. "Six hundred years of studying how to break down human will and rebuild it according to their specifications."

"But the psychic network collapsed," one of the representatives pointed out. "The echowisps proved that collective consciousness could overcome their control."

"Which is why they're adapting," I replied, the pieces clicking into place with horrifying clarity. "They're not trying to preserve bodies anymore. They're trying to preserve compliance."

The hall fell silent as the implications sank in. Elena's face had gone pale, her hands gripping the edge of her chair.

"A consciousness preservation system," she whispered. "They could create artificial minds programmed for obedience, then implant them into willing hosts."

"Or unwilling ones," Costa added grimly. "The refugees from the city-states—desperate, confused, looking for guidance. They'd be perfect candidates."

The woman in the first display stood abruptly. "We need to evacuate the integration centers immediately. If they're targeting the newly awakened—"

"Wait," I interrupted, an idea forming. "Running won't solve this. They'll just keep adapting, keep finding new ways to exert control."

"What are you suggesting?" Elena asked.

I looked at Costa, seeing understanding dawn in his green eyes. "We let them come to us."

The representatives erupted in concerned voices, but Costa raised his hand for silence. "Shantali's right. They want us specifically—the original resisters, the ones who broke their system. We're the key to whatever they're planning."

"And if we can anticipate their move," I said, “they won’t harm us, their still after the royal heir that they so badly want from our time. So that they can use in as a symbol to call others to the program more willingly so they don’t have to take them like they did 600 years ago. The commoner ‘princess’ and the crown prince that she stole the heart of would bring people like a moth to a flame, it would be as if we were calling the kingdoms people home.”

"A willing symbol," one of the representatives muttered, the words heavy with contempt. "That's all they've ever wanted from you two."

Elena leaned forward, her eyes bright with sudden realization. "But willing symbols can choose what they symbolize."

The room quieted as her words sank in. Costa's hand found mine beneath the table, squeezing gently.

"You're suggesting we turn their own plan against them," he said, his voice thoughtful. "Let them think they've recaptured their perfect genetic pair."

I nodded, the strategy crystallizing in my mind. "Dr. Thorne and his team are scientists, not soldiers. They understand biology and preservation technology, but they've never understood choice. That's always been their blind spot."

"It's too dangerous," objected a gray-haired man from one of the smaller sanctuaries. "If they capture you again—"

"They won't be capturing us," I interrupted firmly. "We'll be choosing to engage them on our terms."

The meeting continued for hours, strategies proposed and discarded, risks weighed against possibilities. Throughout it all, Costa remained a steady presence beside me, his tactical mind complementing my intuitive understanding of the preservation systems.

By evening, a plan had taken shape. Rather than hiding from Dr. Thorne's team, we would make ourselves visible—but only after ensuring that every aspect of the encounter would be on our terms.

As the representatives signed off one by one, Elena approached us, her expression troubled. "Are you certain about this? After everything you've been through..."

Costa's arm slipped around my waist. "We spent six hundred years as unwilling participants in someone else's experiment. This time, we're the ones designing the test."

Later that night, as we prepared for bed in our small dwelling, I found myself studying Costa's face in the soft lamplight. The determined set of his jaw, the intelligence in his eyes, the gentleness in his hands—all of it achingly familiar yet new in this strange world we'd awakened to.